Log: Football's the Game - September 16, 2004

Garfield Park (Lower West Side)

The wandering streets turn in on themselves here, curling about until they meet their ends again like a series of concentric Ouroboroi. The asphalt circles are rimmed with older homes on small lots, most of the cars parked out of the way on driveways. It's a family neighborhood; kids playing in the streets are a common sight after school, while their working parents deal with the all-too common commute to San Jose and beyond.

It's not only homes here. At the center of the circles is the Garfield Park Community Church, while the park the area is actually named for breaks the continuity of the curves to the west. There's even an old mom-and-pop general store, though it doesn't stay open late enough to cater to those out hunting a midnight snack.

Contents: Jimmy

For a moment, there is a thin heat-haze hovering in the air over part of the field -- unusual, for April in Santa Cruz. Something flutters through it (a dragonfly, perhaps?), and it fades away, leaving behind the inexplicable urge to burst into song...

On this balmly spring day at Garfield Park, the sport of choice is, for lack of a differently-shaped ball, touch football. Jimmy plays center; he's twelve, but he looks down on some fourteen-year-olds. That, and he tends not to bitch when he gets trampled -- of course, he tends not to get hurt for long, either. So it is that he's crouched down at the midpoint of the scrimmage line, the quarterback behind him calling out to the other players, "Ed, Sal, right flank! Amanda, straight up! Right! Ready! Hut, Hut, Hike!"

Jimmy grins, snaps the ball, and echoes, "Right, Ready! Hut, Hut, Hike!" The boy pumps his legs into the ground in time, and crunches into the linebacker opposite him. There's the usual flail of arms and hands between them, and the movements seem to fall into the beat, as well. Jimmy grins again, and semi-sings, "Right, Ready! Hut, Hut, Hike!"

The lines collapse on eachother, there is a terrific, unified grunt, and as the players step back into their positions, a faint percussion sequence comes across the grass. Jimmy shifts back and forth to the distant beat, mouthing nonsense syllables to go with it. The quarterback shouts, "Right? Ready! Hut hut hike!" The ball snaps just as the brass cuts in -- is there a marching band practicing just over the hill? And of course, Jimmy starts singing.

"Grass all churned up by cleats and boots,
jerseys and socks soaked through with sweat,
the sun beats down and the wind is hot,
football's the game today, huagh!"

The lines crash together at the end; the offense gains perhaps a yard.

As the lines reform, players shout and laugh, pointing at eachother and slapping eachother's butts. Jimmy strolls back through to his place, giving a nod and grin to his fellow players as he goes on,

"Who needs teams when you've got some friends,
short, wide, fit or with a little fat.
Line 'em up and throw in the ball,
football's the game today, hah!"

He plants his feet back in the midpoint of the line; he gets a few odd looks, but that's usual for Jimmy. A particularly round player opposite him looks slightly offended at the 'little fat' comment, and digs in, ready for the snap.

There's a convenient instrumental interlude while the play gets called; Jimmy is handed the ball, and he exchanges it hand-to-hand, his fingers on the pigskin drumming out the beat. "Hike!" shouts the quarterback, cueing in the next verse. The ball flies, and Jimmy hunches down and then up into the incoming defensive lineman, who trips up and goes sprawling.

"Football's the game where you hold the line,
fail or success played out by the yard.
Shout out the play, dig in and push,
football's the game today!"

The ball sails past Jimmy, who lunges forward over his downed opponent, pumping legs to catch another defensive player before they can tackle the receiver already putting his arms out for the ball.

"Some might say it's a game like chess,
others can claim it's no more than grunts.
It's less and it's more, it's formalized war,
football's the game today! Haraugh!"

The boy leaps forward and staggers the defense man; the receiver's open, but the ball fumbles out of his grasp.

"And then..." Jimmy sings as the music shifts from celebratory to melancholy. He takes the few steps further to pat the butterfingered receiver on the back.

"The ball hits the ground...
and it's the fourth down...
and you're getting pound...
dead."

He tips his head to the side, beckoning the receiver to walk with him back to the scrimmage line. The defense man obliges, giving Jimmy an odd look as he plays Frank Sinatra.

"That's when it's time...
to keep in your mind...
that a dropped ball...
means nothing at all..."

They reach the line, turn and squat.

"We just switch sides...
like the turning of tides...
and the game, it abides...
because now..."

The opposing quarterback shouts, cutting into the lyrics, and the music picks up again to celebratory.

"Let's grind that damn team into the grass,
let's give it our all unto the last,
let's go and sack that QB's ass,
cause football's the game today! Hah!"

The lines fall on one another again, with a satisfying punctuated crunch.

There are laughs now, the dumbfounded silence broken by the kid cursing in tune. The scrimmage line doesn't move, and the lines reform once more. Jimmy gets a slap on the back, although whether it's for the play or the singing is anyone's guess.

"Is it a game of brains or a game of guts,
if you really care, you're completely nuts.
The burn in your legs, the slap of the ball,
football's the game today, huraugh!"

The boy sidesteps the slightly-tubby opposite center, and then sideswipes him onto the ground. As his feet pound across the grass, trumpets echo his steps in escalating crescendo. He reaches forward and slaps both hands on the backpedalling quarterback; he's sacked, and trips over his own feet onto the ground.

"Football's a game of friends and sport,
your heart pumps hard and your breath gets short.
Don't play to win, play for sheer joy,
football's the game today! Hah!"

The kid grins, and puts a hand down to help the stumbled-over quarterback onto his feet.

The players slowly meander back to the scrimmage line, the odd looks getting odder as Jimmy keeps up the verses. One particularly hesitant man coughs and calls time out, begging off that he needs a drink of water. A few others agree, and the game is put on pause while a delegation heads for the water fountain. Jimmy waves cheerily as they head off, and lets himself collapse into a pile in the grass. The music slows slightly, dying down as the song wraps.

"Grass all churned up by cleats and boots,"

he reprises,

"jerseys and socks soaked through with sweat.
The sun dips down and the park gets dark...
football's the game today."

Instead of a grunt, the boy pulls a tuft of grass out of the ground. He fiddles with the shoots for a little while, and then flicks them away so they can trail off on the wind.