Earlier today, the 2009 Toilet Bowl was great fun. More to come on that later.
For now, I'd like to discuss one particularly amusing aspect of how we play: kicking the ball at the line of scrimmage. Oh, how much fun it is, and oh, how the ethics around it have changed.
I think the general rule of pickup-style, schoolyard football games at pretty much any age level is that when a play is over, the following things occur: The ball is placed wherever the receiver was down; the offense takes a huddle several yards away; and the defense waits and can approach where the ball is -- the line of scrimmage -- but not pass it.
For obvious reasons, the line of scrimmage is a vitally important part of the game. It determines how far the offense must go to attain a first down and/or score a touchdown, which is the offense's primary goal.
Let me back up for a second. All schoolyard games, be it Stickball, Kill the Man With the Ball, Asses Up, even Boot Tag are played within certain clearly defined rules. But at the same time, part of the enjoyment of these games is in the gray areas. Basically, anytime you can take even a slight advantage, you do. It's not so much cheating as it is a requirement to do everything you can to give yourself or your team an edge – but without breaking any rules outright. For example, in Stickball, the fair/foul lines were often determined by some agreed-upon object (a pole, something painted on the pavement, a fat kid). If the batter hit the ball in such a way that it was not perfectly clear whether it was fair or foul, the batter would naturally argue that it was fair while the pitcher argued foul. As the batter, it didn't matter if you saw that the ball sailed just a bit foul (“IT WAS SLICING!”) -- if it was close enough for you to claim that it was fair, you did. Arguments would ensue; you'd win some, lose some, whatever. The point is: Without actual referees managing the games, there are plenty of moments where you could give yourself that slight edge and in those cases, you would (or at least try) -- because who's gonna call you on it? And if the other guy/team does, what are they gonna do, fine you? Schoolyard games are very Darwinian in that sense: If you're not on top of your shit – paying very close attention -- you're gonna get fucked.
Now I’ll get back to my earlier issue. In the case of Toilet Bowl-style football, one particular rule (the line of scrimmage) is of huge importance, as I described above, yet falls directly into the gray area I also described above, but a little lower.
Back in the day, when we was kids an’ all, when the offense huddled and the ball was placed at its determined point, the defensive players would try their hardest to be very subtle about nudging the ball back. A few inches here, maybe a foot or two if you were lucky. But this was a very delicate operation. If someone on the offense caught you doing it, you would sheepishly move the ball back to its original, proper position. Ethics, right? But if you were caught again, things could escalate – the line of scrimmage was treated very seriously.
Anyhow (thanks, Chuck, now I’m doing it), while discreetly shifting the line of scrimmage in your favor was a known part of the game, the onus was on the defense to be honest about it – or at least try to hide it as best you could.
But now that we’re older, the tables have turned. And not, shockingly, in favor of the game’s integrity.
As today’s Toilet Bowl made quite clear, the defense (on nearly every play) will nudge, shove, or just plain kick the ball as far back from the true line of scrimmage as it can until someone on the offense takes the initiative and replaces it. It’s not subtle anymore. No need to hide it. The offense knows you’re gonna do it; it’s more a test of will. How much will the offense put up with?
And it’s fun. Sometimes you kick it hard enough that it actually hits the huddle. The defense laughs – the kind of laughter like after someone farts. (Hey, farts are always funny. Argue against that, shitsteak, I dare you.)
But anyway, it’s weird how things have changed. Maybe we’re jaded or something in our age, but the integrity of the line of scrimmage and the unwritten rule that if you moved the ball back while the offense wasn’t looking you at least had to be sneaky – that’s over. It has transformed into its opposite. No longer must the defense be careful; the responsibility now lies with the offense.
And yet… there are still those times where you really do try to hide it from the offense. And when you do it right – when you move that ball back a few feet without them noticing -- it feels AWESOME. Who knows how many times today the offense wound up just short of a first down or the goal line because a cunning defender deftly pushed the ball back just that much. I can think of one time that I did, and damned if that isn’t my favorite moment of the day.
It’s an evolving thing, this schoolyard sport/activity/tradition thing we do. Things once respected no longer are. Best not think too deep on such ethically challenging questions as this, though. It's just a game, right? And as a wise man once said, “All in the game, yo. All in the game.”
To be read in the voice of that guy who did the voice-over on The Wonder Years. Minor liberties have been taken with the facts, but they are all true to the heart of the story. Please hit play on the video below to put you in the proper frame of mind.
