Old Colts

After running the blog for the benefit of my brother in law, Kevin, I thought I would include one for my brother, Frank. I look fondly on those days when Frank and I were playing little league football at Murphy Candler. Every thing was brand new and the organization was first class. My 115 pound team won the Bobby Dodd Bowl for the league championship, which was the first 115 pound team from the ACYA to win it all.

I suppose I should preface this by saying that I realize that a lot of people think that little league football shouldn't be taken so seriously. I will say that these years were just as important to my life as a lot of the ones that came later. I don't know how you quantify the value of a year when you are thirteen as compared to one when you are in your forties or thirties. In some sense, they are all important. But we accomplished quite a bit in our little blue and orange jerseys and orange helmets, particularly when I played for 'Coach Bob' (Robert Johnson) on the 115 Atlanta Colts. The year was 1969 and the future was all ahead of us.

At the beginning of the season, we had been drilled and practiced in preparation for the upcomping season by the coaches at Murphy Candler field, and we expected to win. The league had only been in existence for several years, but we already felt like there was a tradition to live up to. Some people might call this silly, but the main word that was emphasized when we practiced was 'Pride.' The coaches always exhorted us to play with pride. Even at that age, we tried to exemplify pride in what we did on the practice field. We took pride in being Atlanta Colts and being part of the organization. Of course, nobody told us that the coaches had met with our parents at the beginning of the season and talked about how small and slow we were and how they didn't expect us to win a lot of games. I found that out a long time after that season was a distant memory.

In 1969, we began our season with a practice game in which we beat the team from the Tucker Youth Organization 33-0. That would presage the rest of the season, as we won every game during the regular season, shutting out most of our opponents. The ratio of points scored by our offense to points allowed by our defense was amazing. We only allowed our opponents to score thirteen points in the entire season. When we got to the playoffs, we won those games too, rather handily. After the season was over, a team from Vienna Virginia came down to play us and we won that game.

Finally, we were able to travel down to Fort Myers, Florida to play the Fort Myers Rebels. That game was one of the most emotional games I ever played. Both teams were undefeated. Both teams were ranked very high in the national Pop Warner organization. Fort Myers had a good organization which later produced several pro football players start in their organization, including Deon Sanders.

We flew an Eastern jet from Atlanta to Florida and stayed with the families of the team members from Fort Myers. Before the game, we visited a lot of the sights around Fort Myers and southwest Florida. We saw alligators and otters and the laboratory of Thomas Edison in his home in Fort Myers. It was fun, but I was more interested in the game we were scheduled to play on that Saturday night. I always thought that part of the purpose of running us around Fort Myers was to wear us out and distract us from the preparation for the game at hand.

Finally time scheduled for the game arrived and we lined up to take on the Rebels. I played offense exclusively that year. Unfortunately, we only found ourselves inside their twenty yard line only twice in the first half. Both times we got a smell of the goal-line but our Pop Warner All-American quarterback threw interceptions into the end zone. On the plays we ran near the goal-line, I pulled in front of our quarterback as protection. In those situations, I remember thinking that the play was developing in a way in which our quarterback could just follow me into the end zone if he took a notion. Later in the half, I suggested this to our offensive coach. The coach told our quarterback, Brad Reese, to follow me into the end zone. Of course, Brad got caught from behind and we didn't score. [Brad later became a major 'head' at North Springs High School and gave up football.]

The first half ended in a scoreless tie. Their offense never progressed past the fifty yard line during the entire game. Toward the end of the third quarter, we were backed up inside our five yard line after a long punt. The offensive coach called a dive play up the middle, over my right hip, to get us a little breathing room. As we broke the huddle and approached the line of scrimmage, I noticed that the nose man and the middle linebacker were stacked over our center, Demming Fish. As the ball was snapped, I headed for the linebacker only to find that the nose man and the linebacker had stunted to their right, away from the play. I really didn't have to do anything but seal off the defenders, as Tommy Sheehan, our fullback, busted through the huge hole off my right hip and headed for the sideline and down the field toward our goal line.

