Stuff That I Have Noticed #57: Good Pain

• Posted on 6th August 2022
• in celebrity story, entertainment books, Whittier College Football
• by Ben

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Even though it’s been sixty-five years since I last put on the helmet and pads, around this time of year I experience intense sense memories.

The smell of the grass under my face,
Sweat running down every surface of my body,
The intense shock of hitting and being hit,
Exhaustion of wind-sprints in full pads and Southern California heat,
The camaraderie of the locker room (and the aroma).

As strange as it may seem, these are joyous memories and every man who engaged in the greatest game ever invented probably experiences these same feelings.

If you’ve never played (organized, serious) Football there is no way you can grasp the joy of these painful recollections.

In my sophomore season as number three fullback on George Allen’s (yes, that George Allen) Whittier College “Poets” I took multiple beatings three or four times a week.

Excerpt from Volume I, Three Stages:
I got to be the [defensive end] blocking dummy for the first and second strings in practice. [as they ran and reran an end sweep]. At least I proved that I wasn’t gutless by time and again being run over by a blocking back and a pulling guard in “live meat” practices. No matter how many times they knocked me on my ass I just kept coming back. And once in a while I fended them off and made the tackle.

Coach would yell encouragement: “Hang in there, Bryant… (Coaches rarely call you by your first name.) “You can get ‘em” etc. as I dragged myself back into position for the next attempted assassination. The remarkable thing about this is that I never got injured AND I actually enjoyed it.

Pre-season practice started in late August with two-a-day drills. The temperature often hovered in the nineties and after the first two or three days we were in full pads. Exhaustion seems too weak a word to describe our condition by four in the afternoon when practice finished with wind-sprints. But we were healthy, strong young men and to show weakness or fatigue on the field was simply not done.

Those afternoon showers were long and quiet. We were too pooped for horseplay or even joking around. And eighteen hours later we did it all again.

With two seniors ahead of me at my position during that year my game time was limited to mostly fourth quarter (except for being the holder on place kicks) but when I did get in games I went all out and Coach Allen was glad that he’d recruited me.

So now, three inches shorter, thirty pounds lighter and (gulp) sixty-seven years older when I watch the Giants and Jets my imagination runs rampant. I feel as though I could have run over that tackler, blocked that blitzing linebacker or caught that pass… right in the comfort of my leather chair. Old dreams never die.

Five weeks more to wait.

Addendum:
The best running back we had that year led our conference in yards rushing. He was quick and fast (there IS a difference) and a powerful runner up the middle. He tried out for the LA Rams and lasted less that one week in training camp. That’s how really good we were.

Tags: Coach George Allen