Teaneck, New Jersey. Sunday, December 23, 2007.
The rain whipped the cracked, leaf-covered driveway. I looked out from our living-room window. Little daggers of water were spearing the ground relentlessly, bouncing off the pavement like hot oil sizzling in the frying pan.
"No chance." I said to my brother, MMG, flatly.
"I think you'll be surprised," he replied evenly, ever confident in his skills, which include both the power to forecast (and affect) the weather on hope alone and the ability to summon six other people telepathically.
As we hurried to the car, the rain somehow seemed to pick up, daring us to continue with this fool's errand, mocking our efforts to preserve not only a 20-year-old tradition, but a piece of our youth. A piece of ourselves.
"There is just no way anyone is going to be there," I said. "I mean, do you really think Andy B is even allowed out of the house in this weather? And Open Bar? It's not even 10 o'clock -- I'm not sure he's even gone to bed yet."
"I really think you'll be surprised," he replied -- still evenly, but with (maybe?) the slightest trace of uncertainty.
There were few other cars on the roads. Doubtless they were last-minute holiday shoppers cursing the weather, and perhaps themselves for waiting until December 23rd to make those final Christmas purchases.
Fortunately, we were not in that boat. Rather, we headed out to fulfill a tradition of many years. Every Christmas Eve, we played football -- a game we brilliantly titled the Toilet Bowl. As kids, we played full-tackle. Now, a bit older, we play (rough) touch. But it's the tradition that counts. No matter the weather.
As we turned the corner onto Windsor Road, approaching from the South, I glanced West. We used to go sledding down that big, sloping hill (though it seemed rather small today). Straight ahead we could see a few people standing in the parking lot at Benjamin Franklin (BF) Middle School. For a brief moment I wondered if we would have to find another spot, or if we would have to share the field with others. Curiously, it was not until we got even closer that I realized these were our people, our friends -- laughing at the rain, the hour, and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation -- who had come for the same reason we were there: to have fun, and to be 8 years old again, even just for a few hours.
Almost everyone who said they would be there was there. Walt Clyde was there, and his brother, Beer-on-the-Girl. Open Bar was present, accounted for, and wide awake. Chuck had driven all the way out from Queens. And Andy B was there, wearing six pairs of gloves, two sweatshirts, and insisting that he not be tackled.
As we started tossing the football around the parking lot, we laughed about the condition of the field, all of us wondering if we could make a game of it. Someone (Open Bar) complained that there was no beer. (Which was reasonable, considering that at the previous year's Toilet Bowl, a 30-pack of Miller Lite eased the pregame/halftime/postgame conversation.)
We walked the short distance from the parking lot to the North playing field. (BF has two fields, a North and a South and, for some reason, we've always played on the North field). At this point, it was Open Bar, Chuck, MMG, Walt Clyde, Beer-on-the-Girl, Andy B, and myself.
The field was a mess. Pools of standing water, patches of ice, all of it surrounded by and filled with slippery, slush-like mud. Basically, swamp-like conditions. Even the few who were smart enough to wear cleats could barely get any traction; those of us in sneakers could barely stand upright for more than a few steps. It didn’t matter. Or maybe it did. But probably, it was better this way.
We "borrowed" a few cones from a public-works truck parked nearby and sketched out two end zones and sidelines. Same rules as always: First-down marker at the midpoint of the field, no hand-offs, one blitz per four downs, five-mississippi before you can rush the QB. (Or was it seven?)
We chose up sides as we always do: the 1978 birthdays versus everyone else. Someone from had to play permanent-QB to keep the teams even, as there were only three 1978s and four non-1978s. But as fate would have it, just as the first drive got underway, Diesal D -- a proper 1978-er -- arrived (along with Danny G, who was carrying a small bag with an even smaller dog inside. Seriously.). Danny G took care of Gia (the dog), and Diesal joined our team, making it a true 1978-team against MMG, Andy B, Walt Clyde and Beer-on-the-Girl. For the 20th (or 21st? 22nd? 19th?) year in a row -- without ever missing a year -- on the day (or two) before Christmas, we all gathered in Teaneck for a few hours on a Saturday or Sunday morning.
The Toilet Bowl was underway.
