They Called Him TUNA

They called him Tuna. I don't know why. And no, this was not Bill Parcells of the New York Giants because this was the fall of 1970. No one had heard of Parcells.

 I had just graduated from high school one year before. We lived about three blocks from my high school, Woodruff High in Peoria, IL. I always went over to the practice field on Saturday morning during the football season to watch the freshmen and sophomores play.  At 9 a.m. the freshmen team played and at 11 a.m. the sophomores played. The fans would stand along the sidelines and watch the game. I just loved watching high school football and hey, these were my guys, my alma mater.

As I walked behind the freshmen team I noticed  one of the bench warmers. The kids called him "Tuna". He was standing passively in back of his team away from the action. It was obvious he would NOT get in the game. He was big, but so big he looked like he had trouble moving. I thought he looked like Baby Huey. Baby Huey was an old comic book character from the 50's and 60's. He was a big duck with a huge rear end. He was all butt.That's what this kid looked like as he stood there chewing on his mouthpiece watching the game. I felt sorry for him knowing he couldn't play and would probably never get in a game. I was right. He rarely played his freshman season and only played the last series of a game if the result was not in doubt. Poor kid, he was terrible. 

After football season was over I heard from my brother Danny that Tuna, (his real name was James Taylor) went out for wrestling. Danny was a senior on the wrestling team and  was one of the stars. "What a sight that must be", I thought. Danny said Taylor was not a good wrestler but he was a nice kid and worked hard. I didn't give it much thought. He wrestled heavyweight, of course, and was on the JV team. I actually saw him win a match and was surprised. He usually got pinned.

The next fall when I went over to watch the sophomores play football games, I didn't see Taylor on the sidelines. "Poor kid didn't go out", I thought. Just as well, he'd probably just get hurt. Then I noticed a big kid with a huge butt on the field playing defensive tackle. It was Tuna, but his rear end looked a little smaller, slightly slimmed down. He wasn't very good, but he was playing and he was holding his own. I was impressed; the kid was actually contributing. Good for him. When football was over I went to the wrestling meets to watch my other brother Kenny  wrestle. Taylor was not the the starting varsity heavyweight and was still the back up. He was moving better and showing a hint of athleticism. "He sure is a nice kid and really works hard", my brother told me. By the end of the season he was emerging as a heavyweight to be reckoned with. In fact, I think he could've beaten the senior starter. Man, had he come a long way.

The next season I went to the Friday night varsity football game. Starting at D tackle for the varsity was Tuna, James Taylor. He was making plays, the opponents had to double team him, and his butt had slimmed down a little more. He was 6'3" and weighed 275 lbs. They couldn't handle him. James made all conference that football season and maybe even special mention all state. I can't remember all the details. But when wrestling came that winter he was dominant and placed 5th at the Illinois High School state wrestling tournament in his first year of varsity competition. By the way, Illinois is a very good wrestling state. Everyone talked about what a good student and hard worker he was. Yeah, I had heard.  His senior year he was an all state football player and got beat by a point in the semis of the state wrestling tournament and finished third. He was a stud. He was all everything.

What's the end of the story? Well, James wasn't finished. He was recruited by the University of Missouri and started at offensive tackle for the Tigers for three years. He was named to the Big Eight all conference team, played in the Blue-Gray all star game, the Senior Bowl, and was a named a third team All American. Drafted by the New Orleans Saints in the 2nd round he had an excellent pro career for four years before hurting his knee. He ended his last season with the Chicago Bears. Moral of the story? Good kids that work hard can go a long way. Even kids that weren't good enough to play their freshman year in high school. Don't ever give up on a high school kid if he's willing to work.
Chiefpigskin.com

Toiling In Obscurity

By now some of you parents may have noticed that the atmosphere at the lower levels of the high school football team is pretty laid back. Whatever your school calls it - Junior Varsity, Freshman, Sophomore, or Frosh/Soph, the lower levels simply don't get the same treatment as the varsity. In fact, they got more attention in Youth Football! I don't think it's that tough on the kids, but tough on the parents. There are no cheerleaders, fanfare, announcers, band, or crowd. Just the game. Some parents may feel their sons are getting the short end of the stick, that they deserve more attention. After all, aren't they part of the team? Didn't they put in work over the summer and weight train just as hard? Well, I would submit that this low profile approach might actually serve as motivation and could have other benefits as well.

Looking back to my high school days I remember we played our freshmen and sophomore games on our practice field at Woodruff High School in Peoria, IL. This field was about fifty percent grass, forty percent hard dirt, and ten percent cinders. An old cinder track that the track team used for practice encircled the field. The more cinders we threw off the field the more showed up by the next practice or game. There were no bleachers, no P.A. announcer, no scoreboard, and no band or cheerleaders. I can still see my Dad walking the sidelines right next to the team. That's what the fans did, just stood along the sidelines next to the team. But you know what? We didn't care. Heck, we'd have played on bricks if we had to. We just wanted to play football and I knew that when I played varsity I would get to play at Peoria Public Schools Stadium. "The Stadium" as we called it had the lushest grass, brightest scoreboard, prettiest cheerleaders, biggest crowds, and best doggone P.A. system in the country. (At least that's how I remember it). It had two large bleacher sections, one on each side, and one had a roof. The end of the stadium that had the scoreboard was lined with pine trees. It was and still is a pretty stadium. It motivated me to work hard so I could play varsity someday. But if I'd had to I still would have played varsity ball on the old practice field.

