I would love the feeling that the players are feeling right now before the game. The increased heart-rate, the tightening of the stomach muscles. It’s a rush. That tag was invented for this feeling -RUSH! It’s a fleeting feeling, but it is powerful.
It can be unnerving. Being nervous can make you screw up. This feeling is there for anyone right before the following scenarios:
Asking a girl out (feel the fear)
Walking out of the lockerroom before a big game
Turning off the gun’s safety in the back of a van with your fellow criminals right before a bank robbery
Fastening the velcro that tightens your bulletproof vest as you and your fellow law enforcement officers prepare to leave the SWAT van for a confrontation
Walking on stage with your band for a big show
These are all adrenaline rush moments. The only scenario that comes close for me nowadays (thanks to my band getting back together) is that feeling right before we go on stage. The Cornerstone Festival this year was one such moment. Our band was rehearsed and we were ready, but I knew that there was the real possibility of blowing it and failing massively in public. I could come in too early or too late for a verse or a chorus. I could say something stupid before a song. Our gear could malfunction and force me to “kill time” on stage. The possibilities of greatness or a pitiful performance were both present.
Whenever I am presented with these feelings, I’ve learned to embrace the fear and drink up the emotion – to feel the rush. When I’m experiencing it, it can be overwhelming and make me long for its departure, but when it’s over it is often looked back at with joy.
I’m not sure I’d ever be the guy to speak up in a locker room, but if that moment came, it wouldn’t be hard to express myself and try to encourage my fellow warriors.
“Men, we’re about to take this field and what happens out there will live with us forever. You were born for this moment. You were trained for this moment. You have rehearsed over and over with repetition. You know what to expect and you know what to do when you see the keys for this play and that play. Inside the other locker room is another team that wants to take exactly what we want. We have to want it more. We have to take it first. This is the last game of the year, so don’t hold anything back. Leave it ALL out on the field. Give it all you’ve got. As a team we can do this for four quarters. Let’s go!
Not the most eloquent of speeches, but it includes some of my core thoughts. Little things like a football game can really live on in your memories for the rest of your life. I just turned 49 yesterday, but I still remember our head coach saying something to our team that I know that I know was about me. (I could be wrong, but I can’t figure out who he was talking about). It was our final regular season game against the hated Mojave Mustangs. He said, “Some of our seniors are finally playing up to their potential” (or something to that effect).
I was injured twice in my senior season and, even though it’s stupid to think in terms of entitlement, I viewed my senior year as my year. I wouldn’t sit on the bench at #2 on the depth chart behind the other four senior linebackers like I did in my junior year. But a stupid injured back and then an injured shoulder right on the heels of my back getting better made me miss five games. I was mad at this opposing player that had been talking smack to my buddy’s girlfriend. We all wanted to kill him. I was loose, healthy and plays were unfolding in front of me and I was in position to make some stops. I made one of those wonderful behind the line of scrimmage stops of their running back, Sam Mitchell, right after he got the handoff. He was just starting to accelerate, but I was flying in from my position six or ten yards away. I had the advantage of force and he went flat on his back. I love those kinda plays.
I had a chance for a pick-six that I regret misjudging. It was the middle screen play that we had practiced defending all week. When it unfolded I was right there. I decided (to my detriment) to hold off a little bit from the running back, so the QB wouldn’t see him covered and go somewhere else. I was two steps away and their quarterback lobbed it to his awaiting back. I rush in front, but I was two steps away instead of one and I only had the confidence and timing to slam the ball back, like a rejected basketball shot. I wish I would have instead concentrated on making the interception. I had 25 to 30 yards of open field between me and our end zone. That would have been sweet if I would have scored those six points. I would have tossed the ball to the official and sprinted to the sideline to grab my little black kicking tee to lineup for the extra point. I was the placekicker, too, and my dream was to score 7 points – the touchdown and kick the extra point. I would have pleaded with our coach if he would have sent in the second string kicker at that point. I really wanted to be able to claim 7 points. I don’t know why. It was just a special goal I had in my head.
The defensive coordinator screamed at me in the film room the following Monday. “That was six points and glory, Van Pelt! What happened?” I didn’t have the heart to explain my tentativeness. Second mistake. If I had, maybe he could have instilled an answer in me that would prepare me for the future. Something like, “Don’t over analyze your moves like that. Just react and make the play.”
I think back to our final game against the Boron Bobcats my sophomore year, when we were playing on the Junior Varsity team. We sucked that year. I think our record was 2-6-1. This game was our “1” (a tie). It was 0 – 0 and we were holding the Bobcats to a goalline stand. Their quarterback was trying to run sneaks right up the middle. We stuffed him each time. One of those times he was stalled, stuffed and crammed into a pile while still on his feet. The whistle had not yet blown and so I tried a little experiment.
“What if I…” (grab the ball with both hands and twist upwards like a bottlecap) It worked! That ball squirted straight up in the air and his two eyeballs got as big as saucers as panic overtook his face. He quickly reached out and grabbed the ball back and the whistles were blown and the play was dead. Meanwhile I watched it happen. Why didn’t I snatch the ball out of the air when it was still going up? I could have started runnin 99 yards the other way. I wasn’t a fast guy, so it’s likely I would have gotten caught from behind.
Here’s what I think I would have done, though:
I had a head start, since most of the other 21 players wouldn’t know what was going on, being engaged in blocks, etc, until I was 10 yards away and sprinting. My speed was a slow 5.3 40 (yard dash) time, but I would have probably raced in a straight line and eyed my sideline, hoping for any hints of “Watch out!” or “He’s about to catch you!” And I would have picked a moment to randomly zag, just in case someone was closing in on me.
Scoring a touchdown (and being able to add the extra point as well) would have been a heck of a way to enter my junior year and Varsity play. Why didn’t I confide in a coach and tell them that then? That experience and advice to not over-analyze myself would have worked well for me.
Ah, reliving the glory days of my high school. How fun. I know it’s boring for anyone else.
Here’s one of the only photos I have of me playing ball in high school. My brother-in-law took it with his new camera. Too bad it’s a little fuzzy and blown-out exposure-wise. I’m #81 (in purple) and this wonderful image captures me running up at the end of the play as if I had something to contribute. It’s like showing up after your friends are just finishing moving their furniture. “Can I help? Oh, I’m too late.” I keep this photo in my senior yearbook, along with this little pocket schedule. I just noticed that the Army recruiter who printed these misspelled our team name. Ha ha. We were the Desert Scorpions, not the Scorpians. The same brother-in-law used to cheer for us with a big pause.
He’d say, “Score – Peons!”
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