I had to give Bubba-Bubba credit for this one. After years of us playing pick-up games in his side yard, which was a huge flood plain that was perfect for football, he had managed to put together an actual league made up of teams from four different streets in the neighborhood. Hence the name, the “Neighborhood Football League.” Bubba-Bubba had recruited captains from each street and they all put together five man teams.
We had a pretty good team, which was made up of Bubba-Bubba, Brain, Billy, a kid from up the street named Snail and myself. Billy wanted to name the team the Rollingwood Sockos after his dog. I liked the name. It was original and Socko could have been our mascot. But, Bubba-Bubba was having none of that. We were the Rollingwood Packers. He designated himself captain, quarterback, coach, general manager and any other title on the field or in administration that you could think of, except maybe water boy.
Bubba-Bubba also named himself as the kicker. The only problem was that his legs were so stubby that he could only kick a ball twenty yards tops on about a six foot trajectory. After he had four field goals blocked in the first two games, he called me one night and told me that he and Brain had decided that I should do the kicking. Brain told me later that he had threatened to quit if Bubba-Bubba didn’t make me the kicker.
All things considered, quarterback was really the best position for Bubba-Bubba. All he really had to do was hand the ball off or throw it. Everybody was eligible, so there was no pass rush. Otherwise, all five foot two of Bubba-Bubba would have been swallowed up on every play. He took a green Magic Marker, put number 15 on a gold sweatshirt and he was Bart Starr. Two days after the first season ended he would change our name to the Jets, put a green number 12 on a white sweatshirt, play in white tennis shoes and try to grow a moustache.
Brain was the running back because you could hand, pitch or throw the ball to him and once he got going he was hard to bring down. Billy played one end and I played the other. Snail was our center. He was called Snail because he was that slow, but he could snap the ball real good, was a decent blocker and actually managed to get open and catch a pass from time to time.
The teams that rounded out the league were the Boulderview Bulldogs, the Flintwood Falcons and the Rockcliff Raiders. We played each other twice, which made up a twelve game season. We had no time clock so, similar to innings in baseball, each team got ten possessions per half. If a game ended in a tie, the sudden death rule took effect. The playoffs were simple. The teams with the two best records played each other and the teams with the two worst records played each other. The two winners played for the Championship, which was played on the Saturday before the Super Bowl.
I don’t remember much of the regular season games, other than the fact that they were a lot of fun and good practice for real football at school. But I sure remember the first playoff game. It was one for the ages.
We were playing the Rockcliff Raiders. They were a good team, maybe the best in the league. They had a huge quarterback that we all called Godzilla, only not to his face. As we were warming up for the game, Bubba-Bubba pulled me to one side and told me that on defense I was going to be covering a guy named Tony. Tony was not particularly athletic at all and very slow of foot. He was even slower than Snail, if you could believe that. “Aw, man, I don’t want to cover Tony,” I protested. “They send him long on every play and never throw it to him. Put Snail on him.”
“I want Snail rushing Godzilla.”
“Are you kidding me? Snail only comes up to Godzilla’s waist.”
“Yeah, but at least he can get in there and hassle him some.”
“Well, that’ll leave the center open.”
“They won’t throw it to Tony anyway, so you can cover the center.”
“So, I’m covering two guys? If you’re rushing Snail, why don’t you cover the center?”
“Because I’m playing free safety.”
“Look, put Snail on him and I’ll play the center loose. That way I can keep an eye on ‘em both.”
Bubba-Bubba looked at me for a second, then said, “Okay, but keep an eye on ‘em. You never know when Godzilla might let go a bomb.” The truth of the matter was that Bubba-Bubba didn’t want to cover the center because he’d get beat on every play.
