The Beautiful Game

You think you know.  I think I know.  Often, we don't.  Football has been a part of my life since I can remember.  My brother was nine years ahead of me when I was in school, so I tagged along to all his games.  In third grade, he was a senior and the starting quarterback.  I had the coolest brother of any of my friends in elementary school.  I cried his last game because I knew I'd never watch him play again.  That was about when my playing days took off.  I played from 3rd-12th grades.  Won a few games, scored some touchdowns, got a couple of accolades, and lost a bunch of games.  My high school was not a powerhouse, but we made the playoffs a few times.  I fumbled late in my last game.  Don't know if it cost us the game, but it didn't help.  The last time I took off my uniform was surreal.  I knew it was over, but it was a heckuva ride.

I spent my time in college immersed in the game.  I was a student manager for UGA for five seasons and stood on the sidelines for some classics.  I got to know the players, and saw some amazing athletes on the other sidelines as well.  I stood next to Peyton Manning, Danny Wuerffel, Keith Brooking, Joe Hamilton, Jamal Lewis, Kevin Faulk, Tim Couch, John Abraham, Stephen Davis, and Takeo Spikes.  In bowl games I stood on the same field as Drew Brees, Ron Dayne, and Ronde & Tiki Barber.

This Saturday, I'll attend my 99th straight Georgia game.  Since the middle of the 2006 season, I've been to every one of them.  That's hard for me to believe.  I've seen some good ones, and I've seen some heart-breakers.  I'm addicted to the atmosphere.  The crowd, the colors, the pageantry.  After I hit 100, my streak won't make it through next season.  Life has come to a point where every weekend isn't quite possible for now, but I'll still be at a bunch of them.

But, this past season reminded me why I love the game.  I started serving as the Character Coach for the Archer Tigers.  That means I led some weekly devotions for players that wanted to participate, and I spent time at practice encouraging kids, building them up and helping any way I can.  I was kind of the team psychologist when a player needed a boost.  It was an awesome ride.  That team finished the regular season 10-0 and won the region for the first time.  We went to the second round of the playoffs and lost in the greatest high school game I've ever been to against North Gwinnett, the #1 team in the state, on a last second field goal 34-32.  I was so honored to be a part of it.  Just a great group of kids that bonded, played their hearts out every week and did their job.  It was a team filled with guys who had a role to play and played it well.  I fell in love with the Archer Tigers.

In the locker room after our last game, the tears flowed.  Coaches teared up, players wept, and men hugged.  It's a beautiful game.  Sometimes you think you know what kids in the locker room are thinking, or we're criticizing coaches or think the players don't care or yelling at them about a mistake...and we just don't know.  I played other sports, but football is different.  The types of people you need are numerous:  big guys, fast guys, medium guys, and guys that can just kick.  You need guys to be on the team to serve as the scout team, and they never see the field on Fridays.  The preparation it takes to get your body ready for a season is grueling.  The amount of organization and practice it takes to get 11 guys playing together is ridiculous.  The physical toll playing the game takes on your body is crazy.  After games, you are bloody, beaten, bruised and broken.  And we criticize.

We criticize coaches when we have no idea how much they love these kids.  We complain about players when we have no idea how much they care or are trying.   And we get in our cars and turn on more complaining on sports talk radio...while they are in the locker room crying.  It isn't much different in college.  I'll never forget walking into the locker room in Sanford Stadium in 1998, after Georgia Tech had beaten us for the first time since 1990.  Michael Greer, whose father, Steve, was an All-American at Georgia, had his head in his hands...weeping.  Uncontrollably weeping.  I remember fans saying that our team just didn't care.  They had bought a ticket, eaten a burger and watched a game.  These kids had lifted weights all summer, practiced hours upon hours, and lost...and wept.

It is a beautiful game because of the lessons.  Life, like football, is a grind.  You have to keep at it.  Sometimes, you give it your absolute all, and you're left weeping, with your head in your hands, and you have to figure out what to do next.  Sometimes you try your best and it isn't good enough.  Sometimes you compete against friends.  This year, Archer played teams with kids that go to my church, and I cheered for them, too.  Football teaches you that life is about people more than teams.  People are eternal.  Teams come and go.  Like football, life sometimes gives you a miracle and you win one you shouldn't have.  Sometimes you make a play and you don't know how you made it.  Often, life is about hours of preparation for critical moments.  And life is about playing the next play, no matter what just happened, good or bad.  And it's about relationships.  Bonds between brothers who battled with you.  Love between coaches and players.  Friendships between coaches.  Competitors that you shake hands with after a game.

I hope you cheer like crazy for your favorite team, but remember that high school and college locker rooms are filled with men and boys who care more than anyone in the stands, even guys that go to 100 straight games.  The locker rooms are the places filled with emotion, hurt, tears, jubilation, and laughter.  And they are the ones that have to get back at it for the next game or the next season.  And after the last game, some of them will take off the grass-stained uniform for the last time, and unless you've ever done that, you don't really know how it feels.  Let us fans be the ones that pat them on the back and say, "Good game, son, good game" no matter the outcome.