THE SEVENTH STREET RAMS

     After school before I was in high school and played “real” football the South Millville boys played a semi “tackle” game almost every day during football season except when we sat together on the splintery bleachers watching the Millville High Thunderbolts loose a call one. The Bacon School elementary school intermural football/baseball field was our “homefield” and only field (which had some grass here and there).   We didn’t wear football pads, so it was a bit like two hand touch with a rugby scrums ended with all of us in a pile.  Piling on was the fun of it…at least I try to convince myself of that.  We played with 5 or 6 on each side and both teams wanted to be the Eagles or Thunderbolts.  The naming was decided by a coin toss which also decided who got the ball first.  Brad the oldest and his brother Bobby were always the “captains” – nobody ever challenged them because their brotherly rivalry was such fun to watch.  The “choose up” came next and this was always the crucial part of each game and it decided before the first play which team would win.   Many times Brad would take a surprising pick of one of the least skilled players just to make the game a challenging.  He was a good sport.  This boyhood ritual was one of the most embarrassing of all our growing up experiences.   Some of the gang were always picked last and being picked last was a lasting stigma that not only affected the game but seemed to stay with during many of them long after they stopped playing games.  Charles (who all of us called Mr. Magoo because he wore eyeglasses with lenses like the bottom of Coke bottles) usually was one a last to be called.  He didn’t wear his glasses during our rough tumble games. And The Wrath of Brad the franchise QB was mighty if someone missed one of his bullet like passes.  I was usually picked in the middle mainly because I was bigger than all the others by at least a foot and 50 pounds –  I wasn’t a first choice because I wasn’t very passionate about brawling in the dirt and Brad was very discriminating in his “draft” selections. 

    Game time started without a whistle.  We didn’t have kick0ffs we had punt-offs because Brad (the pinball wizard, our gang leader because he was the oldest of us) decided that the South Millville flying wedge was much too dangerous without helmets.  Brad made up all the rules.  And sometimes invented some when a play didn’t favor his team. Also, most of the plays both teams called were passes since running was hurtful. Brad was also the “ref” who decided when there was a “first down” – we argued his calls but never got him to change a decision.  We had learned to keep the challenges short because if we pressed too hard, he would literally “take his ball and go home” – game over because he was the only guy in our gang who had a regulation leather Sears and Roebuck’s football that retained air.  We rumbled up and down the stubble until the streetlights blinked on.  Brad’s team won 35 to 7 – he usually. in the spirit of camaraderie, kept the score down to keep us coming back the next day in search of an upset.

    One night about halfway through our ragtag season we notice two guys sitting on their bikes watch us for a long time.  Brad called a very needed timeout and strolled over.  He recognized them immediately.  They were literally from the other side of the tracks living in the “managers” part of town. (Millville neighborhoods reflected the hierarchy of our factories.)  South ward was the blue-collar village; east was the middle management boss-land; the North ward by the lake was the land of the managers.  They had homes with at least two bathrooms.)  Marvin and Craig were brothers only a year apart and their new bikes and trending “school” clothes showed their status.  Brad walked back to our curious group as the two interlopers rode away.  “We just got challenged to a football game this weekend playing the 7^th Street Rams.”  We all knew that we must take on this challenge for the honor of the South Ward -  the gauntlet had been tossed and we had no choice but to accept.   Brad yelled, “Settled down…there’s a catch.  These guys play in uniforms, pads and helmets.  Can all of you come up with this stuff before Saturday?”  That quieted us down.  For most of us this was going to be a real (and costly) problem.  On the plus side Brad informed us that we didn’t need to field 11 players – the Rams weren’t picky on how many there was to beat!  When Brad heard that slur he immediately accepted the invite even thought he did know if we actually be able to field a team..

    I was in luck.  I had gotten some “football” stuff last Christmas – a set of thin plastic shoulder pads and an official Philly Eagles helmet which had “This item is a toy and not suitable a for full contact game use.”  Brad declared our current game over and we convened on his porch across the street wear he began to take inventory.  Seemed that we all had helmets that we never got to use except in our backyards catching passes we threw to ourselves.  As to the rest of the gear – we were stymied.  It was too close to Christmas to ask our parents to buy us equipment that we probably use once – none of us wanted to waste our picks for this year’s Santa lists.  But several days before the “big game” Brad our fearless leader got a brilliant idea.  Across the street from his house was the Bacon school who had 7^th and 8^th intermural football.  And Brad’s mom was president of the PTA.  He got her ask the gym teacher and coach of all four teams if we could borrow some equipment on a weekend when there were no games.  We had our uniforms, albeit they were very well old stuff that was ready for the trash bin.  Our team was not going to be color coordinated but as my grandmother said many times, “Beggars can’t be choosers!”

    We had one practice where Brad assigned us our positions and he also name our team.  We were the SMAC’s (South Millville Athletic Club) Game day arrived and we rode our parks to the north ward park playing field.  Our opponents were dressed just like their namesakes including LA Rams official jersey and the horn designs on their yellow and blue helmets.  They even had cleats. We didn’t look very formidable in our patched jerseys, multicolored helmets and our high top Keds.  Their two brothers were co-captains of their 11 man squad.  Our team was led by brother too.  Someone’s from the Rams’ dad was the referee, He even had a silver whistle.  After he laid out the rules and offered us one of their water buckets - the game began.

    The details of the game have faded away but I remember it was a hard hitting morning that cracked one of my teeth and the most important part – Smac’s 27 - Rams 14!  We never played another organized game after that.  We had met our supreme challenge and moved on to basketball season. 

          The Moral:  Color coordinated outfits don’t win games.