My dad told me I should give high school football a try. Although I grew up a huge Hamilton Tiger-Cats fan, I had never played football before.
I never quite hit 6 foot so I wasn’t an overly tall player, and it would be a couple of decades before I was able to start gaining weight, so I was a scrawny teen as well. In hockey, what I lacked in stature I gained in speed, but I didn’t run like I skated.
I tried out for our junior team and made the squad. I think we all did mind you, but none-the-less, I was now outfitted head-to-toe in body armor and ready to give a new sport a try.
Football is not only an intense game, the preparations each week are grueling. You practice every night regardless of rain or snow and although I wasn’t the shortest on the team, I wasn’t really built for tight end which is the position I trained to back up.
Because our team was so good, I did get to play a fair amount when we were clobbering the other team. In hockey I was always dying for as much ice time as possible, but I just really enjoyed this new sporting experience. For one, there are some 30 players on a high school football team so the various team huddles that happen throughout the game are pretty intense, with that many young men repeating the coaches cheer, not to mention the rowdy bus rides to away games or those exuberant trips back to our school after victory.
I can recall homecoming rallies in our gymnasium with our cheerleaders leading the way. The edges of the gymnasium lined with classmates and teachers and the pride of being a part of it all – even if I was just a back up.
A highlight of playing high school ball was that for the playoffs, we played at the home of our Tiger-Cats. What a treat to have this vantage point as a long-time fan of Canada’s game. The turf hurt like a son-of-a-gun but the artificial green stuff back then was more like a throw rug on top of a slab of concrete.
We had the best coaches and a lot of talent. A few also either went on to play in the CFL, or were given scholarships to play university ball. It was amazing sitting in those stands years later, watching them play for our hometown team.
A funny memory that has always stuck with me, is those times our junior squad would practice with the seniors to help them prepare for their games. These guys were monsters, but there we were lined up against them, like crash test dummies, unaware of what was about to happen. They were good sports about it all mind you. I am sure they remember the days when it was them lying flat on the field, no match for the goliath’s that us juniors looked up to – literally – across the practice field each night. I have never forgotten the smile and chuckle through Serge’s mask as he reached out his gigantic hands, and apologized for pulverizing me into the unforgiving grass. They may have been beasts of players, but there was a respect for being there to pay your dues to the sport.
I got a leather jacket when we won the championship in that second season. We had lost to that team in the finals the year before and it was bittersweet to defeat them in our second attempt. I wore that jacket proudly through the rest of high school and still have it to this day. My girls are now attending my alma matter although under a different name, as their school community waits for upgrades to their high school.
I attended football camp in Mansfield, Pennsylvania during the summer leading into grade 11. I wanted to get better but for some reason in the early days of my first senior season, I quit. My studies were struggling but quitting football was the worst move. It began a downward spiral of drugs, drinking, and failing multiple courses including getting a 50 in art which was always my best subject.
It’s been endearing walking through my old high school halls again. There are no memories of our time there with new tenants, but attending home games there certainly triggers many great memories as I see the kids standing in front of the same benches we would have had to use back in our day.
“Barton’s the school that’s second to none, we’re number one all the way.” It’s a line from our school song.
Veritas Omnia Vincit – Truth conquers all.
I’ll never forget all those hours in the basement locker room, the stench of decades of sweat, the scores of teams past magic markered all over the walls, the pounding music, bus rides, pep rallies, the guys, the cheerleaders, the peers that took the time to come watch us, the comradery, and getting my head shaved much to the horror of my mom when I walked in the door that evening. They were the greatest moments of the four years I was a Barton Baron.
“Blue 32, blue 32, set, hut!”
