…and Division I college football starts in about 41 days.
For me, the best thing about late July has always been the comfort that comes from knowing that college football is not far off. Though the season doesn't start in earnest until early September, knowing that it's right around the corner is simply reassuring...at least to me. For whatever reason, this time of year also makes me nostalgic, and consequently I cannot help but look back at my own noteworthy collegiate athletic experience. If you’ve been receiving these weekly emails for some years today’s story might sound somewhat familiar; however, as Paul Harvey was prone to say, today you’ll get the rest of the story.
Like a lot of you, I attempted to play several sports in high school. In my case, it was football and baseball. Unlike a lot of you, I really wasn't very good at either of them. As a matter-of-fact, last time I checked, I still held the record for 22 passed balls in one varsity baseball game. When I wasn't in the outfield or pitching I was a catcher, and for those of you that don't know baseball, you may want to bow to me in the hallway because let's just say it was a truly phenomenal accomplishment. For those of you that do know baseball, yes the story is true and it was much uglier that anything you're imagining so please don’t share what you know with the folks that don’t.
Though my varsity baseball experience was more of a recreational thing (the football coach was also the baseball coach and he graciously let me play), my real sport was football. In the spirit of consistency, I also wasn't very good on the gridiron however there was one element of the game at which I somewhat excelled. Ever since I was a little boy, my father spent an inordinate time with me tossing a football. He'd often suggest, usually during halftime of a televised Los Angeles Rams' game, that we go out in the yard and toss the ball around. One thing he always had me do, even as a little tike, was punt the ball. He would work with me meticulously, and though I didn't like hitting and tackling (it hurt too much), by the time I reached Hamilton High in inner-city Los Angeles, I really was pretty decent at punting the ball.
Amazingly, I was provided the opportunity to go on a couple of recruiting trips, and eventually ended up at UCLA (pretty much explains their fall from top 20 prominence). I reported to camp on August 16th, 1980, and for me, the opportunity to play at the Division I level was surreal. After several days of rigorous strength and conditioning training, I was finally given the chance for which I'd spent a good deal of my life preparing. I had envisioned the outcome since I was a kid, and looked forward to the response as I booted the ball 65-plus yards through the air.
I remember it like it was yesterday, a new gold metallic Bruin helmet freshly drilled with a gunmetal gray drop cage.
I was standing there at the special teams segment of practice (the last part of regular double-day sessions) with over 100 of some of the best players in the nation when coach Donahue called my name. I confidently jogged out in front of the group, marked off 15-yards behind the long snapper, and called for the ball.
Now, in my three years at Hamilton High School, the one thing we didn't really have was a good long snapper. During my entire high school career, I don't believe I fielded more that 10 snaps where I didn't have to short-hop the ball. Sometimes the guy could float it back without bouncing, but usually I had to catch it skipping off the ground at least once. Actually, I became a pretty decent short stop.
In 1980, UCLA had a very, very good long-snapper. When I called for the football at that very first practice, it was hurled at me like it was shot out of a freakin' howitzer. To be honest, I'm not sure you could throw a ball that hard from 15 yards. The ball, which seemed like it was traveling about 80mph, slipped through my hands barely touching my fingers and the nose of the football came right across the top of my new drop cage and caught me right on the bridge of the nose. My head snapped back, I tumbled backward losing my balance and fell awkwardly to the grass. The impact of my head slamming the ground caused my helmet popped off and I could feel blood starting to stream down my face. This description cannot do it justice, as it truly was genuine cartoon material. As 100-plus football players laughed hysterically, I looked up to see coach Terry Donahue standing there and with an amazed and amused look on his face. He looked down with is arms crossed across his clipboard and said, "son, I don't think I've ever seen it go quite that bad."
When I got to my feet Coach Donohue was actually very encouraging and I'd love to tell you I went on to NFL greatness. Sadly though, I'm not sure I've ever fully recovered from that experience. Though I was in prime physical condition, and while I literally prepared much of my life for that specific moment to kick the ball, I was clearly unprepared to catch the ball. As a result of that failure, my college football career pretty much crashed and burned right there as I literally let the opportunity of a lifetime slip right through my fingers.
As I suspect you might imagine, it took me a long time to recover from that debacle but the following spring I had a chance for redemption and it came with the announcement that there would be tryouts for the UCLA baseball team. While I couldn’t catch real well (see above), I had developed the ability to throw a fairly decent knuckle ball. It was something that few young players could do, and while my ball didn’t have a ton of movement, I could pitch it consistently with very little in the way of rotation.
Determined to make up for my football failures, I drove my red 1972 Ford Pinto (yes...it was as cool as it sounds...great 8-Track system) over to UCLA’s Jackie Robinson Field on the assigned day of tryouts. Though I was nervous for sure, I was looking forward to putting the punting horror in the rearview mirror once and for all. The closer I got to the stadium though, the more nervous I got. When I arrived, I was struck by all the baseball talent milling around the parking lot. These were some genuine studs, and much of their gear alone seemed to be worth substantially more than my automobile. As I sat there in silence and watched the legions of young ballplayers walk to the field, I was overcome with the fear of another failure and never got out of the car.
What's the value of all this to you? To be honest, I don't know either. I guess if you’re thinking of starting an NFL franchise or a MLB expansion team, I’ve saved you at least one recruiting phone call. However there may also be a lesson here that has something to do with being prepared and taking risks. We all have opportunities in our life, and when faced with the chance to do something special, there is something to be said for preparing, and then climbing over the rail and entering the arena. I don’t have a lot to show for my failed UCLA football career, but the willingness to try has left me with some entertaining (though unflattering) stories. Other than the shame and the haunting that comes from chickening out, I have nothing to show for the day I sat paralyzed in the baseball parking lot.
Looking around today, there are plenty of challenges and more reasons than ever to stand on the sidelines. For true competitors though, there is no better time to be on the field. This life is so much shorter than any of us ever thinks, so if you have an opportunity to do something extraordinary anytime soon…don’t just sit there...get in the game.
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