Throughout my daughter’s childhood, we had Georgia Bulldogs season tickets. She had grown up going to the games. She understood football and was not above spewing profanities and throwing things at the TV when the Bulldogs made a boneheaded play. I have no idea where she learned that kind of behavior. She had grown up watching football but had never played it. That was about to change.
“I’m playing football,” she said as she came home from school one day her senior year of high school. The Senior Class girls played the Junior Class girls in a game called the Powderpuff Bowl. The game took place in the high school’s home stadium, about halfway through the regular football season on a Saturday night after the boys played on Friday. For two weeks thereafter she would say, “I have football practice this afternoon,” before leaving for school. Sweeter words had never passed my ears, at least not until one evening when she said, “I’m starting. I’m playing left guard on offense.” I wasn’t quite moved to tears, but close enough.
The night of the game was perfect for football and the stadium was full. Two assistant coaches were the coaches for each team. The remainder of the coaches were the referees. Players from the varsity boys’ team were the cheerleaders. No, they weren’t wearing skirts, but they did attempt to make a pyramid and do some splits. The game was flag football, at least on paper.
The Seniors had the ball first and as they ran on the field, my chest swelled with pride. My daughter was a starting guard on the Senior class football team. The first couple of plays she attempted to block legally and the girl across from her got by her easily. I looked at my wife and said, “She’d better learn how to hold, quick.” The very next play the girl got past her and my daughter grabbed her by the jersey and snatched her to the ground. I looked at my wife, grinned and said, “That’s what I’m talking about.”
The rules pretty much went out the window after that. On a sweep right, a Junior halfback turned the corner and started downfield with a full head of steam. All of a sudden her legs shot out in front of her and she hit the ground flat of her back. One of the Seniors had hit her head on. Somehow she managed to hang onto the ball. The Juniors retaliated on the Seniors’ next series of plays. A girl with long hair pulled back in a ponytail caught a pass and tried to juke a defensive back. The defensive back dove at her and yanked her to the ground by the ponytail.
The referees eventually gave up on calling penalties, instead concentrating on trying to keep the game resembling football more than roller derby. A few of the girls had to be helped off the field and a shoving match broke out, leading a group of boys in the stands to begin screaming, “Catfight! Catfight!” I looked at my stepfather, laughed and said, “Hell, this is better than watching the boys play!”
As great as it was seeing my daughter start the game, it couldn’t compare with what happened sometime in the second half. She switched over to defense and played outside linebacker. The Juniors ran a sweep to her side, the ball carrier got hit and fumbled. My daughter picked the ball up, got a block in front of her and rumbled about twenty yards for a touchdown. I was beside myself. I jumped up and down, screaming, gave my wife a hug and a kiss, high-fived my stepfather and got slaps on the backs from the other parents sitting around us. None of the students were around us. It was, after all, a high school football game. The parents sat in one section and the students in another.
I don’t remember the score, but the Seniors won. After the game, we went home and waited for my daughter. Her boyfriend and I were watching a little of the college game on television, when my daughter’s car pulled in the driveway and she burst through the door with a smile on her face as wide as a pair of goalposts. “I love this game!” she yelled. “Now I understand! I really understand! I want to play again! I want to play tomorrow! I love this game!” We gave her hugs and congratulations. She took a shower and changed clothes. Then she and her boyfriend did what high school kids do after a football game. They went out to meet friends for pizza.
After they left, I made myself a drink and went out on the back porch. I sat and thought about what had happened. My daughter had started a football game, learned how to hold, scored a defensive touchdown and her team won. It didn’t matter that she was a girl and it was a powderpuff game. It was football and that was all that mattered. I went to bed a proud and happy Poppy.