This was the same play which had enabled Tommy to score during the Bobby Dodd Bowl several weeks before, and as I turned my head to watch his progress down the field, it seemed like that a score was inevitable. It looked like no one would catch him as he headed down the field. I remember running behind him at a distance, thinking this would be the time all night when we would finally get some points on the board. Alas, one of their defenders caught him from behind before he crossed the goal line and Tommy fumbled the ball, allowing a Rebel to recover.

That ended up being our last real chance to score during the ball game. I remember the final horn sounded and we shook hands with our hosts. The long season over, we trotted off the field and huddled together in the little visitor's locker room, underneath the stands. As our coaches briefly spoke with our parents outside, my teammates and I returned to the little boys we were and burst into tears in the locker room. Left alone in the lockerroom, we just sat on the wooden benches crying in our blue and orange uniforms. No one tried to undress. When the coaches entered the lockerroom, they sat stunned and watched us release the emotions which had welled up inside of us. Everyone realized that the end of a beautiful season had come to us with a whimper.

Oddly, I had the same experience after my last home game as a college football player against Emory & Henry College. We lost a game we should have won in front of fellow students, parents and fans. After the game, I sat in my locker and wept for the end of a long career.

When the Eastern jet returned our team to Atlanta after the tie in Fort Myers, we found that the national organization had voted us Number 2 in the nation to a Pop Warner team from Scottsdale, Arizona. How we yearned for a chance to play them, just one time. I have always had a thing about Scottsdale, Arizona, ever since.

I guess the final episode for the 115 Atlanta Colts occurred when I played my last high school football game at North Dekalb Stadium in Chamblee, Georgia against Chamblee High School. The players I had played with on the Colts, for the most part, ending up playing for three high schools: Dunwoody, Peachtree and Chamblee. The first game of my Senior year in high school was played against Peachtree. Most of the local pundits thought we would lose to Peachtree. A junior quarterback for Peachtree, who would later find glory as a cornerback for Georgia on the National Championship team of 1980, was touted as 'The Wildcat Killer.' He didn't last the first half and we won that game 10-0, setting the stage for a lot of low scoring games during our final season.

We played Chamblee in our last game of the year. Coach Sparks and Coach Jackson decided to let my brother, Frank, a freshman, dress out for the game, so that we would have the experience of playing a game together. Frank had dressed out in a previous game, against Johnson High School in Gainesville, but the score in that game was so close that he never got put in the game. However, this game would be different.

Before the Chamblee game began, the captains and all of the seniors walked out to the center of the field for the final coin toss. Jeff Meadows and I led the rest of the seniors out for the toss. As I approached the Chamblee co-captains and their senior teammates, I realized that probably half of them were guys I had played with on Murphy Candler field. A slow, sly wink and a grin of recognition passed over most of the guys' faces as we shook hands.

Before the game, a newspaper sports writer had attempted to console our Head Coach and told him that it was a shame that we would miss a winning season by one game. Chamblee, who had a good team that season, was favored and the game started out as if the predictions that we would have a losing season this year would come true. Chamblee won the coin toss and chose to receive. They then drove the ball down our throats and scored a quick six points. As I lined up over center for the extra point, a feeling of dread crept into my heart. It felt like we might not win this one.

But suddenly, the ball was snapped and I found a gap to the left of center. Rushing in with my arms up, the kicked ball glanced off one of my hands and went awry. Chamblee 6, Dunwoody 0.

Chamblee then kicked off to our receiving team and our returner ran the ball back toward the center of the field. The offense drove for one first down but bogged down and had to punt. I followed the rest of the punting team out on to the field. Our punter stood in front of the huddle.

As we formed a huddle in front of the punter, the punter whispered, "Fake punt on snap. Fake punt on snap."

Our eyes widened as we broke the huddle and headed for the line of scrimmage. The punter barked out the signal. As our center, George Brown, snapped the football to the punter, Perry Winder, one of the personal protectors and our starting fullback, eased over to the right side of the protective formation. Suddenly, the linemen on that side of the formation broke to the right in front of Perry. I looked back over my shoulder to see the punter heave the ball virtually over Perry's head. Miraculously, Perry threw his hand up into the air and caught the ball one-handed.

