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“Mom, I’m going outside with Bob.”
With Thanksgiving dinner over, Mom and Grandma enjoyed one another’s company as they cleaned while Dad and Grandpa watched TV football, leaving the kids free to find their own amusements.
Mom handed a wet platter to Grandma. “Okay.” A few minutes later, Bob and I joined some friends at the vacant field near our home.
Before long, our number swelled to nine, and we settled down to choose teams. If the numbers were even, I’d be the last one picked. I knew my athletic skills hadn’t bloomed, so I didn’t mind. At least I could play.
Most days, the two best players alternated picking teams, but today’s odd number presented a challenge. Bob Plaskett spoke. “Why don’t Mark Williams and I play on the same team with Johnny? We’ll take Bill to even things out.”
That left my brother Bob, Mark Lloyd, Steve, Mike, and Dave, a team of five, against the four on my side. Everything set, we went to our respective ends for the kickoff. Two-hand touch, between the neck and knees, and two complete passes for a first down.
My team started off with the ball and we huddled up. “What do I do?”
Plaskett gave me a steady look. “Hike.”
“Then what?”
“Block.” We broke, and I straddled the ball.
After scoring, my captain nodded toward the opposing quarterback. “You, rush.”
No problem. Small teams meant an all passing game, anyway.
After we finished, Bob went straight to his room while I loitered with the adults.
Grandpa cast me an inquisitorial glance. “Who won?”
“My team beat Bob’s, eight touchdowns to five.”
“Really? What position did you play?”
Only good enough for the most minor positions, my primary role was as an impediment to my own team.
“Um… Drawback.”