Conditioned
Football and hunting were the attempted sports I did in high school. Although common in northeast Ohio, it wasn’t the familial norm. I barely had any family that played, maybe two uncles out of six (although the one became an ex-uncle when I was young so I didn’t know much about him and the other might have just officiated high school games) and an older cousin out of many just played up to junior high. Hunting was even more far off as the only people who did it in my family were a distant great uncle and a great grandfather who had been out of the picture since my grandmother was in her early 20s. Yet it was somewhat in the background between mounted deer heads on family friends’ walls to the vintage hunting posters decorating the local barbershop.
Both started in junior high school lasting till senior year. They both coincided with one another in that they: 1. mainly began in August and concluded at the end of October (not accounting occasional spring/early summer practices, playoffs, and that the main focus was on deer - other game and their seasons occurred at different times of year); 2. violent in nature; 3. conditioned that if I did these that I would be manly or at least considered/perceived?
The first week of two-a-days (two practices a day) would consist of footwork for all positions and learning plays since state law prohibited full contact those first five days. Fun side note, in 2015 the Ohio High School Athletic Association (OHSAA) passed a measure limiting players to 30 minutes of full-contact practice per day and 60 minutes per week during the regular season - wow, glad to see preventative measures taken to reduce concussions and Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE) in young people! Anyways, as a scrawny offensive lineman (6 foot tall and 185 pounds), I remember learning the stance and steps - which direction to go and who to block based on the numbers and names said in the huddle. The first step was vital, staying low and balanced, moving towards the target while the arms and hands go back, cocked, readying to explode. Failure to do so could result in a missed block, knocked on your ass, tackled running back/sacked quarterback, fumble, the other team scoops and scores, chewed out by coach, or all of the above. The short, quick step was repeated and repeated that first week till it became my automatic response when the ball was snapped. I was conditioned along with my teammates to know what to do, how to move our bodies, so that we could collide with others while other others were trying to run off of our hips either to keep running with the ball or tackle the carrier.
Not after every practice but some, I would slip into the woods across the street while the golden hour light broke among the trees. In hand was a black tube with the upper half being a hard plastic barrel, a mouthpiece and the bottom, soft accordion plastic pipe. The packaging said it was a grunt call, used to fool deer thinking the player was a mate or a fight - play well and they will come.
I blew into the call, practicing, seeing if any deer would show - not wanting to kill (illegal according to suburb ordinance at the time) but just wanted to see if they would appear. Over the course of the season they (does) came, sometimes a herd, sometimes a few, sometimes just one. Peering through the brush and understory, heads would bob and necks stretched looking for the source, expecting a blustering buck; but was met with a confused teenage boy. Reactions varied - some shrugged it off and moved on, others wagged their whitetails from side to side, a few snorted exhausting their lungs.
A buck showed a few times - the antlers distinguished him from the rest. Unsure if it was how loud or long the grunts were or the frequency between them but he always appeared about 10 yards away. Once he saw me, his hoof kept stomping the ground, making short, quick steps. I did the same for both of us were conditioned one way or another.