When I was a kid, I remember sitting in church and watching my dad sit in the pew with his bulletin flipped over and a pencil or pen in his hand. He was a football coach throughout my childhood, and he would often use the unused processor cycles of his brain to draw up football plays during the sermon. As a child, I didn’t exactly understand what he was doing for many years, but I remember being fascinated with the little circles, squares, and crosses drawn on the page, with lines running every which way. I thought my dad was a genius.
It was years later, when I finally understood what they symbols and lines represented and I concluded that my dad wasn’t really a genius. I mean, I could do what he did, no problem. My brother and I drew up hundreds of plays, some straightforward, some trick plays, and some so convoluted, that they would burn up an entire quarter of the game, just to execute them. These were clearly plays of genius, and we were destined to be the greatest offensive coordinators of all time. Our football teams would be so unstoppable, that they would have to cancel the sport as we know it and invent an all new football league consisting only of my brother’s and my team in a never-ending epic struggle for dominance. It would be the most amazing thing to happen to football, ever. Y’know, aside from Vince Lombardi, who would be revered just above us due to our extreme humility.
A few years later, we actually started to play football, and I realized that our glorious plays were impossible and that the plays my dad spent so much time drawing were likely not plays he was inventing himself, but rather refinements of existing plays he had used and seen for years, in an attempt to compete against teams that all used the same basic plays and defenses against each other.
And I realized, this didn’t make my dad any less a genius. In fact, it was these simple drawings as a child that really started my love of the sport. I didn’t understand what was happening at the games or on TV, and I preferred to delve into the dungeons of Hyrule or the castles of the Mushroom Kingdom than spend 4 hours watching people I didn’t know fight over a ball.
And yet I grew up to love football.
I thought about this at church today, and realized, my son will never have this memory. I will never be a football coach, and he will never see me draw plays that will inspire him to create a fake punt, quadruple-reverse with a flea-flicker pass to the quarterback who would play a game of keep away with every lineman as they drove down the field for a touchdown (every time, without fail). And yet, I believe my son will love the game anyway, as sons always come to love the passions of their fathers in one way or another. It gives me hope. Now if only I can ensure he’ll always be a Chiefs fan…
