As I walked at a track today, a coach worked at one end of the adjacent field, his young son played on the other. The boy sprinted, head down, football tucked at his belly. Zig-zagging left and right, he reached the end zone, did a little leap, and raised the ball overhead.
“What’s the score?” I called out.
“Fourteen to nothing!”
“Who you playing?”
“The Cardinals! Game’s over. I won,” he answered.
“And you are … ?”
His invisible coach told him to take a rest (those were his exact words), so I was the fortunate recipient of some football information: He didn’t play on a team yet; flag football starts in third grade, pads in sixth; he wants to try all the positions, but when he plays his first game in sixth grade he wants to be the quarterback.
That’s five years away, for a kid who hasn’t…
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