FOOTBALL AT THE FIRESTATION

It was a routine for us living in South Roanoke Virginia. Friday football at the fire station. Some of us had to go home first to change into our play clothes but others came as is. We were between the ages of watching Saturday morning cartoons and having girlfriends. However when Billy played there was usually a pack of girls watching him. He would either show off or leave the game to go with them to 7-11.
The fire station had a long triangle shaped field on the side of it. The field separated two streets. One went one way and the other went another. The grassy villa didn’t have very many bare spots except for a dusty one closer to the station. We probably created it.
First things first choosing captains. There were two, and if Landon was playing you could bet that the first captain was going to pick him, and that team would win.
Landon was quick and he was an equipped football player, but his passion was the gentlemen’s game known as soccer. He often treated the football we were using as a soccer ball. He would juggle it on his knees and feet like soccer players do with a round soccer ball.
In school there was the popular crowd but at the fire station the only boundaries were the curbs. If you went into the street you would be considered out of bounds. Despite my mom asking me to make the game two hand touch; it was tackle- a rite of passage for us white boys living in the good part of town.
James was new to the game of football. For this reason we ordered him not to play quarterback, and when it came to catching passes, his hands were made of stone. His defense was in your face like a rodeo clown to a bull. His schoolboy exterior would quickly turn in to a ravage mad man. Some of us just thought it was funny to watch him play.
On a good day it was 5 against 5. On others the older kids would come and play ignoring us and just throwing the ball to their friends. Occasionally the fire fighters would come out and play quarterback for bother teams, but that only happened once in a blue moon.
Sometimes our true colors would come out. When big Dan was playing it took three to four of us to bring him down to the ground. Some would just watch not wanting to get hurt and others would join in.
Sometimes what ever was bothering the individual would come out. He would play harder or would start to cry. Trace started to cry one day. His face was red, and tears were pouring out of his eyes. I didn’t know if he was hurt from the last play or what so I asked.
He dried the tears for a second to answer.
“I am just thinking about my parents.”
His parents were divorced. He lived with his dad, and is mom lived in another state.
In South Roanoke a lot of the boys playing had divorce parents. It was like there was something in the water. My parents were still together so I didn’t know what to say to him. I just knew that there was a football game being played.
“Come on Trace; get your head in the game. Let’s keep going.”
Was that right? I didn’t know what to say. He later tackled Landon after a one yard gain. Everything seemed to be fine maybe even better.
We played football until we got too tired to stand up or when it was just before dinner. Some of the boys stayed back to throw around the football unless the football was going home with who ever brought it that day. I look down at my cuts and bruises that I got that day, and saw them as a badge of honor.
Now we are all adults successful in our own way. Some of us have moved out of the neighborhood. Sometimes we remince the days we would just throw our book bags down somewhere on a Friday and run to the fire station.