The game itself proved to be quite a matchup. We (the 1978s) scored early and often, but the non-1978'ers hung in. But after consecutive interceptions by Open Bar, Diesal, and myself -- and, on offense, Diesal conjuring a Super Bowl XXI Phil Simms, as he relentlessly picked apart the non-1978 secondary, aided by the elusive receiving abilities of Chuck -- we began to pull away.
The non-1978s battled back, though, coming within a score or two of tying up the game. With third down and a long field to go, MMG dropped back to pass, looking for Walt Clyde deep. I was covering Walt Clyde on this particular play, and he flat-out burned me. The combination of his speed, my lack thereof, and the poor field conditions were no match; I had blown the coverage, and Walt Clyde was wide open. MMG heaved the ball deep, way too far over my head for me to do anything but watch Walt Clyde score. Then, just as Walt Clyde was about to haul the ball in for the touchdown, he lost the handle, and the ball fluttered to the soggy turf below. Rather than stopping, however, Walt Clyde just kept running. He never broke stride to curse his hands, or the weather, or the slippery ball that eluded his grasp . . . He just ran North along the tree-lined field, farther and farther out of view. It was hilarious.
On seeing that, we all agreed: Halftime. After a short break for water, wringing out our socks, and (in a few cases) a smoke, we reconvened. (But without Walt Clyde who, it may as well be said, had continued running all the way back to his home in South Jersey. Just kidding, Walt Clyde was forced to leave, much to his chagrin, as he had left it all out there on the field.)
Upon restarting, the 1978 squad continued to dominate (with Diesal now serving as all-purpose QB for both sides). As the 1 p.m. Giants kickoff drew closer, and our mud-soaked clothes beginning to weigh us down, both teams drove up and down the field, scoring on some hilariously executed plays. (Stunningly, the 1978s executed the Holy Grail of the schoolyard/pickup-football game: a double-reverse flea-flicker touchdown pass. Yes, dear reader, anything can happen.)
Naturally, a game like this delivered the funny, too. At one point, Diesal found the Brett Favre inside him and hurled a pass so amazingly fast that Andy B didn't even notice that it passed within 6 inches of his head. Had the pass fluttered a little bit to the right, this post would be an "R.I.P. Andy B's face," rather than this delightful retelling. (Oh, and at a different point, Andy B just missed a reception, slipped, and then -- before even hitting the muddy field below -- let out one of those classic screeches you only hear when one is in real fear. Seriously, he yelled before he even hit the ground. Sweet.)
About 20 minutes into the second half, on a seemingly innocuous play, Diesal dropped back and spotted Open Bar running down the left (East) sideline -- with a step on MMG. Diesal tossed a picture-perfect spiral that (would make Eli Manning cream in his shorts) seemed to hang in the air for an eternity . . . from Bryant School, to Lowell Elementary School, to our days at BF . . . The ball hung in the air and landed in Open Bar's waiting arms. A perfect pass and catch. Montana to Rice.
Open Bar never broke stride, but MMG was too close to give up. He pursued, Open Bar fled . . . Two grown men, sprinting after a youth spent playing football with friends. Open Bar neared the end zone, but didn't slow down, for MMG hadn't slowed his pursuit. Open Bar looked back, spotted MMG a few feet behind, and, with the widest shit-eating grin you'll ever see, flipped MMG the bird, and and continued running into the end zone for the score. MMG continued to pursue, wanting that final tackle, but Open Bar stayed just a few strides ahead.
The chase extended beyond the end zone. About 15 yards after the touchdown was clear and both men were well off the field of play -- but still running full-steam -- Open Bar (who was wearing cleats) came to a dead-stop, stepping just a smidge to his left. MMG (who was also wearing cleats) streaked past Open Bar and made one final bid to even the score. He slid into the mud, attempting to wipe Open Bar's feet out from under him. However, he missed, badly, winding up about 10 feet past his target. His slide through the mud, though, was tremendous.
There was Open Bar, holding the football in glory, while his pursuer dealt with the massive amount of new mud his clothes had just acquired.
Back on the field, Diesal, Beer-on-the-Girl, Andy B, Chuck, and I collapsed in laughter. Not only at the site of MMG on the ground (he claimed it was an intentional dive), but at Open Bar still flipping the bird. However old we all are now, in that moment, we were all just kids. Football, lots of mud, someone falling, a middle finger.
Soon after, we sat at the bar at Vinny O's, devouring sliders and hot wings and pitchers of sweet, sweet lager. Our legs were numb, but we all knew of the inevitable soreness to come -- something we never had to worry about years ago.
