Fumbling at football

I need to learn the difference between a running back and linebacker, a safety and wide receiver, and a tight end and cornerback. I don’t know how many players are on the field at any one time. I know where the line of scrimmage is, I can identify the quarterback, I know the difference between offense and defense, I get the first down thing...and that’s pretty much it.

My ten-year-old son is playing football now – not flag football or pickup football, but real football, with shoulder pads and a jersey with his last name on the back and special pants and a mouth guard. Teams were announced last night and he was happy, thankfully, with where he ended up. I was pleased because I’ve watched one of the coaches during the last week of practice and he seems knowledgeable and enthusiastic and approachable and tough but in a good way, and it turns out Bryant ended up on this guy’s team. I think this is going to be good for my boy.

I need to find out if ten-year-olds are supposed to wear underwear under their jockstraps. I need to learn how frequently a young boy’s grass-stained football pants are supposed to be washed because I want to back Bryant up when he complains to his mom about washing away his badges of honor. I need to be able to answer another parent’s question when she asks me if her son is playing halfback or fullback. I need to plug in, to become invested, to get in the zone, to put my Android down and stop checking Facebook from my camping chair on the 30-yard line at Holt Junior High.

I watch other dads tell their sons to “stay low” and “move those feet” and “get nasty” and “take him down” and I know if I repeat those tidbits, Bryant will look at me like my skin is green and I have a third eye because he knows I’m no sports fan, I’m a writer, and any gridiron advice I spout probably comes from Google, not my head or my heart or my experience. I may not know as much as the other dads, who have more tattoos, can throw a better spiral, and have favorite players and teams. But no one is happier when his child makes a tackle and earns a high five from the coach than I am. No one loves his kid more than I love mine.

I know the benefits of athletics, of participating in team sports, of stretching and conditioning and exercising by playing football on a brisk, sunny morning. I know what it does for self-esteem and coordination, and what it teaches about dedication and being part of something bigger and working together to achieve shared goals. I also know how beautiful it is when coaches, parents, sisters, brothers, grandparents and friends provide direction and support from the sidelines. It’s breathtaking to watch hundreds of children in matching yellow jerseys overtaking the junior high school football field under a blue sky, doing jumping jacks and pushups in unison, counting out loud as one, preparing to play hard, and being cheered and consoled and encouraged and loved.

Bryant was offsides? So what? He’s just a kid. Wanna make something of it, bub?

I’ve already got some of it down – the “get nasty” part, that is.