another true story
Tackling a problem, always a way!
The starting defensive tackle that year
for the mighty Fairmount Pheasants
was this eighth grade boy of p**s and vim
standing 5’7 and weighing a ‘heavy’ 150!
(Of course the pads made you look bigger.)
With a senior class of nine and junior twelve
fielding a team meant digging deep
for football was city pride
and the stars were the padded ones
who took the field in gold and blue.
We were playing a team leading the league
from a town we never liked
Their running back… a bruiser, at least two thirty
with speed too, a regular scoring machine!
We had pride, but points were hard to find.
On the first play a slant towards my side,
the blocker eluded I charged the hole…well
as the law of physics took over I do remember
seeing sky as I was flying back from that whack
and then a huge hand grabbing the bull.
That hand belonged to a lanky farm boy named Rog
and once that hand had you, you were tasting dirt.
Well that bull came to a screeching halt and down
and Rog just looked at me and smiled.
There are some farm boys you just don’t mess with…
I always did like Rog.
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