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For my 9,999th post, I thought we could share “character-building” youth sports stories.
I’ll start…
From 1965-68, I played Pop Warner football. I was living in southern California at the time and we played many teams from around the L.A. basin.
Our coaches were pretty hell-bent on making us into a lean, mean, football machine, and discipline was the key. Many of them had played semi-pro ball themselves and at times it seemed we were being prepared for a stint in the Marines. We were required to end every sentence with “SIR!” and to cut our hair really close—almost a butch or crew cut. When one kid dropped out to play in another league that didn’t have this “requirement,” our coaches told us that “We can’t require ‘Johnny’ to cut his hair, but we can say how much ‘Johnny’ will play in each game.” We all got the message.
One technique for building our characters was to fire us up with a kind of responsorial exchange that usually begin mezzo-forte and ended up fortissimo. Many times the coaches would have us gather around on one knee while they ran through their shtick:
“Gentlemen?”
“YES, SIR!”
“Winners never quit and quitters never win!”
“YES, SIR!”
“If you think you are beaten, you are!!!”
“YES, SIR!”
“Give it your all, all the time!!!”
“YES, SIR!”
“110%!!!”
“YES, SIR!”
“110%!!!”
“YES, SIR!”
“How much?!”
“110%, SIR!”
“HOW MUCH??!!!”
“110%, SIR!”
“WHO’S GONNA WIN THIS YEAR?”
“WE ARE!”
“WHO?”
“WE ARE!!”
“WHO??!!!”
“WE ARE!!!”
If we didn’t show the proper enthusiasm, the team ran a lap, or were required to engage in some kind of mindless drill as punishment (the infamous “Mama’s Drill” comes to mind). Needless to say, we demonstrated “enthusiasm.”
One time the head coach screamed out the need to devote ourselves to football. He began a litany of what sacrifices we should make in the name of football, concluding with:
Coach: “…and you will SLEEP football!”
Team: “YES SIR!!!”
Coach: “…and you will BREATHE football!!”
Team: “YES, SIR!!!”
Coach: “…and you will FRY AND EAT CRAP FOR FOOTBALL!!!
Now, as the other team members responded as required, I opted to stop and think, “Uh, Coach, if you don’t mind, I’ll just stop with “sleeping” and “breathing” football.” For me, “character building” didn’t require that I fry and eat crap for anything.
Racism was rampant during the years of having my character built by football. I played on an essentially all-white team. We had several Hispanics on the team, but when we played the one all-black team from Willowbrook each year, the Hispanics sided with the whites in hurling racial epithets. Once the “black threat” had past, the whites and Hispanics went back to hurling epithets at each other. And the racial epithets came fast and thick from the coaches, who used just about every racist name from “A” to “Z.”
These years followed the Watts riots of 1965, and many of my teammates would chant “We’re playing Watts this weekend!”—as indicated above, it was actually Willowbrook but this distinction was lost on bloodthirsty racists— as if somehow we were going to right a colossal wrong while exacting revenge. Our coaches told us that Willowbrook had a “razzle-dazzle” play that we needed to prepare for. It was explained to us that blacks couldn’t play football like whites, so they had to resort to “razzle-dazzle” plays. Apparently, whites played football by using strength gleaned from disciplined exercise, strategy from well-rehearsed and time-tested plays, and gridiron logic. Black football teams used “razzle-dazzle.” We were told that when tackling a black player, we were to concentrate on the belt buckle since the player would try to fake us out with his arms, legs, and head. It was believed the belt buckle marked that part of the body least susceptible to “faking.” A reference to the dancing abilities of African-Americans was generally made during this “lecture.”
The “razzle-dazzle” play went like this: When the team lined up on the line of scrimmage, on a set command, the entire team moved to one side of the center with one player in the backfield. Then the ball was snapped and the quarterback could either throw to the solitary backfield player who would have a line of eight blockers when running down the field, or, if the entire defense rushed the backfield player, he could throw to the center who was usually in the open and now eligible as an “end.” The center would take the ball down a field empty of defensive players who had all rushed the backfield player.
Now, I thought this play was pretty clever, but we were instructed on how to combat the black team’s “razzle-dazzle.” I probably wouldn’t have thought much about this if it weren’t for a certain play that we adopted for our playbook. One practice midway through the season, the coaches began the “skull session” chortling and guffawing about the “Sleeper Play.” “What’s this all about?” I wondered. Well, the “Sleeper Play” was a special play to be used after the kickoff when we were receiving. Our receiving team would take the ball and run down the side of the field opposite our team bench. If tackled, then the ball was placed on the hash mark across the field from us. During the change in teams, our offense would go in to replace the receiving team; however, one player coming off the field would stop just short of the side line. Only 10 players would go in to play offense: the 11th would be the one player who stopped just shy of coming completely off the field. The strategy was this: when the ball was snapped—it was believed the defense wouldn’t be able to figure out there were only 10 players in sight at the time—the quarterback would fade back as if to pass, then would just lob the ball to the 11th player who had a clear path to the goal line since there would be no defensive player covering him. The rest of us on the team who weren’t playing were instructed to stand close to the sideline to blur the 11th player who just stood there like he was watching, too. The only difference: we were standing a couple feet out of bounds; he was standing a couple of feet inbounds. From the other side of the field, the 11th player was invisible.
The coaches thought this play was pure genius. I thought “Uh, coach, isn’t this a ‘razzle-dazzle’ play?” But I kept quiet in order not to ruffle feathers and rock the boat. I wanted to play, too, and had sacrificed my hair at the beginning of the season to see to it that I did play. But the lesson was clear…sort of: Black football teams who think outside the box were using “razzle-dazzle” plays, but white football teams who use “razzle-dazzle” plays were thinking outside the box. If it wasn’t for helmet I was wearing, I would’ve been scratching my head. So much for “character-building” youth sports.
Anyway, the things you learn in youth when you keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open…
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