THE LAST GAME

     Watching football with my son I tend to comment a bit too much and watch too little – I chat about how I played rather than about the game we watch – I know this interferes with his intense concentration on “his” college team. The conversation usually goes, “…Jon we were taught to tackle, not hold on every play…there’s pass interference on every play…face mask, what’s a face mask?  I had a single bar and that I had to buy myself when I chipped my front tooth…”  “Yes dad,” is his usual reply.

    Then I’m back in the MHS locker-room getting ready for my last high school football game.  It’s Thanksgiving morning and time for one of the oldest high school rivalries in the nation – the annual Vineland vs. Millville game for the county championship.  This last game was the big game of the season each year no matter what the records were for either opponents.  And the outcome would be discussed at Jim’s Lunch all year until next November. And much had happened until this day for me, for the team.  A day that we all had been waiting years for had come.

     Most of the game of football is never seen by the spectators – it takes place in grueling practices that seem will never end.  Matter of fact, the game is the easy part of the sport.  And our coach “Coach Barb” as we called him was famous – John Barbose was his name and he is credited with inventing the “dealing defense” which was a series of “stunts” designed to fool the opposing team as they played against a myriad of looks and players moving in and out of their usual positions. 

      When we lost on Saturday, we all dreaded Monday.  It would not be a day off watching films.  It would be hours of hitting and then more hitting after that.  Coach had a couple of spotlights (this was before high school has regular night games) attached to the press box at the top of the home bleachers.  They provided just enough light so that we could practice well into the early dark of late fall and for him and his coaches to see every mistake as we scrimmaged – the varsity against the scrubs who were constantly trying to take our starting status away from us.  The hitting was intense and a matter of fact I got a broken nose from one of my competitors during a “live” scrimmage.  The blood flowed freely and soaked my shirt front.  My line coach Ole’Rile noticed it and cheerfully reported, “Iszard has the lineman’s badge of courage…way to go Cal!”  I cannot repeat what I thought at that moment.

      This prologue of pain ended for me on our fourth game of the season.  This was a big game and were told that there were several big college scouts in the stands watching both undefeated teams battle.  We kicked off to undefeated Haddonfield a much bigger richer school with a much bigger team dressed all in black.  The ball went to their star player on the run and he flew straight up the middle of the field as I ran full tilt directly at him – I hit him with a textbook tackle and he fumbled the ball, but Haddonfield recovered.  On the first play from scrimmage he ran a dive play  and I was there to meet him – another crunching tackle ensued and he fumbled a second time.  I saw the ball right beside me and I stretched out my arm to snag it just as a big pile of linemen scrambled for the ball.  I was pushed in one direction and my right arm was twisted in the opposite direction.  As the dust cleared, I realized that I had a dislocated shoulder; it was bent at a very unnatural angle.  I spent the rest of Saturday in a strange hospital and my football days seemed at an end after miles of wind-sprints, thousands of push ups, hours of grueling practices and sprains – all over in one play.  After waking from the operating room, I found my arm totally immobilized and pined to my chest with yards of elastic.  On the ride home in an ambulance that coach B had sent from home – I was depressed because the emergency room surgeon had informed me that my playing days were over; that it would be weeks of therapy to get the use of my arm back. I thought how this could have been worse - and the football spirits that I was left handed and I promised myself that my senior year wasn’t going end like this.

     After “recuperating” for just one day I surprised everyone by going to school Monday morning as usual. 

I got a lot of attention in the halls and that afternoon, I went to the locker room and “dressed” for practice.  I put on my jersey over my trussed-up wing and no pads.  This took awhile and the locker room was empty - I took a deep breath and joined my team for calisthenics that began each practice.  For the rest of the season I didn't miss a practice as I ran to stay in shape.  I learned the new plays watching from the sideline.  I used to hate practice now I longed to get into the mix again.

      After sitting on the bench for the next 4 games with the team it was our bye week before the big Turkey Day game and I paid a visit to our coaches office.  “Coach B, I’ve want to play just one more play in the Vineland game,” I whimpered and then broke down in embarrassing tears.  Coach B’s eyes filled up too.  And he said,"I’ll try to work something out with the Principal but I need to talk to the team physician about this before I can do anything".  

Several days later he sent for me and handed me a $275.00 shoulder brace and said, “I got permission from everyone that you could play but just on offense (in those days using our hands was a penalty); your be our starting right tackle.”

     I thank him; I cried again and so did he.

     I must admit that I was scared and not sure I could make needed blocks with my arm encased in a very heavy brace, but I was determined to try.  A week later after trying some hitting in practice I ran out for our first play in the game and to my surprise Rob our captain pointed to the stands behind me and I saw people standing and cheering for me.  The first play I took a big hit from a giant tackle but I made my block and we gained a first down – the rest of the game is a hazy memory. 

      To my surprise Coach let me play every down on offense.  I just wanted to taste this last game and I got it all to savor for years to come.  I remember just one other play when I felt very vulnerable when one of Bub’s passes was intercepted and my automatic reaction was to run to tackle the running player.  As I sped down the field, I remembered right before my impact with the runner that I only had one arm.  We slammed together, and he went down as I saw small stars for a moment.  

     But I had made my last hurrah. We didn’t win that day; 6 – 6 tie.  But I felt like a winner.  I had played my best and would have a great memory of that day. I could have Aunt Mary's turkey and ravioli in peace.

      Months later in June, as is the custom, I had my new yearbook autographed by many friends and teachers.  

Coach B wrote, "Good luck, Cal Iszard the bravest man I have ever coached.”