how i won multiple championships for penn state football without ever joining a football team

From ages 6-12, I was the starting running back, quarterback, linebacker, wide receiver, defensive end, cornerback, safety, kicker, punter, kick returner, and head coach for the Penn State Nittany Lions every August to January.

I would play the highest ranked teams in college football every two days in my 20 by 10 yard backyard each afternoon, and in the early mornings before school in my kitchen to living room.

Against Michigan in 1999, I led my team back from a twenty point deficit, by tossing three touch down passes to myself in the final minutes of the game to tie the score with a 1:30 to play, grass stains streaking my jeans from having to lay out full stretch to catch the game tying pass in the back of the endzone. With :35 seconds left in the game and Michigan driving to take the lead, I picked off their quarterback, Tom Brady, and return the ball to with in field goal range.

The final kick came down to an 11 year old kid as the announcers alluded to, which was the biggest kick of this young superstars career, even though he had never played a down of  pee wee football, or any organized football in his life because his mother felt it was too dangerous, and he would never be able to play because he was allergic to grass. The pressure was immense because ever since the age of three his father made him study the history of Penn State Football by watching the 1982 and 1986 national championship games, which he had on tape, and through a computer program he bought off the local ABC news station, WNEP, that he would have look at for an hour each day that went through each Penn State Football season from the late 1940's all the way up to the 1994-95 season, which was the last year included on the program. Memorizing the great players, plays, and games that had taken place before he was born, as well as going through each season and listening to the lectures of what went wrong and right for each and every season. Then taking him to games at Beaver Stadium starting at the age of 6, and every year after, since he has owned season tickets since the early 1970's and every year after even to the present day. And being quizzed on random bits of information to make sure he had taken in, and retained this sacred knowledge, and information. This kid, this kicker with the weight of my families, as well as every Penn State fans hopes and dreams on my shoulders, was me.

In my family, Northeast, and Central Pennsylvania, Penn State Football is a way of life. Penn State Football is the dominate conversation for every family function no matter if it's March, August, October, or the end of January.

The most important moment in my eleven year old life came down to this. And I missed the first attempted, except miraculously Michigan called a time out to freeze me to make me miss, but oh did that backfire. Because on the second attempt: the snap was good. The hold was down. The kick was up, and good, right down the middle, over the two clotheslines hanging across the middle of my parents' backyard, which sent the imaginary Penn State fans into a state of wild delirium because Penn State was now into the national title game against the number #1 ranked Florida State Seminoles, which would be held in the same backyard three weeks later, that would be covered in 8 inches of snow.

Needless to say Penn State repeated as national champions for the fifth year in a row, after blowing out Florida state 45-16 in the snow bowl, with myself getting, the special teams, offensive, defensive, and most valuable player of the game, but sadly I had to miss the trophy presentation ceremony, gatorade shower, and post-game interviews, because it was already dark, and my mom had called me in five minutes earlier to wash up and get out of my ski pants, boots, gloves,and winter jacket, because dinner was on the table, and, "you know how your father is: when dinner is ready, you better be there or there's hell to pay." There were no congratulations or pats on the back because he never did get to see the greatness of the accomplishment where for once in my life I was able to succeed.

Beat Up By A Three Year Old While Sitting On A Park Bench

Sitting on a bench, next to a three year old boy holding a kleenex box, and his mom who is wearing a green subway polo shirt.

The three year old boy has short brown hair that looks like a freshly mowed lawn hugging his skull.

He looks at me with his big brown eyes that match his hair, smiles, puts the kleenex box down on the green painted meshed metal, then hides behind his hands, peeks out, laughs, and hides again.

I put my hands up, and do the same.

Playing peek-a-boo.

We keep exchanging hiding for showing, and laugh the entire time, as his mother watches us through circular framed glasses.

He stops.

I stop.

He picks up the kleenex box with his tiny pink fingers, rolls along the bench, and places the kleenex box on my lap.

He remains right next to me.

Along my side.

Touching me.

In the fetal position.

Covering his head with his arms, in a puffy navy blue and black winter coat.

Staring straight down.

I pick the kleenex box up, and put it on his back.

His mother laughs.

He comes out of his cocoon like a mummy emerging from a sarcophagus in a 1950's b-horror film.

Then makes a fist, and puts it through the plastic slot, and into the tissues.

He kneels so he is face level, then cocks back, and hits me with a straight right to the nose.

He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, before his mother screams, "Johnny! That wasn't very nice! Say you're sorry." Her face scrunched up the entire time.

He looks at his mother.

His face droops, which looks like a hound-dog puppy that just got hit on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.

I start laughing back at him, which creates a smile.

I wave my hand at his mother, and through the laughs tell her, "It's okay. It's okay."

I repeat myself twice to reassure her.

I don't know if it worked, but whatever.

My nose was a little sore, but it didn't matter.

Everything felt like it was in it's right place.

I see myself opening up a booth on the street in a year where I paint a red and white target on my face, place my chin on the counter, and let little kids punch me with kleenex boxes for free.