sl.blog

We put the pads on last night. Made me recollect the 1970s, when I last strapped on any such gear. As a third-grader, I remember the trip to Leer, Desmond, and Leonard (the latter being of the “boom baby” Slick Leonard fame) to get fitted for my first days of football. I was a puny sort.

Today, middle age has left me thicker. While I squeeze into snug undergarments I wonder about the percentages of a gym verses beer body. I figure I’ve got about 62 percent body fat, but I’ve never been tested. I sweat like a son of a gun just getting the belt through the loops, and wonder if I should be taking an aerobics class. The pads don’t seem to correspond with the pants, so I’ve got one for the butt, though my hips are open to harm.

At practice, I’m anxious to take a hit. Catch a pass and get planted. Walk back to the huddle after someone’s best Jack Tatum impersonation, and see if muscle memory serves me. It never really comes on the first night. After stretching and warm-up routes (which always leave me pretty tired), we go into the scrimmage where three tight ends sub in every three plays. Surprisingly, I’m at the bottom of that depth chart. I did run one “nine route” and an unseen linebacker knocked me back to the line of scrimmage. I land on my ass, protected by that single pad.

Sideline veterans talk about Ashante Woodyard practice hits that sent receivers home for good. Last year Ashante, a former Purdue defensive back, apparently dropped Laszlo Nanassy something awful. Laszlo is a young Hungarian working in a research lab at Purdue who reportedly made his way to the sidelines like a punch-drunk fighter. But he returned, and the hit he took has become part of his persona.

We’ll fire up again next Tuesday and Thursday. I’ve got a facemask which I hate because a bar comes down right between my eyes. It makes me want to look cross-eyed at it, and I’m thinking I need an unobstructed view in case any balls fly my way. Maybe I’ll take my hit next week. I’ll keep you posted at the Bill Blog next Friday.