“That’s Life” by Tony Bender
I made it through another football season uninjured although this year it feels like I had more close calls as I snapped photos on the sidelines for the South Border Mustangs. I’m not as nimble with one wobbly wheel, a still-healing hip that has enough metal in it that I’ve become intimately acquainted with TSA. After seeing players get uncomfortably large in my viewfinder once too often I told one coach, and I was only half-kidding, that I was pretty sure I needed a sideline blocker.
It was a Hunter S. Thompsonesque season. Fear and Envy on the Border. Fear for the logical reason outlined above, envy because covering a great team reminded me of my own ignominious football career. But it’s all about building character, isn’t it?
After following the crowd—lesson learned, don’t follow the herd over the cliff—that decided not to play our sophomore year, I was named the starting center my junior year much to the chagrin of the seniors who wanted an all-senior line; they moaned, and here comes the next instructional life experience: my coach caved. I had a great boss once that said something that was hard to hear but better prepared me for life. “People are gonna disappoint you, Tony.”
Our team was so loaded it didn’t matter a lick. That was before there was a playoff system but I’m convinced we were the best team in the state. I spent the season taking out my frustration on my replacement. I’d run 30 yards to pop him in practice. I probably disappointed him.
Resentment didn’t really take hold until the next season when I blew out a knee early in the season against a team we were blowing out. Isn’t that the way it goes? But, after a week or two on the sidelines, I came back, one leg noticeably swollen, to play against Bristol and their feared middle linebacker who, to hear Coach tell it, was part-Sasquatch, and that if One-Legged Tony didn’t handle him we had no chance.
I could only fire out one step, so I did what I could, which is to cheat. I held him. Grabbed his jersey with one hand, pulled him close so the refs couldn’t see, and occasionally bounced him off his head. By the second quarter he was flustered and screaming at the ref, “He’s holding me!”
“Aww, he’s a (effeminate insult) ref,” I sniffed, and went low the next time. On one play, our running back, Woof Dog, who ran like he was pulling a three-bottom plow, came back to the huddle incensed, “Bender, that was your man!”
“Bull——!” I snapped. “I was holding him!” And that cracked up the huddle. That’s what makes it a great game, the camaraderie. The laughs. Anyway, I won the battle but the Frederick Vikings lost the game.
I provided another moment of unintentional comic relief pre-injury when were hosting our rivals, the Hecla Rockets, and a receiver was running sideline to sideline trying to get past our defensive backs, giving me a long run at him for a blindside hit, intent on popping the ball loose.
It was an epic collision and we both stayed down, me with the wind knocked out of me. My buddy Witt jerked me up. “Great hit, Bender!” I immediately folded, and Coach came running.
He loosened my pants, which is what represented medical attention in those days, leaned over and said, “Did you get it in the cookies?” I groaned an affirmative. Much hilarity. As I lay there, they led the wobbly receiver off the field, still holding the ball.
So, what lessons did I take from all this? First, in life, you have to be demonstratively better than the competition. People say that “Life’s not fair,” but I don’t believe that. Life’s inherently fair with lessons along the way if you’re paying attention.
The most valuable lesson came two decades later at an all-school reunion. I’d been called to announce an old-timers basketball game. After carrying my resentment so long, I dreaded seeing my old coach, but he greeted me warmly with a huge grin, kind words, and a firm handshake, and that was it. He’d always been a great guy. And we’re all human.
I forgave him in that instant, and it felt good. I’ve been quicker to forgive ever since. It’s hard for me to hold a grudge. So, I’ve become a terrible German, a disappointment to my lineage. A small price to pay, I think.
© Tony Bender, 2022
