By Carl Nelson
Sometimes a relaxed mind works to surprise us with memories almost lost. I recalled recently my first experience with competitive sports. This was back in 1947 when I was eight years old and in 3rd grade. The local YMCA was sponsoring Gray Y tackle football for elementary schools in my area.
All the big tough boys I knew were anxious to play. I was neither big nor tough, but peer pressure is hard to resist. One Saturday morning we all met at the playground and were issued our Grey Y tee shirts. On the whistle, we gathered and began an eight block walk to meet our opponents. Cars were hard to come by as none were manufactured during the war years.
During the walk, my mind was filled with apprehension. This was something new, maybe a first test of manhood or a rite of passage. My courage tank wasn’t full. By the 4th block I had finished all my Kool-Aid and into my 2nd biscotti bar. Most teams I knew of had names like Tigers or something, so I asked our coach what our name was. “Sand crabs” was the answer. We were the Lennox Sandcrabs. I thought to myself, ‘that wouldn’t scare anyone’. Then I asked what their name was. “The Giants”. We were going to play the Giants. Well, that name scared someone. Me! My confidence level took a tumble.
We arrived late, so the game began almost immediately. We had 15 players or so but it didn’t matter because in ‘47 you played both ways, both on offense and defense. If you came out, you would give your helmet to your replacement. Our helmets then had no cushioning or a face protector and one size fit all.
Rules like no blocking in the back didn’t exist yet. Horse collar tackles or clothesline hits were legal. I was to play right tackle on defense and full-back on offense. In my first encounter with the Giant across from me I saw he was just as scared as me and he had this terrible technique of raising up at the snap of the ball. I ended up shoving him around a lot and getting into their backfield. One time during their handoff the ball was fumbled and being closest to it, I picked it up and started toward their goal. I was quickly overtaken by some much faster boys who planted me face first in the turf.
I did get a few slaps on the back and some “atta boys “ from my teammates. On offense I found myself on the bottom of more than a few piles, but I always found a way to breathe until everyone got off me. In the 4th quarter they punted to us and our best player fumbled the catch. The ball was fought for, kicked around and finally ended up close to me. I got knocked down trying to reach for it and landed in a sitting position, but the ball was still there. I put my leg over it and pulled it under me. I heard shouts like “Where is the ball” and “Who’s got the ball”. I sat there quietly for a few seconds for fear both teams would jump on me. When safe, I triumphantly produced the ball and got some more “Atta-boys” and “ way to go, big guy” from coach. The fumble recovery took little skill and less daring, but I acted the part of a momentary hero. So that day I recovered two fumbles and we beat those Giants 6-0. That night I added some embellishment and Mom made ravioli to celebrate my first experience as an athlete.
