So today I gotta tell ya ’bout this whole Archbishop Carroll High School football shindig, yeah? Remember that crazy idea I had last month ’bout volunteering to help with their team? Well, buckle up ’cause it actually happened, an’ man, it was somethin’ else.
How It Started & The Gear Mess
First thing Tuesday mornin’, I drag my lazy butt outta bed way before sunrise. Got this stupid excited feelin’, like a kid on Christmas, ya know? Packed my bag with old cleats I found buried in the garage – covered in dust like some ancient relic. Figured, hey, maybe they still fit? Spoiler: they did not. Feet felt like squeezed sausages by noon.
Rolled up to the school field, coffee in hand, feelin’ kinda important. Coach Mike – big dude, looks like he chews rocks for breakfast – waves me over. “You the new helping hand? Great. See those bags?” He points at a mountain of gear near the bleachers. Looked like a tornado hit a sporting goods store. “Need that sorted. Cones here, pads there, balls over yonder. Water bottles gotta be filled.”
Spent the next hour wrestlin’ with equipment bags tougher than a junk yard dog. Got tangled up in shoulder pad straps, tripped over a rogue helmet, an’ spilled half a water jug tryin’ to figure out their funky hose thingy. Felt like pure slapstick comedy.
Running Drills & Teenage Tumbleweeds
Finally, the kids start tricklin’ in. Buncha teenagers lookin’ more awake than I felt, honestly. Coach Mike throws me a whistle. “Alright, get these young bucks warmed up. Basic agility stuff – ladder drills, then some light contact.” My brain kinda froze. Warm up? Contact? My last workout was fightin’ the garage door open last week.
Tried blowin’ the whistle. Sounded pathetic, like a sick duck. Cleared my throat, tried again. Still pitiful. Kids started snickerin’. Great start. Ended up just shoutin’ orders like a drill sergeant gone hoarse.
Started the ladder drills. Tried demonstrating – stepped wrong, tripped myself up, and nearly ate turf in front of 25 teenagers. Faceplant avoided by sheer luck. Heard snorts. Definitely heard snorts. Just kept yellin’, “Feet quick! Light on your toes!” like I knew what I was doin’. Felt like a total fraud.
The Water Bottle Situation
After drills, felt like we walked fifty miles. Kids were sweatin’ buckets. Thought I’d earned a break. Nope.
Coach Mike barks, “Water duty! Keep ’em hydrated!” Suddenly became the Water Bottle Whisperer. Ran back an’ forth like a headless chicken. Kids gulpin’ down water faster than I could fill ’em. Spilled more water on myself than got into their bottles. Sneakers squished with every step.
One kid, gotta be the quarterback or somethin’, kept shoutin’, “Hey mister! Need water over here! Thirsty mister!” Felt like a servant in some weird football fiefdom. My coffee buzz wore off real quick.
The “Scrimmage” & Unexpected Tackle
Next part, Coach Mike wants a “controlled” scrimmage. Tells me to “watch the sideline, keep kids back.” Sounds simple enough, right?
Wrong. Some receiver dude breaks free, headed right towards the sideline where I’m standin’. Kid flyin’ full tilt. Ball’s overthrown, but he’s comin’ at me like a missile, eyes locked on the sky. Doesn’t see me. I freeze like a deer.
BAM! Kid barrels straight into me. Knocks the wind clean out. We go down in a heap of tangled limbs, awkward grunts, and teen embarrassment. Felt my dusty cleats pointin’ straight at the clouds. Whole team went silent for a second, then erupted in laughter. Coach Mike barely hid his smirk. Helped the kid up, patted his shoulder. “Good effort… uh… target practice?” Kid just mumbled, “Sorry mister,” beet red. I could feel bruises startin’ to form already.
Clean-Up & Reality Check
After practice? More gear wrangling. Somehow, all those cones got scattered to the four winds, pads were tossed in a heap like dirty laundry, and water bottles were abandoned everywhere. Took forever to shove everything back into those impossible bags. Back hurt, feet killin’ me.
Coach Mike claps me on the shoulder. “You survived! Come back tomorrow?” He’s beamin’. All I can muster is a weak thumbs-up. My voice was gone from shoutin’, my legs felt like jelly, and my whole body ached like I got run over by a truck. Twice.
Staggered back to my car, feelin’ ten years older. Learned a big lesson: football ain’t just whistles and touchdowns. It’s mostly sweat, spills, and sideline surprises. Brutal. But honestly? Lookin’ forward to doin’ it all again tomorrow. Those kids… crazy bunch. Maybe this old body’s got a few more tackles left in it. Or maybe I’m just nuts.