Knock Out

I get so tickled...no, make that ticked off, when I hear both Democrats and Republicans claiming they threw a "knock out" punch during a debate. We, the public, decides...not a bunch a spin doctors. But to quickly change subjects...or am I? I want to talk about getting knocked out.

I've been knocked out at least 4 times in my life. No, not from boxing or fighting. Different stories, different situations. I figured I'd take this blog to tell you about the first time the lights went out in my head.

I grew up in a neighborhood that was priceless. For all of my young readers out there, the movie that has reminded me the most of my own experience growing up was "The Sandlot". Similar to the movie, we had a "gang" mentality and there was a definite pecking order. But we were all part of the "team". However, unlike the movie, our game was football.



My house was not the biggest in the neighborhood, but we did have the biggest yard. The house was built on a corner lot and it covered two lots. Every weekend during the fall, there was a either a tackle or "touch" football game being played in my front yard. (For those not well-versed in "touch" football, you tackle the player with the ball by touching him or her. The rule could be altered each game. Sometimes it would be touch the player with 2 hands under the belt...sometimes it was touch the player with one hand anywhere. We usually accommodated to the weakest player to ensure parity.)

Well, the day of my first knock-out, we weren't playing in my yard. A game had begun one block away in another kid's ditch. (Ever heard of playing in the trenches?) It was a 4-on-4 game...tackle. I don't remember many specifics about the game anymore, but I do remember the last play I made...going out for a pass...wide receiver in the ditch. Now it's important for me to tell you that any time a game was being played, kids showed up that either wanted to play in the game or wanted to watch. On this particular day, a kid that we all called "Dowboy" was present. ("Dowboy" rhymes with cowboy...not dough-boy. I couldn't tell you Dowboy's real name if my life depended on it. By the way, everybody in my neighborhood had a nickname. It was like a badge of honor. No nickname...you weren't in.)



Well Dowboy was fat. (Sorry, is that politically incorrect? Nowadays, he would be considered "husky". Take my word for it, he was FAT.) Dowboy was a likeable kid...same age as me...but I'll bet he outweighed me by 50 pounds...in sixth grade. No one invited him into the game, but Dowboy wanted to play. So, what did he do? He entered the game unannounced. I'm running down the middle of the ditch with nothing in between me and the imaginary goal but a few blades of grass...or at least that's what I thought. I remember looking back over my shoulder and yelling "here" as I held up my arms and flew through the defense. I remember the football leaving the quarterback's hand...spiraling in slow motion...reaching out to catch it...the surprised look on the defensive players' faces as I ran uncovered down the middle of the ditch...

But the weird thing about what I remember...well, what I CAN remember is...it's in black in white.

I don't remember the collision. I don't remember much more than a dozen or so kids standing around me in a circle afterwards. I do remember one of the kids saying, "Whoa, that was cool!" Without my knowledge, Dowboy had entered the game and decided to intercept my pass. He was running full speed in a northerly pattern...I was running full speed in a southerly pattern. We collided in the ditch and, (I can't vouch for this part of the story), I did an endo. What's an "endo"? When an object rolls in an end-over-end motion similar to tumbling in gymnastics.

I remember thinking, "This is like a dream." "Wait a minute, did I just dream that?" "No this is really happening." "Where am I?" "Why is everyone standing around me in a circle?" "Why is everyone in black and white?" Surreal moments...

I don't remember how I got home. However, my next recollection is being at home...lying on a cot in the den. I slightly remember my mom and dad desperately trying to reach a doctor, via the phone, to find out what to do. The doctor's advice..."Don't let him go to sleep. It's probably a concussion." "Yeah, right. I've got a headache from hell and you don't want me to go to sleep?" So, they made small talk with me and put my favorite TV shows on. (I think we had a choice between channel 8 or channel 10 back then...and that was it!)

Well, they kept me up and my headache went away. One lasting problem, though. I've been afraid of running full speed in a ditch while looking over my shoulder ever since.

Go figure.