There was no pressure in those JV games, we just had fun. We were playing football and that's all that mattered. It kept us humble and made us realize we had to pay our dues like the juniors and seniors had. A lot more due paying than one summer of work. Did we desrve to have our names called out like the varsity on the loudspeaker? Maybe. But heck, with all the noise out there and the wind whistling through the ear holes of my helmet I never heard a P.A. announcer while I was playing in my life. I was into the game. And admit it parents, when your son's name is called out on the loudspeaker for a great play, it's not for his ears, it's for yours. YOU want to hear his name.

Many years later I attended a JV college game that my son was playing in. The scoreboard was on but that was it. Colleges don't play many JV games and I was just thankful he was getting a chance to play. He played well that night, caught several balls from his wide receiver position and had a lot of fun. It never occured to me to be upset that this game wasn't getting the same treatment as a varsity college game.

So, my advice is don't worry about the extras, his day is coming. The coaches don't worry about it and neither do the players. Just relax and enjoy those freshmen and sophomore games. They're learning how to be varsity players, and that's what counts.

Chiefpigskin.com

Lucky or Good?

I’ve never believed in luck. What is luck anyway? A football that takes a funny bounce? A baseball that takes a bad hop? A ball that just barely catches the out of bounds line? If those events go your way, you’re lucky. If they go against you, you’re unlucky, right? Nope. Those things are going to happen every game,that’s just sports.

The year was 1966. We were playing a sophomore football game at Glen Oak Park in Peoria, Illinois against Spalding Institute. I didn’t start that day and was getting limited playing time. I played a little corner and a few plays at running back. It was about the middle of the third quarter and we were trailing 14-0. Spalding had been running a little counter play that was killing us. I remember our coach just kept yelling at our linebackers “Stay home! Stay home!” He was so frustrated and started looking up and down our sideline. He looked at me, grabbed me, and spat out the words, “Grant! Get in at linebacker and STAY HOME!” I asked no questions and hustled in.

Now you have to remember from some of my previous stories that I was bit undersized for linebacker (5’4”, 120 lbs.) but Coach knew I would hit and not back down. I had never played nor practiced linebacker but I figured what the heck, “I’ll line up where I would in a sandlot game, find the ball and tackle the ball carrier.” That’s what you do on defense, right? But I remembered the “stay home” part and I would delay just a bit before getting on my horse and running down ball carriers. Finally, they ran a counter back to my side. Now, you tell me, was I lucky or was I good? I saw the ball going away but I delayed a count or two. Just as I was getting ready to pursue a ball carrier came right back at me from the other way. No one blocked me and I was just kinda standing in the seam that he had been hitting on the counter all day. He was so shocked to see me he almost fell down by himself. We collided and went down in a heap. I was as surprised as he was that we had come face to face. Coach was screaming on the sidelines, “That’s how you play the counter”, over and over. All my teammates were hitting me on the helmet and back congratulating me on such a fine play. Heck, the guy RAN INTO ME! They tried one more counter later but they couldn’t run it.

Yeah, we ended up losing that game 20-0 as we did most of our games. Coach gave me a pat on the back at the end of the game and just kinda chuckled. And I’ll ask again, “Was I lucky or good?” I don’t believe in luck and I really don’t think I was that good. I’ll just say I did what I was asked to do and then just played football. I tackled the ball carrier. Chiefpigskin.com

Toughest Kid I Knew

When we were kids there was always that toughest kid in class. You know, the one no one would mess with. Then there was always the toughest kid in the school. He was really bad. Who was your toughest kid in the class? In the school? Well, for me the toughest kid in my class and then by the time he was in the seventh grade the toughest in the entire school was Larry Martin-Paulen. He didn’t really have a hyphenated name. His last name was Martin when I knew him. That was between 5th and 8th grades at Pleasant Valley Grade School just outside of Peoria, IL. Larry’s biological father was Paulen but his step dad had adopted him and his name was changed to Martin. Now it just so happened that Larry was my best friend during those years and we hung out together with our brothers all the time. We had some great times.

Now Larry had two brothers, an older one named Jerry and a younger named Terry. Yep, Jerry, Larry, and Terry. Jerry had wild eyes that moved side to side quickly and he had trouble saying his r’s. He could be a little moody but was fun to hang out with. Terry was a cheerful little guy that couldn’t say his r’s or l’s. He hung out with my little brother a lot. They were full of mischief. But Larry, he spoke well, had a great voice, good looks, smart,and was just plain tough. The step dad was tough on the boys, they had to do a lot of work. Now, I’m not saying work was bad but there were some days that Larry and his brothers worked all day. And they worked hard. I can still picture Larry hanging over the fender of his step dad’s truck working on the engine. When I’d show up he’d give me that big smile with grease all over his face and hands. He wasn’t able to “come out and play” and his step dad would just give that scowl when he came out to the garage.

What made Larry so tough? Well, throughout the next few months and coming year I’m going to tell some stories about Larry, his brothers, and me and my brother. It’s too much to explain now, in one short blog. And besides, I love telling stories.
Chiefpigskin.com