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Jameson Crawford Angel Matos WR 13300-06 21 September 2012 High Expectations In the early days of elementary school, I always wanted to play football, but I wasn't exactly the perfect fit for the sport. Going into fourth grade I was a short, stubby, and overweight videogame enthusiastnot exactly the quintessential football player, but I guess I had the weight factor going for me. I almost never played sports on my own accord, but rather my brother always dragged me into playing backyard baseball and wiffle ball. Although forced, it was good bonding time. Out of all the sports teams my brother played on, his football team was the most talented. (except his Cal-Ripken baseball team that went to New Englands) My brother's football teams never lost a game and as the coach, my dad channeled this talent into Southern Maine Youth Football League Championship winning teams. The Crawford household was centered around football. It wasn't unusual for my mom to change the topic of discussion at the dinner table from the football team to something less mundane. Going into my first year of football, I was all caught up in meeting the high expectations of my dad and looking like an allstar to all the other players. The first day of practice was a scorcher. On top of the heat, my stomach was upset from all the feelings of uncertainty I had about football. I couldn't help but ponder what playing would actually be like; I mean I had always been a spectator at my brothers practices and games, but I had never actually put on the pads and played before. As I pulled up to the practice field, I felt a sickly stirring in my stomach. I could see all the other players forming a social circle next

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to a cluster of their pads, helmets, and water bottles. Thinking about which college football team I would talk about first, I took my time with slow strides to the field. As I approached, I recognized two guys standing off to the side of the group. One of them was my best friend and the other I had seen around the elementary school hallways a few times. After a few minutes of talking to them about the summer, one of the players exalted "Coach is here, suit up!" Not knowing what "suit up" meant, I observed the older players as they put their pads on with the eagerness of soldiers preparing to battle. I followed. Strapping on those shoulder pads for the first time was quite the task. It must've taken me all of ten minutes to tighten the last strap and fit the practice jersey over the clumsy gear. I was the last one to run over to the group of players surrounding Coach Hansen. He began naming off his playful nicknames for all of us. They were nicknames I hadn't heard before: "Nick the prick. Here. Charlie horse. Yup. Shoeless Joe Jackson. Here coach. Jameson on the rocks... Jameson on the rocks?" After a few seconds I finally realized this was me and I exclaimed "Here coach." Great I thought, I had already screwed up roll call. I was too busy contemplating the meaning of "Jameson on the rocks" to notice everyone running from where we were on the practice field to the game field. Instead of saying "Go run your two laps and line up for stretching," coach had casually said "Get out." As I caught up to the group, pacing didn't even cross my mind and I sprinted to the front of the pack. I didn't want to have my dad and the players think I was slow, but after the first lap I was already falling behind. When we turned the corner to the second lap, I began to gasp for air. I must've run another hundred yards before coming to a stop and dropping to the ground. I could barely breathe. An assistant coach jogged over to where I was and my dad followed. Once I caught my breath, they helped me stand up as if I was an elderly man who just collapsed. The

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rest of the team ran past me and a girl named Ali forced me back into the group. Ali was the only female player on the team and probably the only female player in the league. This only added to my embarrassment. She reassured me to continue on: "Come on Crawford you got this, just make it to stretches and you'll be ready to go." I couldn't even begin to think about what this looked like to my dad. I didn't want to know. I had no problem with the stretches until we got to the last stretch which was more of an exercise designed to build up core muscles. Coach called out, "Six inches get 'em up!" and everyone, on their backs, raised their legs six inches off the ground and held them there. I looked to my right and copied the guy next to me. After the first ten seconds, I began to feel the burn in my abs. Thirty seconds in, I dropped my legs. Ali saw me give up and yelled over to me, "Crawford get those legs up!" I thought to myself: why is she so condescending? Shouldn't she be worried enough about herself being a girl on a football team? I forced my legs up, shaking while trying to keep them in the air. Coach said the word of relief, "Down!" and it was over. We went into form running and began practice. My first encounter with the contact aspect of football came when Coach threw me in the in-team scrimmage at defensive end. Not knowing what to do in the very least, I grabbed the offensive end's jersey so he couldn't run his route. He complained to the coach, "He's holding me coach!" and the coach just nodded and called the offense to the huddle. I looked over to the sideline to see my dad staring at me with his arms crossed. From the looks of it, I thought I was in for a scolding at the end of practice. When sprints finally came, I did my best to keep up with everyone else. Although I came in last, I finished each sprint without collapsing. On the last sprint, I was far behind everyone else when Ali ran up next to me. A few of the team captains came as well and then the entire

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team followed them. With cheers and clapping, the players were actually making me feel better about myself. It was this reassuring feeling of support that came to me when I needed it the most. Practice was over and as I walked back to the car with my dad, he looked down at me and told me he was proud of my first effort. I looked back at the field. A few of my comrades were throwing the pigskin around and playfully laughing at each other's passes and catches. I felt like joining them, but dinner was in the oven.