Two Hand Touch

We had a long running tradition in our neighborhood of playing two hand touch football on summer evenings and weekends. We would gather up whoever was available - young or old, athlete or klutz, professor or mechanic - and play some football.

The rules were simple. The playing field's dimensions were arbitrarily agreed upon and were never the same from one game to the other. You could have any amount of players on each team, as long as each team had the same number. No tackling was allowed. You were down if a player on the other team touched you below the belt with two hands simultaneously. The quarterback could run or throw to anyone else on his team. There were no ineligible receivers. Only one player could rush the quarterback. There were other rules, but they were usually conveniently forgotten in the heat of battle. The game ended when someone had to go to supper or darkness descended.

In reality, it was usually a three on three or four on four game. Any more or less players didn't work that well. And, when tempers started to flare, somehow the first rule that was forgotten was the prohibition against tackling.

On this particular day, only four of us showed up to play. Johnny Pelz and I formed one team. Bill Mullen and Randy Johnson were on the other. Johnny and I were teenagers while Bill and Randy were middle aged at least. You know, when you are a teenager, anyone in their twenties is ancient.

Johnny and I figured that we could take these old guys. To us, they were slow of foot, slow witted and bereft of any athletic skill set that was discernible. We, on the other hand, perceived ourselves to be quick footed, quick witted and, certainly, in an athletic class several levels above these decrepit old men. In reality, I didn't really think that, but I tried to project the body language that would make Bill and Randy feel that we were worthy adversaries. On the other hand, Johnny was an exceptional athlete and didn't need to fake anything. His only problem was how to minimize the effect of my ineptitude on the results.

Bill was one of my best friends during my teenage years, even though he was twenty years older than me. He had a pool table in his basement and we spent countless hours playing eight ball down there. And, while we played, he used that opportunity to relay some of his life lessons to me and try to prepare me for the real world which I had yet to enter.

He was a long haul trucker who made weekly trips to various areas of the U.S., including California and New York. And, boy, he had some tales to tell. He owned his own tractor, which cost forty thousand dollars, a princely sum back in the sixties. Of course, he didn't have that kind of money to pay the vehicle off. He just made minimum monthly payments forever just to have the right to use the vehicle to generate an income. His arrangement was not unlike the credit card deals of today which allow customers to make a minimum payment on a set amount for an infinite number of years. The credit card companies make a huge profit, while the customers attain access to resources which would normally be outside their grasp. And, even though the recent Great Recession has proved that this approach will sometimes fail, the tactic will be continually modified and regulated, but never stopped.

But even though Bill's acumen for generating income using other people's resources was enlightening to me, his other life lessons were much more interesting. For example, he talked about traveling in the desert on Route 10 out of California. As soon as he got into Arizona with its seemingly infinite straight and level super highways, he could slowly increase his speed to one hundred twenty miles an hour and maintain that speed for hundreds of miles. He said that he never got a speeding ticket and never got into an accident. I think that he may have been lying or that he was just lucky that he didn't kill himself and several others. But, still, it was a great tale.

And, he always had some tales to tell about the great city of New York. He made deliveries in the city, so he had to maneuver carefully through the surface streets. He said that he was always propositioned by the local female entrepreneurs to partake of the unique delights of the big city. The traffic was so bad that the girls could walk along side of the truck and talk to Bill as he was driving down the street. They would negotiate a mutually acceptable price, jump into the cab while it was still moving and then complete the deal within only a few blocks of travel. It was a mutually rewarding experience. The girls earned an above average income and Bill got to enjoy a momentary respite from a mind numbing traverse through the great city.

As for the football game, it was close throughout with nobody being able to gain a significant lead. Johnny experienced an epiphany and came up with what we thought was the play of the century. Johnny, who was playing quarterback, was going to drop back while I drifted into the flat to catch a ten yard button hook. Johnny assumed that Bill would follow me closely and position himself behind me so that he could touch me down as soon as I caught the pass. Johnny also believed that Bill would let me catch the ball because we would only gain ten yards anyway.

But what made the play brilliant was the nuance added at the end of the play. He told me that he would throw the ball high so that I would have to jump up to catch it. But, instead of catching it, he told me to tap the ball back toward him as he was running toward me. He felt that Bill would instinctively move behind me as the ball was in the air while he quickly maneuvered around Randy and then he could easily catch my lateral and run by Bill who should be focused on touching me down after I caught the ball.

We executed the play perfectly. Johnny threw a high floater toward me and I jumped up and tapped the ball back toward him while Bill positioned himself behind me. Johnny caught my lateral in stride and ran in for the touchdown. Perfect play. Perfect execution.

As we were celebrating in the end zone, Bill yelled out that I was down where I tapped the ball. Johnny and I both protested that I had never controlled the ball so Bill could not have touched me down. Bill countered with the argument that at the instant I tapped the ball, he had contact with me with both hands, so I was down there.

We argued back and forth for a few minutes but Johnny and I ultimately realized that we weren't going to win this one. We played lackadaisically the rest of the game and lost by two touchdowns. But, we both learned a good life lesson. No matter how quick, how agile, how smart you are, you can still get beat by a wily opponent who can use the obtuseness and ambiguity of linguistics to outwit you.

Well, we could have learned that lesson that day. Instead, we only felt anger because we let two old farts beat us.