"THE TOUGH GET GOING"

Time may heal some painful memories. More often they are merely suspended, awaiting reconciliation.

“THE TOUGH GET GOING”

Time may heal some painful memories. More often they are merely suspended, awaiting reconciliation.

At 15 I dreamed of playing on our champion Harrison (N.Y.) Huskies varsity football team. That meant competing with real tough guys: Scochera, Pangallo, Vallarelli. Just before the start of my junior year, I sweated through two-a-day practices while ex-Marine coaches taught us how to inflict maximum punishment, showing no mercy to others and ourselves.

         Coach Coppolla, a hulking brute with the menacing stare of Lee Van Cleef in “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,” drove us hard. Injuries weren’t tolerated—a sign of weakness. A year earlier on our J.V. squad, I had a strained ACL and a concussion. In Coppolla’s eyes, I was a misfit toy on a team of hard-asses. 

         But on that new day in early September 1968, I was ready for whatever the coaches threw at me. It had rained earlier, and the turf was slippery and soggy. Mud clung to our cleats, making the drills harder than usual. I gagged on my brittle mouthpiece and pushed on.

         Next up was the seven-man blocking sled. We were to run full speed at the metal monster, launching ourselves into narrow pads as coaches roared. Lowering my helmet and raising my forearms like a Rock-em, Sock-em Robot, I charged the sled in a stream of lunging teammates. 

         Just before impact, I lost my footing and was propelled helmet first toward a thick steel bar behind the pads. I smelled metal before making contact, and I briefly blacked out. When I came to, I wiped what I thought was sweat from my eyes as Coach Coppolla called me over. He glanced at what had been my modest Roman nose, now a swollen bloody mass.

         He ordered my friend Anthony Merola to take me to the locker room. “Whatever you do, don’t look in the mir-rah,” Anthony said nervously. Of course I did, repelled by my grotesque reflection. After my latest injury, I slipped to third string. No, I wasn’t a real tough guy on the football team that season. All I could do was look the part with a broken nose.

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