July 28, 2011
Football game #2
Originally published September 25, 2004
Quinton's team played again tonight.
I went to watch and arrived early enough that I could tell my boy what I thought of his debut performance. I told him that I didn't like it. I told him that football was NOT like soccer. I told him that you don't play football with a smile on your face. I told him that you have to be FIRED UP and ANGRY to play football.
I told him that he needed to HIT SOMEBODY, anybody, every chance he got. I told him to pretend that he was playing against me and Jack and Steven and the Beecher boys when he was on the field. If he hit those guys in the red jerseys on the other team the way he hit US, he would be a real football player. I banged on his helmet and shoulder pads with my fists. "Get FIRED UP!" I demanded.
"Daddy, I AM fired up! I'm gonna HIT somebody!" he responded.
And that little boy, the smallest player on the field, DID. He made two individual tackles and was involved seriously in a couple of gang-tackles, one of which made someone in the stands say, "Look at that little #30. He sure likes to mix it up, doesn't he?" My heart soared like a hawk.
There is one funny thing about tonight. His mama wasn't there. She's off on another high-octane business trip to parts unknown, so "Granny" brought Quinton to the game tonight. And my boy played his ass off.
I KNEW he had it in him.
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