The game was nip and tuck the whole way. Sure enough, they sent Tony long on every play and never once threw it to him. Poor old Snail was really starting to drag as the game went on. Covering Tony was worse than running wind sprints in full pads at school. On Rockcliff’s final possession of the game, they were deep in their own territory, down by seven and needed a touchdown plus a two-point conversion. I lined up loose on the center, but in reality had pretty much forgotten about Tony. Godzilla hadn’t thrown to him all game and he sure wasn’t going to throw to him now, not with the game and the season on the line. They snapped the ball and I stuck with the center on a down and out. All of a sudden Bubba-Bubba yelled, “BALL, TOMMY, DEEP!” Tony had beaten Snail by a good five steps and Godzilla had launched a bomb toward him. I broke off of coverage, locked my eyes on the ball and sprinted toward it just the way I had been taught at school. I had the angle and would get to the ball about the time it got to Tony. Just then, something hit my shins and I sprawled head over heels to the ground. The center I had been covering was running beside me, dove and blocked me low. It was a clean hit, and I rolled over just in time to see the ball hit Tony right on the numbers and him run it in for a touchdown. They lined up for the two-point conversion. Godzilla sent everybody left, he rolled right and strolled across the goal line untouched.
They kicked off and it looked for a second like Brain might take it all the way back, but Godzilla hauled him down from behind. They led by one point. We had four tries to make two completions for a first down, score a touchdown or kick a field goal.
On first down, Bubba-Bubba decided to be a hero and run a sweep himself. All five of their guys hit him for about a five yard loss. Second down, Billy broke loose and was running wide open down the right hand side. Bubba-Bubba threw a perfect spiral right to him, but Godzilla managed to get there and knock the ball away at the last second. He was playing like a man possessed. Third down, Bubba-Bubba sent everybody to the end zone, then handed the ball to Brain. The big kid normally would have rumbled in with no problem, but Godzilla had smelled the play out early, came up and hit Brain hard after about a five yard gain. Fourth down. We had to score a TD or kick a field goal. We huddled up and decided to kick. I got a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach, but all of a sudden Bubba-Bubba said, “I’m kicking this one.” “What?” said Billy, looking at him incredulously. “I said I’m kicking this one,” replied Bubba-Bubba. “It’s in my range.” “No,” said Brain, “Tommy’s kicking it.” “Says who?” sneered Bubba-Bubba. Brain bowed up on him. “Says me,” he sneered back. “Me too,” said Billy. “Me three,” said Snail. “Are you turkeys gonna play ball or what?” yelled Godzilla. Clearly outnumbered, Bubba-Bubba looked around at all of us, then handed me the ball and the tee. “All right,” he said. “Here you go, hot shot. Don’t miss it.”
At the end of Bubba-Bubba’s yard facing the street were two trees. Each tree had a limb that crossed over the other, forming a perfect goal post. The rule was that if you were going toward the trees, you kicked from where you were. If you were going away, you swapped ends. We were going toward the trees. The ball was kicked from a regular tee, so there was no snap and hold. The center called the snap count, and the offense protected while the defense rushed. It wasn’t very pretty, but it was innovative and it worked.
Like everyone else back then, I kicked straight on. I set the ball on the tee and took two and a half steps back. I looked up at the crossed limbs one last time and saw that Godzilla was playing back to get a running start and jump high for the block. Snail looked back at me. This was it. I nodded and returned my gaze to the bottom of the Spalding Varsity Johnny Unitas Autograph Model ball. “READY!” yelled Snail. “SET! HUT!” I took two steps forward and swung my left foot through the ball. I could feel that it was a good kick. Godzilla charged the line and leapt high. But Brain, still smarting and angry from the last hit Godzilla had put on him, went up high as well and put a shoulder right in Godzilla’s belly, bending him double and allowing the ball to go just over his outstretched hand. The end over end kick cleared the limbs easily and landed safely in the street. Game over. My teammates mobbed me, giving me hugs and palm slaps. Godzilla shook my hand and congratulated me. He and Brain gave each other palm slaps and told each other good game. They wished us luck and trudged off toward home. As we were leaving, Bubba-Bubba looked at me and said, “Well, congratulations. You redeemed yourself.” Caught up in the moment, I didn’t think anything about it at the time. But that night as I laid in bed replaying the game in my mind, I thought about what he had said and wished that I would have punched him in the mouth.
It didn’t matter. We had beaten Godzilla and the Rockcliff Raiders. The next day the Boulderview Bulldogs would beat the Flintwood Falcons easily. We would play the Bulldogs the following Saturday for the title, the day before the Baltimore Colts played the New York Jets in Super Bowl III. We had a week to prepare, but nothing would prepare me for the events that were about to unfold in the days ahead leading up to the Neighborhood Football League Championship game.