Insignificant Event

Insignificant Event - By Mark Andersen

Jim Canton had come to see his son play running back in his first varsity game. He sat in the stands on that crisp October night, waiting for the game to start. While biding his time, he watched the marching band play and pom-pom girls warming up the home crowd before the game. The sights and sounds were so familiar to him that for a few moments he was transported back a generation, to a time when he played on this very field. A game that is forever burned into his consciousness even if no one else remembers the calamity that happened on the gridiron on a night eerily similar to this to this one.

He thought back to that game some twenty-five years ago, a pivotal event for his high school team that season, and for his own life. He was just a sophomore, not popular, but not an outcast either. He was one of the average teens in a school of about twelve hundred other teenagers. He played football, and as a mediocre punter, the chances of him moving to the Varsity team before his senior year were infinitesimal. Yet, he still participated in two-a-days in the summer, worked on his technique as a punter and enjoyed the camaraderie of being on a football team, even if he and the placekicker were ignored by their teammates.

The Junior Varsity team played games Friday afternoons after school. While the JV team was playing, the Varsity team would have a light practice, predominantly a stretching session, before the Friday night game, some of the skill positions would do a light workout to make sure they were sharp for that evening’s game, and it was a big game that night, East vs. their archrival, West. The city championship and a chance to go to State were on the line.

During the Varsity practice, a couple linebackers got a little aggressive when the punter was practicing, they tackled him just as he was punting the ball; they broke his leg in two places. Coach Nichols was pissed he stormed over to the adjacent field, like an infuriated hornet, where the JV team was playing.

“Al, I need a punter, who do you have for me that I can have now!” Coach Nichols said.

“Bill, I am in the middle of a game, can this wait?” Coach Nash said.

“Two chuckleheads that used to be my linebackers thought it would be funny to break my punter’s leg.” Coach Nichols said.

“Take Canton, he is my number one punter, I have a freshman backing him up so you can have him now if you really need him.” Said Coach Nash.

“Thanks, and I am sending you over a couple pinheaded linebackers, work ‘em hard for me.” Coach Nichols said.

“Canton, get yer ass over here!” Coach Nash yelled.

The young punter got up from his customary position on the bench and ran over to where the coaches were standing.

“Canton, you are moving up to Varsity, go with the Coach Nichols.”
“What about my uniform?” Jim asked.

“We ain’t got time to get you a Varsity uniform, the JV uniform is close enough and it will have to do.” Coach Nichols said.

Jim Canton had an ear-to-ear grin on his face as he ran on to the varsity field for the first time, running out with the rest of the team between the rows of cheerleaders, the cheering crowd, playing under the lights for the first time. It was an amazing feeling for him that brisk October night.

Jim watched the game from bench, as the game went back and forth; neither defense could stop the offense. It was going to be a long, high scoring game. A battle to the very end, not a punter’s game. At halftime Coach Nichols yelled and screamed, trying to motivate the team, Jim sat in the back of the locker room taking it all in, not paying attention because he knew his chances of getting in the game were slim.

Late in the fourth quarter, East’s defense stopped West’s offense; the Regents punted the ball away and the Purgolder’s got the ball their own one-yard line. The game was tied up with three minutes to go. The first play was a hand-off to the all-state fullback. The fullback exploded eleven yards and a new set of downs. First and ten on the Purgolder’s own eleven-yard line. The quarterback dropped back in the pocket and tossed a pass thirty yards down the sideline to a tall and lean wide receiver. First and ten on the forty-one, at this rate the young punter did not think his services would be needed, all the Purgolder’s needed to do was use the clock well, and then a field goal. The game would be over, without a single punt.

Then the exchange between the quarterback and the center was bobbled; it was all the quarterback could do to fall on the ball. Second and twelve yards to go, the quarterback handed the ball off to the fullback, who ran a draw up the two hole. The fullback was stuffed at the line of scrimmage, third and a long twelve to go. The quarterback got into the shotgun position,

“READY! BLUE, BLUE, 43!” Shouted the quarterback,

“SET!”

“HUT!”

The center snapped the ball; the quarterback dropped back two steps, he looked left, then he glanced to the right, out of the corner of his eye he saw the tight end break free. Just as he threw the ball a defensive end pummeled him. His pass fell five yards short.

“Canton!” yelled Coach Nichols.

Jim ran over to the coach, as he did he felt his stomach go into his throat. He was going into his first varsity game.

“Yeah Coach.” He said he said nervously.

