Disappointment
I think that everyone has experienced a disappointment at sometime in their life. I want to talk about two of them in mine. Since football is the focal point of my life both have to deal with it. The first time was about six years ago, I was twelve. I was playing Pop Warner football on this really good team called the Hurricanes.
We had gone undefeated all through the regular season; we beat a few teams so bad that the refs had to enforce the slaughter rule. We made it through the first two rounds of the playoffs as effortlessly as we made it through the season, making it to the regional playoffs. We were playing a team from North Carolina whom had beaten us, the Hurricanes, the year before. It was a pretty close game that I’m sure we could have won handily if our offensive coach didn’t have a fixation with running our fullback at the same spot in the line, like a dog who keeps trying to run out a closed door. Without trying to be cocky I was seriously having an awesome game. I had had at least three sacks before halftime. About half way through the second quarter I had what could probably be described as the best play during the game. I broke through the line and then next thing I know I’m feeling the rough leather texture of the ball in my hands. Having been a
running back in my younger days I naturally took off for the endzone. It wasn’t far, only about forty or fifty yards, and while I didn’t have as much speed as I do now, I was moving at a pretty decent rate of speed. One of my teammates was running slightly behind me, I could hear his heavy breathing as he ran to keep up with me and out of the corner of my eyes I could see some pursuit coming at the perfect angle to cut me off. My teammate is yelling at me to
speed up. Winded I’m trying to yell back at him to give me a block. Needless to say I don’t get what I’m asking for. The next thing I know I’m feeling someone’s arms flexing around my waist and dragging me to the ground. As I hit the ground I look through my “cage” and I see the goal line not more than three yards in front of me. My teammates are all around me trying to pull me up and yelling at me.
I start to trot of the field to the roaring of the crowd, which my brain has stopped tuning out. As I’m trotting off the field I’m kind of upset I didn’t score but I think to myself that the offense will put it over with no problem. I don’t think I could have been more wrong. The other team, knowing our offensive coaches fixation with ramming our running backs through the line, basically stacks everyone in the box (the 3x8 yd rectangle centered on the football). A simple pass or outside rush would have scored. But coach stays true to form and tries to bulldoze up the middle. Four plays straight he runs the ball and four plays straight we get stopped.
Depressing? I think so. Demoralizing? Most definitely. But we had another window of opportunity. Late in the second quarter, like twenty seconds before the half ended, I again had a chance to help out my squad. Again breaking through the line I see the football lying on the ground like the Holy Grail and one of my teammates, also on the ground, scrambling towards it. I tell him to let me get it because I can run with it (there was nothing but green between me and the endzone) but he doesn’t want to listen. Ignoring me he falls on the ball and I hear the ref
whistle the play dead. I’m filled with anger that he could be so selfish. That basically was it for the game. The other team won by three points.
As I trudged off the field after the game I was filled with white hot anger. First that we had lost
and second that certain things hadn’t happened that would have allowed us to be better situated for a win. I also felt really guilty. I felt that because they weren’t pulling me off the field on a stretcher that I still had something left. That because I could still walk off the field, no matter how sore I was, I hadn’t done all I could for my team.
The second time was more recent. It was my senior year in high school. My high school team wasn’t made of super-stars but we were still very good. We were co-district champs with Hylton, a consistently good team known as the team to beat in our district. We split with them during the season and then played them again in the district playoffs. We were actually pretty evenly matched. It was a decent game until the third quarter. As the whistle to start the third quarter
blew my team was on top, our offense is driving down the field when our quarterback threw an interception. No problem, I’m thinking, our defense has been holding them pretty much all game. When the dust settles after first down and the pile is sorted out they hadn’t gained any yards. Pretty sweet I’m thinking as I put my hand in the dirt to get ready for the next play. On second down the quarterback drops back to pass. As I break through the line a smile crosses my face as I see that he doesn’t have any blockers in the backfield protecting him. Since I came from his blindside he never even saw me coming. I hit him like a freight train, dropping him quick and hard for a fifteen yard loss. Pumped like whoa we all got back on the line ready for the next play. It’s third and twenty-five and I’m thinking we will stop them here, they will punt, our offense will come back on, momentum will still be on our side, we score again basically finishing the game, we win, the school goes crazy, and then we get ready for next weeks game. Again I was wrong. The play is a screen. The quarterback takes a two step drop and rockets it to his tight end in the flat. You would think that our defense would be able to react to it and stop them before the get anywhere near first down. But in that case you would’ve thought wrong. Somehow our cornerbacks got run off and I guess are safeties jus weren’t looking because the tight end rumbled for like thirty yards. You could almost see the momentum switch sides. The crowd, like me, is just standing there with their jaws hanging so low you could trip over it. Clearly they are as shocked as I am. One could almost see our team spirit drop, especially when four plays later Hylton scored. With all the wind out our sails our offense had a hard time doing much of anything. After a three and out our defense took over and gave up a field goal. Our offense came out again and went three and out again then our defense came out and forced a three and out. And that’s pretty much how the rest of the game went. As the final seconds burned off and final whistle shrilled the scoreboard wasn’t showing a score favorable towards us. Once again I was depressed like whoa as I trudged off the field, every play running back through my mind, like marathon runners on a circular course. The play most on my mind was that third and a bazillion. I kept turning it over again and again trying to see if there was anything I personally could have done. Thinking to myself maybe I could have recognized the screen quicker and
got out there. Or maybe I could have jammed the tight end harder so he couldn’t get out. Or maybe I could have jumped and batted the ball down or something.
For some odd reason I wasn’t as angry as that first disappointment five years before. I think that in the intervening years I had experienced more disappointments and learned how to deal with them. I also think that being the first team from my school to make it to the playoffs since the early nineties helped assuage some of that grief too.
