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EVERYBODY’S DANISH – Poly High Football – Uncle Fred
By fred | July 20, 2009
EVERYBODY’S DANISH – novel – Poly High Football
Funny as I look back and think about playing high school football, my memories of some parts are so clear, it is over 62 years now since my buddies and I played ball together, so very many have already gone to that playing field on high, leaving the rest of us with nothing but memories.
The interesting thing is what you remember the most, at least with me. Stuff that happened in games are very dim, oh I remember scoring a touchdown, some weird stuff that happened but mainly the play in the so called big games is very dim to completely faded from memory, compared to what I remember really remember about high school football. What I do remember, as if it was yesterday, was fun in our locker room, showers, towel fights the jokes, just being with my buddies, that was the good times.
The bad times were the long, long wait, the fear, the hollow feeling in my stomach before a game. As a kid I doubt if I was scared of anything or anyone, figured I was as good or better than anyone – but the waiting, the worry that I would screw up, it was so real, that I remember so clearly. So you will have to go back with me those times I remember, you may laugh when you read these chapters, BUT I will lay bets that every one of you that played the game will remember much of what is related here. This is the reason when one of the ‘girl’s at our 50 year class reunion told me she remembered me as a football star. My God I loved it – I wish my memories were like that, to me all of the guys that played were stars, even if they sat on the bench and never played. The memories I have may not be very glorious, BUT – I would never trade them for a million dollars, many of my teammates and I have remained friends all our lives and a few of us are still together – all because of the ties, the companionship, the experiences we shared together, much of that in our old Poly High locker room.
FOOTBALL
In relating football experiences, the tales are very ‘self centered.’ Usually only about me telling you about whatever happened to me. Sorry, it’s just the nature of the game, let’s start with my best buddy Hugo Velasquez a guard. Best buddy, has a very limited area to take care of, hopefully to dominate. That area is the opposing line men either directly in front of him and the ones on each side. The area that Hugo must dominate is one of only a few feet to a few yards at most. My buddy, J. B. (John Brewer), or Ed Bravo, both right tackles, would have the same small limited area to control, maybe a slightly larger area, but not much.
Just about every position in football has this same concentration. The ends may have an even larger area depending on if he is playing offense or defense. Still they must concentrate on area right around them, to block, get away from someone close, tackle the back coming his way – whatever.
Even the backs, the ball carrier, must concentrate on first taking the handoff, then where is that little open area to get through the line of scrimmage. If he is ever lucky enough to get through the line of scrimmage then, for a split second, he may glance around to see where to go. Who is in front or coming from his right or left, who he must allude to get to the goal line. To turn around, look at the whole playing field, no way!
The only guy on the whole team that may have a few seconds to review the so call ‘big picture’ is the quarterback. Maybe he can look at the ‘big picture’ if he is lucky to complete a pass without being flattened, or made a hand off and got out of the way fast enough.
The only time any player can see the ‘big picture’ is if he is on the side lines. If he is out for a breather, is a reserve sitting on the bench, or is hurt and cannot go in for a while. Then he has the privilege of watching the so called ‘big picture.’
Winning football is really a series of small, confined, tiny wars. I could never tell you what my buddies Hugo, Bighead, Masiello, Hampton, Higgins, Brewer, Bravo, Fromme, Dale or any one else on those teams over the years were doing. They certainly could not tell what the hell I was doing either. As our left half, what Coach Brennen called his power back, I could see for a split second if the guys in the line had been able to open a hole or if I was going to have to bull a few yards, but that was all. Winning football is when more of our guys win these little wars than the other team. All these little battles meshed into one successful play can make it work.
For anyone that has played the game to be able to relate stories about what someone else did is extremely difficult. He is telling you he was mainly on the sideline watching, or heard about it from someone that had the time to watch. A person playing the game can only relate his little war in his little area. Oh, maybe if you are running with the ball and you have a buddy blocking in front you certainly know what is going on, or hope is going on, but you are mainly concerned with your job your little piece of the field. Most of these are stories will be about my little area of life on the football field at John H. Francis Polytechnic High School.
THE SPORTS COMPLEX, A LOVE AND HATE RELATIONSHIP
At Poly High you entered the athletic field and sports complex from the campus. As you entered the area, on the left you saw the football field, surrounded by the track. The bleachers for the spectators were on each side of the field. Right in front of you was a very large building containing several floors. The first floor was sort of half dug in the ground. This area contained the locker rooms and showers for the students. The girls were on the right side of the building with their separate entrance, and the boys were on the left. The girl’s side was all cement with set ups for outside volley ball, and basket ball.
The main floor contained the basket ball court, the stands for the basketball fans, and the coaches’ offices. The big basket ball court had a huge rolling wall to divide the court in half for rainy days, and during the day, so the girls had one side and the boys the other.
