Men Will Be Boys

The weekend was the first annual APO (Alpha Phi Omega, my ol’ college fraternity) Alums vs. Undergrads football game. We played seven-on-seven flag football on a field in West Philly. The undergrads, of course, are all 19-22 year-old college students. The alums are all 30-somethings – a teacher, a law student, a couple accountants, and such. The undergrads brought their line of current pledges who were allowed to substitute in when their services weren’t otherwise needed as boundary markers.

PJ O’Rourke once wrote that old age and guile beat youth, ambition, and a good haircut. That doesn’t necessarily apply to sports.

One would expect that the game would be a drubbing, but we old folks actually held the young whippersnappers to 3 scores in our hour-long game. Of course, we only scored once, but hey, our completion to receiving touchdown ratio was through the roof. We also had some great defensive stands in there.

Flag football is supposedly a non-contact game. Ha! We played with blitzes and blockers; the quarterback was live as soon as the ball was snapped. I played line on both sides and I made contact every play. On at least five separate occasions someone from one side or the other came to me and said “Wow, what a hit.” I would have had some good tackles if I could have only reached that damned flag. Note to self: tackle anyways.

One surprise attendee to the game was a 300+ pound undergrad from a different school. As luck would have it, I was blocking him or he was blocking me for most of the game. He was something to try to push around.

The undergrads tried an onside kick and used their small fast guy as the gunner. This particular small fast guy had tried to take out my knees on an earlier play, so I had a special interest in knocking him around whenever I could. He was darting in towards the loose ball as I was coming in from the side. Instead of going for the ball, I went for him. I knocked him off his feet, combining my inertia, good leverage, and extra 130 pounds with his momentum. He literally bounced off me and wound up airborne, finally rolling away from the play and leaving me open to pick up the ball. It was my only touch of the game. As we all got up to get ready for the next play, he came over to congratulate me.

On another play I was the only blitzer. Our guys had all the receivers covered, so their quarterback couldn’t find a place to throw the ball. With both of their linemen covering me, I was still able to push towards the QB and force him off to the sidelines. Later, one of them told me I had a “really mean face” when I pass rush.

It was one hell of a rush. It was pure, unadulterated fun (I save my adulterating for other times). I hope this becomes more frequent that merely an annual event.