When I was about 9 years old, I was the quarterback for the "ponies" team, the youngest branch of Kittatinny Midget Football.  It was my first year playing organized football, and for some reason the higher-ups thought it would be a good idea to make me the quarterback.  This happens to be the precise reason I no longer play football.  Being the quarterback puts too much pressure on a single person, especially a self-conscious little 70-pound child.  Our coach Darren (who dipped and whose breath smelled like feces as a result) liked to introduce new plays in the middle of the game.  We would practice certain plays all week at practice, but then sometimes he'd throw something in during the game that would otherwise be easy, but wound up being a huge failure because I knew nothing about football.  So on one fateful Sunday afternoon, we tried the Statue of Liberty play.  The idea was for me to get the ball and pretend I was going to pass it.  As I stood in the passing position, the running back was supposed to grab the ball out of my hand and run with it.  The defense would be thrown off because it looked like a pass but was actually a run.  Me in a statue-like stance:  Statue of Liberty.  Brilliant. 

I tend to follow directions pretty well.  When I'm told to do something, I usually do it.  Or at least that's what I did when I was 9.  I trusted the people who told me to do things, and I trusted the people on my football team.  So I thought hey, I'll do my part, other people will do their part, and it'll all be good. 

We exited the huddle.  I approached the center.  I got the snap.  I took a few steps back and entered the passing position.  And I waited.  And I waited some more.  I saw a defensive guy running towards me.  I figured heh.  This guy has no idea what's happening.  He'll try to get me but then be totally faked out.  So I waited some more.  And then the moment arrived.  My opponent crushed my frail little body into the hard turf, causing me to fumble the ball and give up on life. 

Pretend you're holding a football as if you were throwing a pass.  You're standing up straight with one arm behind your head.  Your other arm might be slightly away from your body as leverage.  It turns out that you're pretty vulnerable.  So when this bigger 9-year-old hit me, he hit me.  I probably cried because that's what you do when you're 9. 

After the game (and still to this day), my dad asked, "Why didn't you move when you saw the guy running at you?"  My answer:  That wasn't part of the play.  Nowhere in Darren's 30-second explanation did he say to evade a defender if under attack.  I was told that someone would take the ball from my hand.  I did my part.  What happened to that guy?  He got confused or something.  He forgot.  Oops.  Sorry, Dave.  Sorry your little ribs are broken and you have a concussion from hitting your little head on the ground so hard.  And thus another reason I don't play football anymore:  the people I was relying on for my physical well-being weren't exactly up to par in the intelligence category. #sports