“Canton, get in there and kick me a good punt, call max protect, we can’t afford to have this punt blocked. We need to get them pushed back so we can get this thing into overtime; GOT IT!” Coach Nichols shouted as he held Jim’s facemask.

“Got it Coach!” Jim yelled back

Jim ran onto the field and into the huddle, nervously he called out the play, “Max protect, on two.”

“READY BREAK!” Cried out the rest of the huddle.

The team lined up, Canton was lined up fourteen yards behind center; he did a quick count of men on the field. “Eleven, good.” He said to himself, he felt the bile crawl up his throat, he ran through what he needed to do in his head,

“Catch the ball, take two steps covering four yards, kick the ball, and run down field.” All the while hoping his one hundred twenty five pound frame did not have to tackle anyone.

“READY” Jim yelled out

“SET”

“HUT ONE….HUT TWO!”

The snap came to Canton, he took three steps…he immediately knew he was in the wrong position. Off balance he went made the kick, the leather hit his foot the wrong way, it went straight up, arced backwards, and fell to the earth twenty yards behind him. At that instant, he wanted to crawl off the field, hoping no one noticed what he had done. Around him was mass confusion, East players were running downfield to where the pigskin should have been, half the West players were trying to block the East players from running downfield, a lone West lineman saw where it went, he ran to the ball; picked it up, and ran it in for a touchdown.

Jim looked over to the sidelines, the coach was livid, Jim ran off the field, he tried to avoid Coach Nichols; he failed in that endeavor, “You little PRICK!” Coach Nichols yelled as he grabbed Jim’s facemask. “Get the fuck off my goddamned football field!”
Jim ran off the field, he was too disheartened to lament…he just wanted to get the hell out there. He ran to the JV locker room, he changed as quickly as he could, not even bothering to shower. His insides were tied in knots, he felt like an insignificant microscopic piece of excrement. He had let his team down, his school down and worst of all he had let himself down. If he could have crawled under the turf and pulled it over him, he would have.

Jim dreaded going back to school on Monday. He knew he was going to be taunted and teased. He was the goat; he cost East High School the city championship and a chance for the state title. He wondered if he could transfer to a different school, which was the only way he could foresee that this event would pass by.

Once at school he tried to keep a low profile, he did not go to shithead wall where he hung out. Nor did he go the cafeteria for a cinnamon roll; instead, he went to the library and hid away amongst the tomes that told of bravery and cowardice. The first bell rang and he headed to class, a class that many of his varsity teammates were enrolled in, how he dreaded going to class. When he entered he expected to be jeered and mocked, he was puzzled when he was greeted as he normally was.

Sitting in the cafeteria for lunch, he heard the discussion of several students and
players.

“Who punted for us?”

“I dunno, some freshman I guess.”

“Well, if I ever find out who he is, I am gonna kick his ass.”

“Well, he was wearing a JV jersey, and had his helmet on the whole game. No name on the jersey and I never did see his face.”

Jim decided it would be wise not to say anything, but he knew he could never go back to playing football. While the team practiced, he took his pads and uniform down to Coach Nash's office and left them there. He left a note saying that his grades were falling and he needed to work on his academics. None of his teammates questioned him about his quitting, mainly because they did not know he was on the team. He was the punter; no one paid attention to him.

Sitting in the stands now twenty-five years later, he saw a young man line up behind center; take the wrong number of steps, and have the ball go sailing behind him. The youthful punter ran off the field his head hung low, knowing that he had cost East the game. Jim leapt out of his seat, and rushed down to the locker rooms, outside he saw a teenager in pads and helmet, looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Jim walked up to him and said,

“Son, don’t worry…no one will remember what just happened.”

“Huh? What do mean?” The young punter said.

“You are the nameless punter, no one, and I mean no one, will remember your name on Monday morning.” Jim said.

“I am not sure I follow you.” Said the punter.

“Twenty-five years ago, I was on that very same field, I lost the city championship, because I did the same thing you just did. I wanted the world to swallow me. And you know what, when I did go back to school on Monday…no one knew that I was the punter.” Jim said.

The young man looked at Jim, shook his head, and said,

“Mister, I don’t know who you are, but I hope you are right Thanks.”

Jim went back up the stands and sat there, wondering how if his life would have turned out differently if he had made that punt. It was then that he realized that even if he had made the punt no one would have known he kicked the ball. He smiled to himself. They started shutting the lights off in the stadium; Jim took that as his queue to leave, he realized, that after twenty-five years, that one event, was not as important as he had thought it was, in fact he realized it was an insignificant event in his otherwise eventful life.