The cold rain from earlier in the morning had stopped. In spite of the conditions, we had played. Against the odds, we had met up once again to fulfill a tradition.
It used to be we would meet up in my basement after the game to play some Nintendo. Twenty years later, we simply moved over to Vinny O's to drink together. The camaraderie was still the same. And as every pitcher was emptied and drunk, the brotherhood was refilled and restored.
..."Let's not start sucking each other's dicks just yet."
What to think about the Giants' victory? Side Bar put it very well earlier (and read his post below, plus his excellent State of the Mets post before that), but my strongest reaction to tonight's game is...
How the fuck did this happen?
Earlier this year, I was fairly certain the Giants would suck. And by "suck," I don't just mean Godfather III suckage. I was thinking more like Showgirls. Going 0-16 was totally reasonable to me. Hey, we'd get the first draft pick, right?
But then the season started. After the first two games -- which, deserves to be noted, were losses to the now-defeated Cowboys and the next-up Packers -- I felt vindicated. Game three revealed a new side to the G-men, in a quality win against the Redskins. Following that, Big Blue ripped five more victories. Halfway through the season, we were 6-2. Not bad, right? Unless you remember that we were 6-2 in 2006 and 2005. This year, a second-half collapse not only seemed inevitable, it seemed justified. This team just wasn't good enough to merit any optimism.
I'm not sure how, but by the end of the regular season, the Giants were 10-6 and in the playoffs. I still refused to believe the team was any good. A mere matter of strength of schedule, I thought. The Giants beat up on some crappy teams, but against a talented foe, they were hopeless. Late-season losses to the Vikings and the rejuvenated Redskins seemed to confirm this.
Thankfully, 3 of the 4 writers of this venerable blog decided to do something about it. On December 23, 2007, we played the Toilet Bowl. A marvelous competition of the highest order. Fun was had by all. (And, I ask again, where the hell is the write-up of that game, dammit?!)
Following that, we headed over to Vinny O's to nurse our wounds and drink ourselves silly. But most importantly, we went to support the Giants as they entered the freezing atmosphere of Buffalo. The previous week's game gave no indication that these footballers would step up. But goddammit, we went there to drink our support in pitchers!
That Sunday afternoon, after we had given all we had on the Benjamin Franklin Middle School North Field, the Giants gave all they had on that field in Buffalo. Suddenly, Eli Manning remembered how to pass. Corey Webster finally lived up to the promise he showed me when he played for the national-champion LSU Tigers in 2003. And a newcomer named Ahmad Bradshaw ran for 150+ yards.
The Giants left Buffalo with a new confidence. On behalf of the staff of Where's Luke?, I would like to extend a huge "You're Welcome!" Clearly, after all, we inspired that performance.
Since then, the G-men have played their best football since, I dunno, 2000? When they went to the Super Bowl? I think so.
These last few games have been awesome. In particular, the victory over the Cowboys. I haven't had a moment of sports elation like that in a long time. It was typical of the games the Giants have lost, year after year. Up until R.W. McQuarters' (incredibly awesome) interception of Romo's pass in the end zone, I was 100 percent certain they would lose. I was happily, oh so happily, proven wrong.
But!
Remember what the Wolf said. Remember that this team still isn't that good. The secondary is hanging by a thread. No Shockey. Plaxico's ankle is about as solid as the housing market. And Eli could very easily regress.
I will head into the Packers game the same way I have the past few weeks. I don't think they're gonna win, and for good reason. But there's a certain element of luck involved in any postseason. Any team can get hot, and ride that hot streak to a championship. But don't forget -- even if we beat the Packers, who will be waiting in the Super Bowl?
P.S.: I feel obligated to give Tom Coughlin a little credit for something. The last few years, bullshit penalties have not only killed the Giants, but it flew in the face of the conventional wisdom of Coughlin as a disciplinarian. However, tonight, the Giants were penalized 3 times for 25 yards, while the Cowboys were 11-84. This year, the penalties were not the problem that they were during the past few seasons. It's fairly obvious to point out that if you don't commit dumb mistakes, you'll do better. But people rarely give proper credit when something doesn't happen, and this year the Giants have played a much more disciplined game. That's definitely one reason they've improved, and -- even though I still don't like him much -- credit is due. Tom Coughlin, well done.
Cousin It had a nasty splitter.