Every once in a while, I’m reminded that I’m a 35-year old man who never got into a steady workout regimen. Today was such a day. There was a moment where I needed to take out the fullback in my full-contact flag football game. If you watch football enough, you understand this concept. It is often the responsibility of some linebacker or strong safety to take out the blocker so that someone else may have a direct line to the ball-carrier. If I decide to pull a Corbin-Bernsen-Major-League-Olay move and don’t get the ball-carrier or the blocker, that blocker will be free to go on to the next guy with my color jersey who actually has testicles.
So I was the first one to the scene on this particular running play and had to take out the fullback. Now, my technique isn’t exactly the impressive muscle-rippling collision you would see from a Brian Dawkins or Troy Palamolu. My technique often sends me flying through the air backwards trying to figure out which body part to strategically land on to minimize the pain I will be in for the rest of the week. It is not the most intimidating or technically sound technique, but effective nonetheless, as the blocker is now preoccupied with making sure his roommate will be able to upload that play to youtube before the game even ends. This is how I earned the nickname “Speed Bump” back in high school. I would try to hang on to the running back for dear life until somebody with a 50-something number on their jersey caught up to us to finish the job. Anyway, I’ve now taken out the blocker, when in strolls Mr. Right Place Right Time to get the guy’s flag for a 2-yard gain. And all I can hear as I’m lying on the ground checking my internal organs for unnatural shifting is “Nice flag, Jamie.” Yes Jamie, great job. Now how many fingers is the ref holding up?
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