With the catch, Perry began running down the sideline toward the goal. We had caught Chamblee flat-footed and very few of their players recognized what was going on. Perry eased across the goal line to be mobbed by the rest of us. The extra point was kicked and we were ahead, Dunwoody 7, Chamblee 6.

Several changes of possession later, we had stopped the Chamblee offense around their thirty yard line. As we huddled for the calling of the defensive signals, I looked over at Coach Sparks, who always took an inordinate time to signal the defensive alignment for my calling. Unbeknownst to me, Coach Sparks had decided to put my brother, Frank, into the defense, in a defensive alignment which would call for the two of us to be lined up, side by side, in the center of the defense. As I called the defensive alignment, I placed my hands on my brother's helmet and broke the huddle.

We turned around to face the Chamblee offense. Frank and I were side by side. As the ball was snapped into the quarterback's hands, the motion of the play went away from me. As the play developed away from me, I trailed the ball from behind. Suddenly, some excitement away near the ball occurred and defensive players began to jump in the air and signal a recovered fumble. As the referees also began signalling a fumble recovery for the defense, I caught a glimpse of the number 7 in the pile. I turned and ran back to our sidelines.

Since Jim Kefhauver, who wore number 7, played corner back on that side of the defense, I immediately assumed that Jim had recovered the fumble. I remember walking up to him after the play and congratulating him on the recovery. He had a strangely puzzled look on his face. Afterward one of the other players told me that Frank had been in on the play and had made the recovery. I quickly found my brother, number 70 that night, and hugged him for his bit of glory and good play. Later in the game Frank came in and I knew he was there and could enjoy the experience.

Later in the second quarter, Chamblee was driving for another score. With a second and long, their quarterback, Tommy Schrieber, who I had also played with at Murphy Candler, dropped back to pass. Skirting past the center, I began chasing Tommy around the backfield. The more Tommy tried to scramble to avoid the sack, the closer I got to him. Finally, he fell at my feet, and I pounced on him like a cat. As we picked ourselves up off the grass, Tommy slapped me on the backside, although I didn't realize it at the time. When the ball was placed by the referee for third down, it was Third and Forty Two. That was one of my favorite sacks of my career.

As the game continued to progress, we scored to go go up 28-6, but Chamblee never got any closer to scoring for the rest of the game. The last two plays of the game were a screen pass and a sweep to the weak side, my side. On the screen, I smelled the play happening, and shadowed the fullback out into the flat. When the quarterback threw the ball he threw it way over our heads. I just barely got a hand on it as the ball sailed off toward the sideline. On the last play of the game, the Chamblee coach ran their tailback on a sweep toward my side. As we stretched the play out to the sideline, I finally tackled the tailback into a pool of standing water on the home sideline. As I heard the horn sound, I looked up and realized that I had tackled Eddie Jackson, who I also had played with on that 115 pound Colt team, and who would go on to play college ball at North Carolina State.

After the game was over, all of the guys I had played with in little league football gathered around to talk about old times and future plans. It was a delightful moment to catch up with a lot of those guys and remember the team we had once been. I suppose our parents were in the stands, enjoying the moment as well. I hope so.

So I remember the following members of the 115 Atlanta Colts, who met together again on a football field in Chamblee, Georgia, in November 1974, and hope I don't leave anybody out:

Eddie Jackson, Tommy Schrieber Bud Schrieber, Cody Canaro, Geene Geeslin, Frank Hovey, Blake Mitchell, Micky Maynard and myself. There may have been others, but I would have to have a program from that night to get everyone. Later that night, one of the local Atlanta news channels showed a clip from our game and apparently were kind enough to mention my name.

Some might marvel at my ability to remember that much. I don't know; I have always been able to remember those plays like they happened last week. It was a sweet time. And on those fields on those days, we were all winners.