Thursday, August 27, 2009
HAPPY BEAT DEFIANCE DAY to all my Naptowners out there!!! Yes, that's right, high school football kicks off tonight with the headline game (not true) being another chapter in the bitter rivalry between the Defiance Bulldogs and YOUR Napoleon Wildcats. From what I've heard, the Cats have only 33 guys out for the team from grades 9-12 so I assume that they will be horrible. But I don't really know because I don't really care. I don't mean that to sound callous because I always want my alma mater to win, but it's been over a decade since I played there and I've moved on. And that call from the athletic Hall of Fame better fucking be coming soon! I was Loan Zone player of the week once, dammit!!!
Either way, it is still a big game and it's time to crush those royal blue faggots. Fuck you and fuck your GM plant in the ass, Defiance. But thinking about high school football makes me reminisce about the days that I donned the pads. Sure, we all remember the extra point story. It was a heroic tale of good triumphing over evil. But there is another, less inspirational story that I would like to share from that season.
It was a bland mid-October night in northwest Ohio as the Wildcats were entertaining Miami Trace for Homecoming weekend. I don't really know why we played a team from southern Ohio, but we did nevertheless. So they made the trip up to NW Ohio after completely killing us the year before when we went there. And the first half of our game was awfully similar to the demolition from the year prior.
Since we didn't have locker rooms attached to the new stadium yet, we had our halftime meetings in a bus garage. It wasn't as white trash as it sounds, believe it or not. We had a few metal benches in there that the upperclassmen (such as myself) sat on while the young punks had the floor. So we're down by 3 scores or something halfway through and the coaches are quite livid with our sleepwalking performance.
Our batshit insane defensive coordinator keeps yelling for Naptown Wolverine eventhough he was on the field still with the homecoming court (who voted for that asshole anyway?) He just kept screaming his name. It was hilarious. But then the head coach stormed in in all of his jaw-cracking glory. Now, I liked our coach and truly believe that he knows his shit, but I never found him to be intimidating. So when he started yelling at us, I didn't particularly give a fuck. It just came off as forced and not scary.
Well, Coach lays into everyone for a solid 3-4 minutes, stopping only to re-crack his jaw. I wasn't really paying attention because I'm quite certain that I was dominating the line of scrimmage. But he was still ranting and raving as I felt a large amount of pressure building in my stomach. Ugh. I knew this feeling all too well. Was I about to shit my pants? Do I stop our pissed off coaching staff to tell them that I HAVE to take a dump? What if said dump goes into the third quarter? There were some big-time problems going through the body of G$ and they needed to be addressed in the worst way.
But at about minute 3 of coach's annoying words of "encouragement", I started feeling better. Although the pressure was still there, the sick feeling had subsided. But then it happened. The silence had to be broken...and broken it was.
As soon as Coach stopped screaming to allow it all to sink in for us, I dropped the biggest fart of my life. Nothing has ever come close. EVER. I am 28 years old and I still remember my greatst fart. It was the exclamation point on a horrible halftime speech. This thing lasted at least 7 seconds and was as loud as a foghorn. It was the perfect storm.
Metal bleachers + football pants + extreme gastric pressure + boring motivational speech + bus garage with good echo = AWESOME
I will never forget this. Ever. I still think about it to this day and every single time I start giggling like an idiot. I still remember Poopson and Strut, who were sitting across from me at the time that the bomb went off, laughing their asses off and trying to hide it in order to avoid being killed by someone on the staff. It was glorious. Coach never acknowledged the fart, but I like to think that he appreciated it. There is NO WAY that he didn't hear it.
We made a fierce comeback in the game but came up a bit short at the end. It didn't really matter since we made the playoffs anyway and are still the best team in school history. And while that last claim may be up for debate, one thing that is not is that I am the proud owner of the most well-timed fart in high school football history. Maybe one day I will tell you the story of "Pube Sandwich"...
N-A-P-O-L-E-O-N, Napoleon, Napoleon, NAPOLEON!!!! Go Cats!