Written by Garret Mathews, author of Barking Signals (Badly) During Goldwater – Hut, Hut… Now What? It’s available at Amazon.com
Do you remember the last time you played tackle football?
For me, it was Christmas Day, 1971. I was home on two-week holiday from the armed services.
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Dan, my brother, had finished his second year as a DB on his college football team. He notched several interceptions and was among the team’s leaders in tackles. His coach referred to him (in print) as “a gamer.”
Me? I never advanced beyond second-string quarterback on my high school team. Among my shortcomings were a lack of size (I topped out at 130 pounds); a lack of speed (the Tackling Dummy could outrun me); and a lack of strength (it took everything I had to rip a piece of adhesive tape off the roll).
I also need to tell you this: I never missed an opportunity to torment my brother when we were growing up.
Among my transgressions were putting my bedroom slipper over his nose and not removing it until he admitted he was a Communist. I put spiders in his oatmeal. I would stick his head in the toilet because he left my basketball out in the rain (an appropriate punishment, I reasoned, because both crime and punishment involved water). And I dosed his underwear with Atomic Bomb.
By Dan’s 17th birthday he had overcome the two years difference in age. He caught up with me in size, too. I no longer required him to admit loyalty to the Communist Party and I saw to it that his breakfast cereal remained insect-free.
As I reached manhood, and as he approached his, I assumed that he had forgotten about those “little misdemeanors” I had committed against his person. We were kids, after all.
I was wrong.
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During my two-week leave Dan popped a question over dinner one night: “I’m getting some of our buddies together to play football,” he said. “Just a friendly game. Wanna’ join us? We’ll even let you play quarterback.”
I hesitated. While I had grown in size, I hadn’t played in more than five years.
I hesitated to respond. “Chicken,” Dan said.
Dan had pushed the right button.
I arrived early for the game.
My bother elected to play middle linebacker for the other team. “Nothing personal,” he said. “We just need to balance the sides, that’s all.”
Our paths didn’t cross for a period of time, roughly equal to the 1st Quarter of the game. Later Dan intercepted a pass and batted down several others. That’s what gamers are supposed to do, thought I.
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The last play of my football life took place shortly after 3 p.m. Dan decided to blitz. In a split second I went from trying to throw a slant pass to Gary Scyphers to trying to salvage my intestines from the ruins of my chest cavity.
I tried to crawl off the field, but couldn’t make it. On or about the 50 yard line … I hurled.
Dan didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. All was now avenged.
The Atomic Bomb in the drawers. The spiders in the oatmeal. The Red Menace. All avenged.
That night, as I was throwing down several Excedrin, Dan held up my bedroom slipper.
….Just so I’d know.
