Pound for Pound: Knocked silly

Published 10:30 am Tuesday, May 28, 2024

The column has been a little heavy these past couple of weeks.

Thought I would lighten things up on this post-Memorial Day Tuesday and share a story from my high school football-playing days that I’m shocked I can even remember. The reason why that’s shocking will become apparent later.

It was 2005, my junior year at John Hancock Academy in Sparta. Week 2 our football team was playing Holy Spirit Prep, at the time a relatively new school in the Atlanta area whose alumni ranks now boast Minnesota Timberwolves star and former Georgia Bulldog Anthony Edwards. Twenty years ago the HSP Cougars were a long way off from welcoming an athlete of Edwards’ caliber onto their campus. They were competing at the GISA (RIP, kind of) Class A level against schools like John Hancock, whose town had only two red lights.

We made the trek north to face the Cougars in late August. Our regular starting quarterback had been sick most of that week, so first-snap duties fell to me. This isn’t what the story’s about, but I will tell you there were lows and highs. Like throwing an interception on my very first pass attempt to making the correct read on 33 Belly and watching RB Kevin Grimes run through a monster truck-sized hole to the end zone.

The main part of my story takes place later in the game while I was playing linebacker. When your team roster has fewer than 20 names on it, yes, the QB plays defense too.

Everything was going fine. We were out to a comfortable lead, just trying to maintain so we could even our record at 1-1 on the early season. HSP had one of their bigger plays on the night when a runner got loose up the right side of the field. I pursued with tunnel vision, unaware of anything going on around me.

Mistake.

At the moment I extended my arms out to grab some jersey, I was folded up like a chair after high school graduation. A hilarious film session later showed my toes reached my face for the first time since I was a baby, and for probably the last time ever. I had become victim of the dreaded peel-back block. Once the HSP ballcarrier got out into the open, one of his downfield teammates turned around and brought my momentum to a sudden and violent halt.

It was, at that time, a clean hit.

Despite hitting the ground at a rate that I’m sure rivaled some car crashes, I had some wherewithal about me. I had to quickly stand up and let this guy know he hadn’t gotten the best of me. I shouted, ‘YOU CALL THAT A HIT! THAT WAS NOTHING!’

At least that was what I wanted to say. It probably came out more like, ‘UuuuUuUcallTHAaaataHIT. ThaaaaatwuzzzNUTHin,’ and sounded similar to Sylvester Stallone’s Rocky after one his boxing matches. The whole thing took place near our sideline, and some teammates and coaches graciously pulled me off the field for a few plays so I could catch my bearings and collect any teeth I had lost.

The Georgia High School Football Historians Association tells me we went on to win the game 41-18. There was also an important lesson learned that day.

Head on a swivel, kid.