Who Do I Think I Am??

This one's about not naming names.

Had a really interesting morning, friends.

Posted something on Facebook about the Buffalo Bills and their quarterback situation. Thought nothing of it. I post a lot of shit on FB I think little of, even if I'm the only one who has any perspective.

I will never consider myself an athlete. I had skills, but I stood out more for being a dork than being a player...that goes for baseball, hockey, basketball or football. And football was my true love.

So I make this Facebook post...

And an old friend, who was probably one of the nicest people to me back when I was 6, and taught me how to lose in the snow of his backyard when I was used to beating up on my bigger little brother in the comfort of my tiny bedroom with a stuffed football, made a comment on that post.

I never, even after all my athletic or academic accomplishments, considered myself smart or particularily gifted. And I actually made a name (and friends) for myself in school by wrestling. My looks weren't getting me anywhere anyway.

Anyway, I had no expectations of talking about this today but I was feeling the need to throw something out there. So I am. Just dropping some memories now.

I remember tackling a kid; short and gangly like me. I caught him by the shoe, flipped him up, and that was it for him.

I threw an interception once playing QB. I chased him down, tackled him and broke his ankle in the process.

But I loved playing on Alexander Field. The Rosses lived in front of it. Sean and his friend Rich painted it up like a Dolphins field. As a Bills fan, I loved trampling over it; I did some damage there...when the kids would line up at receiver, I'd be the only one to line up at running back. Then in the huddle, I'd call for a swing pass and take it home.

I played with those guys for a long time. I was always picked last, but picked first in the next game. I played hurt. I played, because I wanted to, and for the love of the game.

The last two times I played were Thanksgiving "get-togethers" where we played. I tore my ankle pretty good, and the next year I was so caught up in my past talent that I lined up in the backfield and got crushed at the goalline, getting the wind knocked out of myself when a much bigger d-lineman stuffed me and I landed on the ball with my ribs. That signaled the end for me, even if I still want to try. Even if I can still throw a decent spiral outside 542. Even if I can block a shot still when I have a conversation with someone I used to date about hockey.

And I'm appreciative...but I'm ready for a nap. People actually text and Facebook me outside of here. So the hell with it... GOODNIGHT NOW!!