Fear
by Dave Hanks
The knot inside of me sits very uneasily. A growing lump
caused by the production of adrenaline. It supersedes
everything: the desire to eat, to move about much, or even
to laugh. The tension leaves me feeling limp and weak.
This is a feeling that I've had to live with too much lately. In fact I have a hard time remembering many moments
during the last few years when my body wasn't under the
influence of adrenaline.
It is a fear! What do I fear? It's definitely not bodily harm. I haven't a worry in the world about that. My body is conditioned to a fine point and I could be hit with a crow-bar without sustaining much damage. But the fear is there - real and just as imposing as any I can imagine. It is the fear of shame to my pride, fear of not holding up my end for the good of the team, and the fear of disapproval from the coaches.
Today's game is at home and during the afternoon. These
two situations are welcome. A night contest requires a person to stew in his juices for twice as long. When you
finally get to the stadium, it seems as though you're in a
fantasy land. When under stress, the lights seem to glare
and give a dizzy feeling.
My memory fades back to a night game earlier in the season. The lights were blurry and so was our opponent.
Their fullback and halfback did a crossing action in their
backfield which made their offense very deceptive. Their
quarterback might give to one or the other, or keep it
himself and roll out. It was very hard to see who had the
ball. My assignment was to deliver a blow with my forearm
to their tackle's face mask, keep pressure on him from
his outside shoulder, and then to be ready to
instantaneously slide to the inside if the ball went there.
The correct "READ" was very difficult to make and a
fraction of a second of indecision would allow them a five yard gain. Our coach wasn't happy with the situation
at all. At halftime he screamed at me and slapped me
across the head. He didn't have a solution but the cussing
was, I guess, supposed to be a general cure-all. However,
I was "crushed" and as a result rather ineffective for the
rest of the game.
As the next game approached, apprehension filled my entire self. I couldn't face the world. I finally adopted the
attitude that I didn't give a damn. I stayed in bed all day, missed the pre-game meal, and only arose in time to get to the stadium to dress. I performed much better that night. Maybe the secret is to never give a damn, but that's not realistic because I very much do care!
Today's game is with the University of Wyoming. They
are undefeated and appear to be Gator Bowl-bound, if
they can get by us. I'm appreciating this contest because
my defensive assignment has been altered. Wyoming
operates a single-wing offense, the type that I grew up
with in high school. I'm to line up at an angle outside of their end and to "crash", "hell bent for leather", down their line - piling up bodies in the process. Today I don't have to worry about making the correct "READ" but can go directly after the ball.
I finally leave my apartment and slowly stroll down the hill to dress for the game. The air has that wonderful taste of autumn. Golden-brown leaves rustle as I pass under each tree. I note that their colors are the same as today's adversary. The band is playing and the distant music floats on the air. It gives me solace.
The pre-game routine is completed and we take to the
field. I pass a close friend and wrestling team-mate who
is standing on the sideline. He gives me a knowing smile
and I feel a surge of confidence.
We kick-off and the game is underway. On the first play
from scrimmage, I line up at my angle and come off the ball as low and as hard as I can. I meet their guard, who is pulling, in their backfield and my momentum knocks
him down. Their All-American tailback is right behind him
and I'm able to make the tackle for a loss. The next play
is "stuffed" on the inside. Third down and long yardage
brings up a passing situation. I charge in again as hard
as possible to surprise their quarterback and "sack" him
for a ten yard loss. They are forced to punt. My
apprehensions have vanished - I'm doing well. That
overpowering fear is gone and in it's place comes feelings of reckless abandonment and aggression. I know that I'm going to have a great game. Our coach is standing along the sideline and I have the urge to yell: "See what I can do if you'd let me!" I have an overwhelming urge to give him the "finger". I refrain.
The game settles into a real dead-lock and everyone
seems to become suddenly motivated. I'm getting in on
more tackles today than usual and wish that the coaching
staff would permit me to play this way in every game. The
opposing defensive tackle has huge arm muscles. They
bulge forth from his cut-off jersey sleeves. I am surprised that I can handle him so easily! When we have the ball, I fire out and hit his chest with my head and drive him back. "Why won't they run more plays to this side?" The team could get yardage here on every play if they would.
Halftime arrives. Today the locker room scene is bearable
because we have held their offense to minus yardage.
However, we need more yardage ourselves. The second
half is to feature more passing. Pass blocking technique
is much different than blocking for the run. It is not as
aggressive. The idea is to mimic the rusher's movement
by keeping your body in front of his and repeatedly smack his shoulder pads. If he gets too much depth,
you put your helmet on his hip and run him up-field past the pocket the quarterback is operating from.
The third quarter starts and things continue to go well. We are able to give our passer plenty of time and we move the ball down the field for a score but miss the extra point. We have had control of the game for most of the time. However disaster strikes when an errant pass is intercepted by their cornerback. I have a slight angle but he is extremely fast and has too much of a head start. His brown and gold uniform crosses the goal - touchdown! I fully expect a "chewing out" to come later.
Their offense had minimal yardage for the entire game and yet they win 7 to 6. Disgusting! We have been cheated out of our "golden defensive performance". It's most unfair! The victory, rightfully, belonged to us.
After the game our line coach is cussing, kicking lockers,
and making a real fuss. I'm despondent - my emotions
have run the gauntlet from fear, to exhilaration, and now
to letdown. Why can't football be dealt with like wrestling? In that sport, you reap the consequences (for better or worse) for your acts only and not someone else's. I think that I would prefer it that way.
My team-mates are hurrying to the post-game meal but I
pass it up and go home to bed. I suddenly feel emotionally
drained and out of control. In bed I release it all."Why am I crying?" I can't seem to stop but am grateful that no one else is around to witness the situation!
Finally it's over and I sit and ponder. "What happened to
the wonderful game that I used to enjoy so much each
autumn?" This is a poor counterfeit. Is my scholarship
worth all the stress? I make a vow: "I will never place this type of burden on any young man that I might coach in
future years!"
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