What the Gridiron Taught Me
Six years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you anything about the sport of football.
I wouldn’t have been able to go into detail about specific gap assignments for both offensive and defensive linemen. I wouldn’t have been able to talk about why the New York Giants should bench right tackle Ereck Flowers, it’s because of his terrible footwork and lack of quickness.
Looking back on my playing time at Cypress Lake High School as a 20 year old junior at Florida Gulf Coast University, I realize I learned a lot through football.
It wasn’t all about being a good offensive linemen either.
There were a few learning points along those four years. Like getting our then head coach fired and most of our entire roster suspended for starting a fight with the opposing team during my sophomore season. There’s also the time that one of our teammates pulled a gun on a student on the school bus just after practice.
I experienced a lot through the game of football. Hell, the only thing I didn’t experience much of was winning. Despite all this, I learned a thing or two from my years of being a Cypress Lake Panther.
Brotherhood
They say you won’t be friends with all your co-workers, well the same can be said about your teammates.
Take for example Thomas Cribbs, otherwise known by his middle name, Paul. He was a 6’2 stick bug who thought he could play every position on the field because he was the captain and he had leadership skills from being involved with JROTC.
Well the truth was, he was pretty annoying. Particularly because of the way he spoke around different people.
You’d hear clean and clear English with people with titles like our coach or a teacher. The skilled positions would get a more urban approach, “whas good yall boys, we finna get that work in to smash that ass Friday”. The offensive line was usually spoken to with a cross of urban and a southern drawl.
He didn’t have much strength to play offensive line and didn’t have real speed to do anything else.
All Paul really had was height and a never-ending yap. I’d give him all the shit in the world when I’d see him in the hallway and it was pretty well-known among our peers how I felt about him. I think the only one who was confused with whether I liked him or not, was him.
Regardless of how I felt about Paul, he was my teammate once we stepped into the locker room. I’d still give him plenty of shit for how we acted around other groups of people and his lack of self-awareness but, when it came down to the opposing team we had to play, he was my brother.
For as much as I didn’t like him, I definitely respected him. And I was jealous because he was tall.
Pride
As I mentioned before, we didn’t do much winning. In fact, the best record I was a part of was 4–4 with my freshman team before I was brought up to play with the varsity squad.
As a four-year varsity football player, I was a part of a 5–35 program. I’m almost certain we were the worst team in the district for all three of those seasons. Since there wasn’t much winning to be had, there was plenty of pride to collect.
Most of our games were lost early on and though there was plenty of time left, the lead would be too much for our team to attempt a comeback. So, all we did was play like the score was still 0–0.
My last high school football game, November 6th, 2015 was played just down the road from FGCU. We were being hosted by the Estero Wildcats on their ‘Senior Night’.
It was the middle of the third quarter and we’re already down 30 something points. Our coach decides to run ‘my play’. Power right out of regular.
This play requires the left guard to pull around the right side of the offensive line while they block down on the defense, leaving one person unblocked. Hopefully. Leaving that one person to be blocked by the left guard, me.
I already know that I’m going to be taking the left end #91, because he had been shooting up field all night. Not a crazy athlete but a taller guy with a muscular build to him.
We get to the line of scrimmage, I get down in my stance and I’m already thinking about how much I’m going to miss it all.
The lights shining down on the field, the scoreboard no matter how ugly it might look, all the time I had spent with my teammates over the past few years and the yelling of people from the stands telling us that we should stop passing the ball because #77 can’t block (Paul Cribbs).
I bring my attention back to the play at hand. I’m in my stance: right foot up with my left foot back, right forearm resting on the same leg with my left hand in the dirt.
My sophomore quarterback starts giving out the cadence. “Blue 91, Blue 91, Set, Hut.” The ball is snapped, I pull around the center and the left side of the line.
The only person in my sight is #91.
I give him a nice pop in the chest and our senior running back Clifford Moore breaks off a nice little scamper of 12 yards off my butt. The play ends, we go back to the huddle and Cliff gives me a headbutt and says, “good shit bro”.
We didn’t score any points outside of the first quarter. But that play earned me a pride win.
