12/02/2023
Fourth and 10
Almost 40 years ago, I was addressed individually in the huddle for the first time with specific instructions on fourth and 10 on the last drive against the best football team in Brooklyn. Our star quarterback, Eddie Bishop, singled me out at a time and place where no one else was given individual attention. I was the right guard, physically being the shortest guy in the team, and also out of place having the only punk haircut and earring underneath a football uniform in all of New York City. This appearance marked one for death in most Brooklyn neighborhoods, but I embraced an alternative identity as a reaction against 80’s conformity, yet simultaneously sought the glory offered from playing football. And gloriously, in this moment, I stood out to Eddie Bishop the star. I felt special.
My placement on the offensive line happened because I walked into the wrong room on the first day of training three years earlier. My dream of ever carrying the ball was subsequently squashed. I found different success surprisingly, as a blocker for someone else’s glory that never felt different or separated from my own. It’s what a team is and what I was fortunate to be a part of.
At this moment, Eddie demanded ex*****on. I was flattered. For years, all he had to say to me that I had a big ass, dozens of times a day. I celebrated the recognition for a split second, but not having a party though as we had a task at hand. We needed 10 yards. My job was to move horizontally on the line and smash an unsuspecting defender, that when executed correctly, meant, unearthing someone as I cleared space for the Eddie. It was my moment of glory.
The play call was a bit of a surprise. No one ever calls a running play at fourth and 10, at any level of football. Our coach was not wise. In the playoffs the previous year, on the last play of the season with the game on the line, he called a running play that was never called before and never since. You might think this means a special gadget play, like the Philly special. But no, it was a move of panic, a poor choice, a glorious ending for the other team, but not us.
When the play was called this time, we just followed orders. It was the 80s. we couldn’t control the play, but we could control how we did it. What words did Eddie Bishop use to me in that moment? It was something like, “Mo********er, you better block.” Mo********er is a Brooklyn term of endearment when used in the right tone. Like Samuel Jackson does. Eddie’s tone was not sweet. It was a demand and a call to attention to the moment and I appreciated his leadership, even if I felt simultaneously a bit scared. In times of uncertainty, clear direction is a lifeline towards action.
When the place started, I launched myself to the left, seeking the last player at the end of the line of scrimmage. What I didn’t expect is that their best defender, twice my size, who was supposed to be blocked, was not. And so 5 feet before I was supposed to hit someone else, I hit this building and was ricocheted backwards. Oddly, it was just enough space for Eddie to run behind and off he went beyond the line of scrimmage. If you look at the film, there was a linebacker waiting to hit him immediately, but maybe because the opponent never suspected a running play at 4th and 10, or maybe because the field we were on was 99% dirt and the linebacker couldn’t see through the dust, Either way, Eddie ran right by him into the secondary and got 10 yards. Our offense followed that with a game-winning drive against a team none of us thought we would ever be beat. It was our championship moment in a season in which we did not win a championship. We performed a Brooklyn miracle,
On the way off of the field, we were celebrated by hundreds of fans elated about our victory. It justified and rewarded thousands of hours of practice, like getting a standing ovation at a rock concert, or a loving glance of approval from a parent, which is not something I ever got before in my life.
I am telling the story today, because Eddie and I, and many of our teammates, are headed to Midwood field on Sunday to support fellow hornet Danny Landberg, and his attempt at five consecutive city titles, as a head coach of Erasmus Hall’s football team. One and two generations later, all of us, support youth, in a variety of ways, giving opportunity for glory, in whatever box it comes in. You only need that experience once to know how special it is, and then dedicate your life to give it to others.