Since I did not play basketball the only time I ever remember being on the main floor was to watch a few basket ball games, and then not often. The problem was that most basketball games were often at the same time as the football games. If this was not the case it would have been fun to watch our guys play. Many were friends, we happened to have a fairly small (short) team. They were awful fast, and a heck of a lot of fun to watch. With their speed, and quickness, they won a lot of games for good old Poly High.
The coaches’ offices were also on the main floor. You wanted to stay out of there. Usually you could be in some kind of trouble if you had to visit a coach’s office.
THAT STINKY OLD LOCKER ROOM
About that big building, all of my memories are of the boy’s locker and shower area. There was a short stairway down to the huge locker room. The stairway was cement and you had to be darn careful walking on the cement with football shoes. The cleats would slide on the cement and you could fall on your face very easily if you were not careful. One of my five or six or seven, who knows? – bloody noses was from skidding on those steps with my cleats on.
Inside the door, the showers were to the left. Tall thin lockers stacked two high covered the rest of the area. Each locker had a combination lock. Long benches were in front of the rows of lockers so you could sit down to dress, or undress.
The place stunk! Now I am not saying that the janitors did not do their jobs. The floors, showers and the outside were fine, very clean. The stink was from the lockers themselves.
If you are in athletics you sweat. Let me correct that. Boys and adult male’s sweat – my lovely spouse Sally says girls and women do not sweat. She says they may ‘glow’ a little sometimes, but they definitely do not sweat. OK, let’s say the girls’ lockers on the other side of the building were lovely and sweet smelling, the boys stunk, period!
Why? Well, in the first place, California is a sunny state, and Southern California is even sunnier and hotter than the North of the state. Football practice started early September and ended in December. September and October are particularly hot months with temperatures often in the 90’s. I remember playing one big game when it was about 100 degrees. Yes, you sweat – big time!
In the second place, it was all that God awful stuff you had to wear in practice. In this modern day, teams will often run through plays and work out in shorts. This new training method was not for our old fashioned football coach. Coach Brennan had his boys in full uniform every day, for every practice.
Shoulder pads, hip pads, thigh pads – all that heavy duty stuff. Not the new high tech, ultra light weight stuff the guys get to wear now. We usually practiced in that beautiful Southern California weather. Try wearing all that stuff and practicing, running, hitting, at temperatures of 80 to 90 plus degrees. Sweat, boy did we sweat, and sweat, and sweat! I remember once in practice in my left back spot waiting for the ball I moved my hand to wipe the sweat off my forehead. Coach screamed at me, I was not supposed to move, I told him “If I can’t get rid of the sweat I can’t see where I’m going.” Not an answer Coach liked but he shut up.
We were one of the first high school teams to have plastic helmets. Many teams we played still had the old leather ones. The plastic helmets were hot enough – I would not have liked to play in the leather ones. The only trouble with the new plastic helmets in those days was the interior design. They just did not grip your head properly. Most of us that played regularly had bruises or cuts on our nose where the edge above your eyes would come down and slam your nose when you were blocking or making a tackle.
You started dressing for practice or a game with your shorts and a T-shirt. Then you put on a jock strap over the shorts. Coach got a hot idea once about us wearing a medal protector inside the jock strap. That did not last long, it felt as if you had a rock between your legs, you could not run or anything while you were wearing them. The coach had his heart in the right spot on this. Several of us were hit or kneed in this very delicate area. Coach Brennan was just trying to protect his boys.
Next you pulled up your football pants. Built into the pants were heavy pads to protect your tail bone, knees, and long curved slats made out of heavy plastic that slid into the inside to protect the thigh area of your legs. Last, and just before your jersey covered your upper body came the big shoulder pads. Some times, some guys would wear a special back brace, or other kind of protector pad.
My senior year I had to wear a sort of harness on my body, my left arm had a leather strap right above the elbow. Between the body brace and the arm strap a chain attached to each. The purpose was so I could not raise my left arm too high.
I had dislocated the arm several times and the doctor said the muscles were very weak. Hit in a upright position the shoulder could dislocate again, it did, I am not sure how many times it dislocated, think it was about five times. I always had to cut holes in a new jersey so the chain could be attached.
Now over this stuff that already felt as if you were wearing two tons, you had to put your jersey. The game jersey was bright and colorful, a truly prized possession. The school purchased only a few dozens of the game jerseys, so only the first string and a few good reserves got game jerseys. No one practiced in a game jersey. After a real game, you took the game jersey home and your Mom would wash and carefully fold it for use the next week’s big game.
The practice jersey was another matter. It would have been nice to take the practice jersey home every day to be washed, but it was just not practical. We did take our T-shirts, shorts, and socks home most days to stuff in the dirty clothes bin, but not the jersey. I think it would have been nice, but how many Moms have the time to drop everything the minute you get home.
