My Football Trophy

 

Back in 1971, I started seventh grade at John Q. Adams Junior High. I was always a small boy for my age, one of the smallest in my class, so I never set my sight on joining my school football team.

But the next best thing was to try out for the “A” team at the local neighborhood playground. It was called Girard Playground and it was managed by Mr. Joe Francingues, a wonderful old school kinda man.

The 100 pound “A” team at Girard Playground was called the Vikings and a lot of my classmates were on that team. In addition to being small, I just didn’t have the necessary talent that some of my friends had. It hurt to have to accept this fact, but I still wanted to play.

I decided to go out for the “B” team, so I joined the Girard Jets. It was the 85 pound team and, in 1971, I was only five feet tall and weighed in at 78 pounds, so it worked. Because of my size, there were a lot of kids from the sixth grade on this team. I convinced myself that I had a mental edge because of my age and I saw myself as a leader, so I went out for the quarterback’s position.

Back in 1971, Girard Playground was really just an indoor gym with a basketball court, a big field for football, and a baseball diamond off in the corner. We didn’t have much equipment so we basically ran plays, and ran laps, for about an hour each day at practice after school. We played games on Saturdays against other teams and we won.

But the fact is that, even though my team won the championship, I never really felt good about myself because I simply didn’t make the “A” team. So, one night, I decided to break into the gymnasium uni- form room and take one of the Vikings team jerseys, which I did.

I actually wore the jersey to school the very next day. One of my friends on the Vikings team asked me why I was wearing it. I said I was on the team and he laughed at me incredulously and replied “No, you weren’t.”

Later that night after dinner, my dad received a telephone call from Mr. Joe, who told my dad that someone had broken into the gymna- sium uniform room and taken a jersey. He also told my dad that it had been reported that I was seen wearing the jersey at school that day. My dad confronted me and I admitted to stealing it. He drove me over to the gym to meet with Mr. Joe.

Mr. Joe asked me why I had stolen the jersey and I started to cry. I knew what I did was wrong, but I really just wanted to be on the “A” team.

Mr. Joe put his hands on my shoulders, looked straight into my eyes and said, “Son, just because you can wear the uniform doesn’t mean you have what it takes to make the team. You have to earn that. Stealing is wrong, son.” 

I apologized to Mr. Joe, but deep down inside I felt my apology wasn’t enough for him to totally forgive or to trust me again.

My dad was absolutely furious and totally embarrassed, and my behind paid dearly for it.

It was to be my only football trophy, a trophy to always remind me of some bigger lessons well learned. At the end of the day, the uniform doesn’t really make the person. You have to have the skills and the talent to make the team.

© 2022 Jeffrey Pipes Guice

My Wonder Years: A Book