My love for sports was an affection unreciprocated. Football, for one, just plain couldn’t stand me. It was as if football was a party in full swing and I was the uninvited guest who just rang the doorbell.
Elmont Road Park was at one time a drainage sump that was transformed into a beautiful community park. It had a baseball field, an ice-skating rink, handball and basketball courts, a play area with swings and slides, and this vast sprawling all-purpose field of grass that went on forever. One could imagine Julie Andrews barreling across it with a guitar. George, I, and the others played football on that field. They all could play well, Johnny, Robby, Richie, Freddy, and some others-George was the best of the lot.
And I was there, an eager albeit unqualified participant.
These were the games where plays in the huddle were diagrammed in the dirt, etching running routes with your finger or a twig and using pebbles to represent players. I was always a big rock that someone kept to bring to every huddle. (That just dawned on me.)
I know it was a cool autumn day because I remember I wore my favorite light blue sweater. I ignored its signs to relinquish it to the garbage or to a smaller person; signs like sleeves that stopped mid-forearm and the fact that it rode up when I walked. I pulled it down to my belt line so often that it became an unconscious act.
The one play I remember so well, despite years of therapy, saw me with the ball running for a touchdown. I caught the pass. My therapist says I should have let it go over my head; instead, I pulled it in to my chest and took off. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw George coming after me.
Did you ever see those nature documentaries where a baby hippo is being chased by a cheetah? It’s uncomfortable to watch because you know it’s not going to end well. Most people look away or change the channel.
If you’re one of those people you may want to stop reading now.
With apologies to actual runners, I was in full sprint. Knowing George was closing in, I went to reserve power- lumbering and panting- putting first-time demands on my chubby legs, hugging the ball in my armpit, sweater exposing my entire belly. My side hurt and my throat was raw from my lungs’ petitions for more oxygen. I could hear him behind me. I swear his legs turned into spinning lines like The Roadrunner and he was promptly alongside me.
He smiled at me. Then, the oddest thing- he passed me. My pursuer was ahead of me.
I was too focused on not blowing an O-ring to figure out why.
He was maybe 20’ ahead of me when he did it. I can still hear his voice.
“Why, look at that. My shoe is untied…” he said with a laugh in his voice.
With that, he stopped, crouched down directly in my path and acted as if he was tying his shoe.
There is no one fixed formula for the stopping distance required for a loaded coal train. There are too many variables- speed, grade of land, weight, velocity, whether it’s wearing a sweater. Doesn’t matter. I needed much more room to stop. We looked at each other and he ducked his head in anticipation of the collision.
I struck him.
That’s when time froze.
I remember looking down at my shoes and seeing the clouds behind them. I was perfectly upside down in mid-air. The ball left my grip and my arms were outstretched at my sides like an inverted crucifix. It felt like an eternity. An airborne baby hippo in a light blue midriff. Upside down. I wondered when I would hit the ground because I knew it was going to hurt.
I slammed down on my back like an unsuccessful somersault. I lay there motionless.
In my honor, the park had turned back into a sump.
I stared up at those clouds. A plane silently passed overhead. I remember wishing I was on it. I turned my head to the left and saw George laughing lying on his back also. The football had slowly rolled to him as if some invisible hand tapped it over to where it belonged. That was God moving sports equipment away from me.
George came over and sat next to me. I rolled to my stomach, slowly got up, brushed the dirt and grass off my nipples. We laughed and walked back to the others with our arms around each other’s shoulders.
George taught me to laugh at myself. For that, I’m forever grateful