Getting home from practice was usually very late, like around dinner time. Wash and dry your practice jersey every night, all the guys and me included, never ever considered asking our Moms. If we did ask there probably would have been a Mom’s revolt. Football was not a game that most Mom’s cared about much. Their sons would come home with sprains, black eyes, water on the knee, and other assorted bruises. Broken bones and dislocated body parts were not that uncommon. If it was not for the fathers support, it is doubtful that a lot of guys would have been playing the game.
Most days the practice jersey was soaking wet by the time practice was over. We just stripped these sweat jersey’s off and dumped them in the locker. Now the only air that could get in the locker was from some tiny slits in the medal. Your jock strap could be sort of juicy from sweat too. Since you usually only had one of those, it got tossed in the locker along with the sweat stained jersey. How could anything get dry? The practice jersey and the jock strap was taken home only on weekends, and then washed for the next week.
Another thing in that stinky locker was the football pants. They very seldom ever were cleaned. We got the nice shinny new game jersey for games, but we would wear the same pants for practice and games. From the waist down we certainly did not look like some of the college and professional football players you see on TV.
With all the pads and stuff the pants needed special cleaning, something we as players never paid any attention to. You can be sure the school sent all of the equipment out after the season and had it cleaned – being cleaned once a year was about it for the pants, shoulder pads and other pads.
After a hard hot practice, the next day you would have to get into that still partly wet, sweat soaked, stinky, practice jersey. Is it any wonder that with all the sweat soaked jerseys, pads and pants, old sweaty socks, and sweaty jock straps, that the locker room stunk to high Heaven.
That locker room had a strange musty, sick, sweet smell to it. As the season progressed it would grow stronger, and stronger. Hey, you think its funny, well maybe it is when you look back after sixty years, but back then everything was deadly serious – if it took a little stink to win so what. I gotta tell you I am sure the ladies would not want to give their football steady a hug, even if they won – the ladies would reserve that for later, after he had a nice warm shower and cleaned up his act.
THE GOOD TIMES AND THE LOCKER ROOM WORRIES
I remember some good times in that locker room, and some bad ones too. The good ones are just being a part of a team with some really wonderful guys. The real fun of being in sports is the good buddies. The jokes, the horsing around, the towel fights (snap a half wet towel on a naked butt, and it can make a good welt, buddies Johnny Brewer and Rolf Fromme were particularly good at this), all the stuff that binds you together.
Helping each other put on all those pads, the laughs, the quiet times before the games, the joy and excitement of winning, and sometimes the tears and heartbreak of losing. Being part of a group that was all for one, and one for all. The bad part for me was before the games. I doubt if there was a player on that team that I would not have protected with my very life, and have no doubt that each player would have done the same for me. Football was the most important thing in our very existence, nothing was taken more seriously in our young lives.
The doctor would come in and tape us up. I saw a lot of the doctor in my senior year – I’ll bet he used miles of tape on my abused body. My shoulder and ankles always got a bunch of tape. Besides the dislocated shoulder, I had dislocated the big thumb on my left hand – that always took a bunch of tape. Sometimes he had to use a needle and take water out of my left knee if it was to badly swollen with water. Then he would tape that up too. Not much fun in all that stuff. After the dressing and taping, there would still be a half hour to an hour before the game started. That wait was the bad part.
I remember J. B. had a bad ankle, he would yell at the Doc, “Hey Doc, don’t use it all on Fred, save a little tape for me will you.” Doc would say, “Don’t worry I have a bag full.”
I remember sitting on the floor because it was the coolest spot. A few of us would be sitting on that cool cement floor, all taped up, with our backs leaning on the wall, just thinking, trying to get our minds straight. I remember hardly any talking. Each of us had his own thoughts, each going over and over what could happen.
Thinking that I would fumble the ball, drop a pass, or do some other stupid thing. I hated it when the coach came up with the stuff of me being in the backfield. That damn funny shaped football could take some funny bounces and do some weird things on a football field. I would worry about every one of them.
I never worried when I played tackle in my freshman and most of my junior year. During those years there was no football to hold or catch – nothing but the fun of banging guys around. I remember my freshman year as one of a young person struggling to do his best – I would do anything just to show the coach I was capable of playing. The excitement, the anticipation and the fun of being a part of what I considered the real ‘big time.’ My junior year was a part fulfillment of that anticipation. One hell of a lot of fun until my season was over with my first dislocated shoulder.
My senior year the fear of making a mistake not only for the team, but in front of all those people watching, was very real. At that stage of my young life, I felt that everyone in the stands came to watch every move I made. This is far, from the truth, looking back I will bet all those fans did not even know I existed, except when I would get a decent run off. I guess all of us remember that feeling in one situation or another.
It is very odd that the minute the game started you never, ever, gave a thought to any of those fears. The physical hitting and stuff completely took your mind away from the worry. It was the waiting, that awful waiting, that I remember the most.
NEXT WEEK WE WILL RETURN TO POLY FOOTBALL
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