Basketball and Baseball Were Not Enough
(If Billy could play football, so could I-I thought!)
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Playing basketball and baseball while attending Bowling Green High School did not seem to be enough for me. I was neither tall nor heavy, weighing only about 125 pounds; and yet I had been able to participate competitively in both these non-combat sports. But for some reason, I decided at the beginning of my senior year--in the fall of 1927--that I would tryout for the high school football team.

The coach for all the school sports at that time, Douglas Smith--we respectfully called him "Doug"--knew I was not well suited for football but said if I wanted to play he would give me a chance.

The high school was located on Center Street between Eleventh and Twelfth Streets, and the field where the team practiced and played its games was almost two miles away on the opposite side of town at the old Warren County Fair Grounds, just east of Fairview Avenue. To get there each afternoon, after putting on our uniforms at school, we either walked or "hitchhiked rides." Such means of transportation for today's high school sports teams would be viewed as ridiculous and out of the question. But we just took it all for granted. That was the way it was, and if you wanted to play football, you just got to and from the practice field the best way you could.

Early in September, we practiced just running, kicking and passing the football, and executing some plays Coach Smith had worked out. All these things were done without shoulder pads and other protective devices.

But beginning in the second week, we put on the pads-such as they were--and started blocking and tackling practice. Our uniforms were generally in poor condition--most of them left over from previous years--and many of them did not fit very well. I clearly remember that almost everything issued to me was far too big. But I just drew the strings and laces a little tighter and didn't complain, even though I realized I must have appeared comical to others, with baggy pants hanging well below my knees and old shoulder pads sagging down over my upper arms. The helmet was the only piece of my equipment that fit, but it was battered looking and poorly padded. My large nose could have benefited from a nose guard or face mask, but such things were unheard of at that time--at least, our high school had none of them--and as a consequence my nose and face suffered many sharp blows. None of these inconveniences seemed to bother me, however, since I was determined to play football, whatever the circumstances.

Tackling dummies--football equipment taken for granted in later years--were not known to us in the 1920's, and so we tackled each other. We would form two lines and take turns tackling and being tackled by one another. Grass was very sparse on the hard-packed ground, and the one being tackled received quite a jolt when he was thrown to the ground--usually quite unceremoniously. But most of the boys survived this part of the daily routine rather well.

Billy Craig, a good friend of mine, was one of the bigger boys on the squad. He had played on the varsity football team the previous year and was now a seasoned veteran. Our teenage description of him was "big, hard-nosed, and tough." The awesome way in which he carried his well-proportioned 180 pounds was impressive, and he thoroughly enjoyed his well-earned prestige and status as an athlete, both on and off the playing field.

When Billy was in the line of players to be tackled, I noticed that those trying to tackle him just seemed to bounce off his huge body. Because of his strength and size, few of them were able to bring him to the ground. But when Billy tackled a teammate in practice, they both went down fast and with a loud thud. Billy's tackles were thunderous and crushing. In fact, he had come to be known as "bone-crusher Billy" the year before when he broke Holland Harvey's leg in a practice session.

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