Something for Fredcube

With football season in full swing, I figured it was time for me to dust off the tale of my greatest moment on the gridiron.

It was while I was in High School. I was a senior at Omaha Central. I was positioned as sort of a weak side tight end. Our quarterback was the legendary Mike Matya.

Normally, high school games are played on Friday Night. But this was a special game. It was Saturday morning at the University of Nebraska at Omaha's Al Caniglia field. It was a fine Autumn day. Mild temps and sunny.

Even though I was a senior, I had never played even a single snap at Central. To anybody who knew me back then, it would be no surprise since I wasn't on the football team.

It's a shame, too, because boy did I ever have the moves.

I was always pretty sure I could have been a great receiver. Not that I could catch or anything. Growing up in Nebraska, catching the ball never seemed all that important.

I just knew that if I got out into space with the ball ... good luck getting a hand on me.

Not that I was a fast runner or anything. I just figured my evasiveness would be enough.

It was.

What I was good at was goofing around in class. In sophomore year, I took English from Mr Heck.

Brian Carlson was also in that class. Since my name was "Cube" and his was Carlson, we initially sat next to each other in class. That didn't last too long. Mr Heck, for no reason whatsoever, decided to move me clear to the other side of the room from Brian.
 
My new seat was on the weak side of the room, directly behind the legendary Mike Matya. He wasn't legendary yet. But he had a good sense of humor.

Also he was much smarter than Brian or me. When I made some stupid joke, Mike would suppress all kinds of laughter. He was good at it. He was enjoying the jokes that Brian and I made, but not foolish enough to join in. That's how people get in trouble. I hear.

Lots of football players thought I was funny, but Mike was the only one to make sure we were always invited to parties.  This was cool because they were football player parties.

It was a little scary being a smart-ass around a bunch of half-drunk big aggressive football types. But Mike was their QB and always had our backs.

That's also how I got to play football at UNO one fine Saturday morning.

The night after some game, I was at a party and Mike invited Greg and me to join a bunch of them the next morning. "Hell Yeah!" we said.

Greg and I were the only ones there that weren't football players. I wasn't concerned though because I knew if I got the ball, it would be lights out. Sure these guys were bigger and faster than me. But like I said, I had the moves.

How did I know? Well, I'd had plenty of practice. What I'm about to explain is no exaggeration. This was my exact thinking at the time.

Central was a pretty crowded school. We had exactly 4 minutes to get from one class to another. That included going from class to my locker, swapping out my book and getting to the next class while everyone in the school was trying to do the same.

It was madness. But I had what I considered an amazing talent of foreseeing where the holes were going to open or close. I always navigated my way through the crowd with such ease that I imagined I could be one hell of a running back. I'd cut. I'd spin. I'd weave. I would always maintain book security and I'd get to class in record time without ever being touched. It never occurred to me that nobody was trying to touch me but still. It was a lot more than 11 people in a hallway a lot narrower than a football field. My logic is sound.

So about 15 or so guys showed up that morning.  I was so happy because I got to be on Mike Matya's team. I was even happier than he was!

So the very first play of the game, Mike received the snap (he held the ball and counted off some number of 'huts') and we were off. I didn't know what I was doing. I was probably out of position or something because nobody was anywhere near me. I waved for the ball, but it turns out it was a quarterback keeper or something.  For no gain.  Oh well.

Second play of the game. Hut, hut, HIKE! and we're off again. I am all alone out there, waving like a madman. Mike telegraphed a fake to me and tossed a perfect strike into the hands of one of his favorite targets. Pass complete to some other jock for about 4 yards.

Well this went on and on for quite some time. I was always open and never got the ball. We'd be stopped after a couple of first downs and then the other side would get the ball.

On defense, I was exactly the same amount of effective. I always ran toward the ball but it was always somewhere else. That made sense to me though. I had never practiced running into people in the hallway. It wasn't my thing.

Then it happened.  3rd and long and I was open. Mike looked at me and his eyes said "Yeah, well, sure. I guess," It was like if eyes could shrug.

Mike dumped the ball off to me and I was off to the races. I saw a tackler coming for me and neatly stepped out of the way. Then another and another. My 'passing period training' was paying off huge. I ran for everything I had and they were all missing me. It was glorious. I was finally stopped after a 25 yard gain! 25 freaking yards! Mike was laughing. I had basically just run through a bunch of actual football players and made the biggest gain of the day. True story.

The joy I felt was great, but really did not belong to me. The universe, realizing the error, rectified immediately.

The stunning revelation the football players had was that I was no ordinary runner. I could not be brought down with a normal tackle. The people away from the action had witnessed something few ever get to see.

These "real" football players with all of their experience and training could not hit me because they expected me to be some place else when they lunged at me. I was literally too slow to catch.

"You guys should have seen that," Jon Jones was saying to everybody. "He was moving so slow and everybody was missing him. Hilarious."

Thanks Jon. That joy felt odd anyway.

After that, I just plowed into people on my way to class. FTG.