This wasn't my greatest paper but I still got a B. Hope y'all enjoyed :)
~Superman
We had gone undefeated all through the regular season; we beat a few teams so bad that the refs had to enforce the slaughter rule. We made it through the first two rounds of the playoffs as effortlessly as we made it through the season, making it to the regional playoffs. We were playing a team from North Carolina whom had beaten us, the Hurricanes, the year before. It was a pretty close game that I’m sure we could have won handily if our offensive coach didn’t have a fixation with running our fullback at the same spot in the line, like a dog who keeps trying to run out a closed door. Without trying to be cocky I was seriously having an awesome game. I had had at least three sacks before halftime. About half way through the second quarter I had what could probably be described as the best play during the game. I broke through the line and then next thing I know I’m feeling the rough leather texture of the ball in my hands. Having been a
running back in my younger days I naturally took off for the endzone. It wasn’t far, only about forty or fifty yards, and while I didn’t have as much speed as I do now, I was moving at a pretty decent rate of speed. One of my teammates was running slightly behind me, I could hear his heavy breathing as he ran to keep up with me and out of the corner of my eyes I could see some pursuit coming at the perfect angle to cut me off. My teammate is yelling at me to
speed up. Winded I’m trying to yell back at him to give me a block. Needless to say I don’t get what I’m asking for. The next thing I know I’m feeling someone’s arms flexing around my waist and dragging me to the ground. As I hit the ground I look through my “cage” and I see the goal line not more than three yards in front of me. My teammates are all around me trying to pull me up and yelling at me.
I start to trot of the field to the roaring of the crowd, which my brain has stopped tuning out. As I’m trotting off the field I’m kind of upset I didn’t score but I think to myself that the offense will put it over with no problem. I don’t think I could have been more wrong. The other team, knowing our offensive coaches fixation with ramming our running backs through the line, basically stacks everyone in the box (the 3x8 yd rectangle centered on the football). A simple pass or outside rush would have scored. But coach stays true to form and tries to bulldoze up the middle. Four plays straight he runs the ball and four plays straight we get stopped.
Depressing? I think so. Demoralizing? Most definitely. But we had another window of opportunity. Late in the second quarter, like twenty seconds before the half ended, I again had a chance to help out my squad. Again breaking through the line I see the football lying on the ground like the Holy Grail and one of my teammates, also on the ground, scrambling towards it. I tell him to let me get it because I can run with it (there was nothing but green between me and the endzone) but he doesn’t want to listen. Ignoring me he falls on the ball and I hear the ref
whistle the play dead. I’m filled with anger that he could be so selfish. That basically was it for the game. The other team won by three points.
As I trudged off the field after the game I was filled with white hot anger. First that we had lost
and second that certain things hadn’t happened that would have allowed us to be better situated for a win. I also felt really guilty. I felt that because they weren’t pulling me off the field on a stretcher that I still had something left. That because I could still walk off the field, no matter how sore I was, I hadn’t done all I could for my team.
The second time was more recent. It was my senior year in high school. My high school team wasn’t made of super-stars but we were still very good. We were co-district champs with Hylton, a consistently good team known as the team to beat in our district. We split with them during the season and then played them again in the district playoffs. We were actually pretty evenly matched. It was a decent game until the third quarter. As the whistle to start the third quarter
blew my team was on top, our offense is driving down the field when our quarterback threw an interception. No problem, I’m thinking, our defense has been holding them pretty much all game. When the dust settles after first down and the pile is sorted out they hadn’t gained any yards. Pretty sweet I’m thinking as I put my hand in the dirt to get ready for the next play. On second down the quarterback drops back to pass. As I break through the line a smile crosses my face as I see that he doesn’t have any blockers in the backfield protecting him. Since I came from his blindside he never even saw me coming. I hit him like a freight train, dropping him quick and hard for a fifteen yard loss. Pumped like whoa we all got back on the line ready for the next play. It’s third and twenty-five and I’m thinking we will stop them here, they will punt, our offense will come back on, momentum will still be on our side, we score again basically finishing the game, we win, the school goes crazy, and then we get ready for next weeks game. Again I was wrong. The play is a screen. The quarterback takes a two step drop and rockets it to his tight end in the flat. You would think that our defense would be able to react to it and stop them before the get anywhere near first down. But in that case you would’ve thought wrong. Somehow our cornerbacks got run off and I guess are safeties jus weren’t looking because the tight end rumbled for like thirty yards. You could almost see the momentum switch sides. The crowd, like me, is just standing there with their jaws hanging so low you could trip over it. Clearly they are as shocked as I am. One could almost see our team spirit drop, especially when four plays later Hylton scored. With all the wind out our sails our offense had a hard time doing much of anything. After a three and out our defense took over and gave up a field goal. Our offense came out again and went three and out again then our defense came out and forced a three and out. And that’s pretty much how the rest of the game went. As the final seconds burned off and final whistle shrilled the scoreboard wasn’t showing a score favorable towards us. Once again I was depressed like whoa as I trudged off the field, every play running back through my mind, like marathon runners on a circular course. The play most on my mind was that third and a bazillion. I kept turning it over again and again trying to see if there was anything I personally could have done. Thinking to myself maybe I could have recognized the screen quicker and
got out there. Or maybe I could have jammed the tight end harder so he couldn’t get out. Or maybe I could have jumped and batted the ball down or something.
For some odd reason I wasn’t as angry as that first disappointment five years before. I think that in the intervening years I had experienced more disappointments and learned how to deal with them. I also think that being the first team from my school to make it to the playoffs since the early nineties helped assuage some of that grief too.
This wasn't my greatest paper but I still got a B. Hope y'all enjoyed :)
~Superman