Up the block and across the street from the Shuiminoff family, lived the Coulter family. They lived in the same little house where my sister Donna and I were born. We lived there until our parents bought the big house up the street where we now lived. Donny Coulter was probably one of the biggest kids on the block, and he was considered by the all girls to be one of the best looking. My sister Nancy sure thought so. He was a year or two older than she was. That made him five and a half or six years older than me. When we chose up teams for a game of football in the street, Donny Coulter was always one of the captains who got to choose his team. Since I was the littlest and scrawniest kid who got to join in these football games, I was never really picked to be on either team. I was the left-over kid who was assigned to the team that had the worst luck at choosing sides and could use one more warm body. So I was always put on a team but never chosen. I became one more body to block or get in the way of kids on the opposing team. I never got to carry the ball or receive a pass. Heck, most of the time I couldn’t push my way far enough into the huddle even to know what play was called. As the team would line up, I would ask one of the older boys, “What do you want me to do?” Of course, it didn’t really matter to anyone except me what I did. Someone would take me by the shoulder and push me up to some spot on the line and say, “You just stand here and block.” I became a regular blocker. But one day all that would change. One day the kid who was hardly even noticed got noticed big time. I was assigned to Jimmy Shuiminoff ’s team, and we were lined up against Donny Coulter’s team. I was put on the right hand corner of the line of scrimmage next to a parked car across from our house. Donny huddled with his team and called the play. He would be the quarter-back, as he almost always was. We were playing two-hand-tap, and the object was to stop the guy with the ball by tagging him with both hands. The ball was snapped. Donny faked a pass, turned to his left, and started running for our right hand corner. He was headed straight towards me. Donny was strong and fast, so he didn’t usually have many blockers, or at least not for very long. He would generally out-maneuver and out-run all of them. Now Donny Coulter had nearly reached my corner position, and I stood there waiting to tag him with my two little hands. But as he got closer and closer, he kept getting bigger and bigger. Donny Coulter was planning to run past our line at my corner position. I guess he figured I was the weakest spot in our defensive line. And no doubt he was right about that! By now, he was right in front of me. I looked up and saw the great Donny Coulter start to leap sideways between the neighbor’s parked car and me. Now it was up to me, me alone – ME – the kid who was never chosen but only assigned to play – ME – the scrawniest kid on the block – ME – the left-over kid. I alone now stood face to face with the biggest, fastest, best looking kid on the block. Donny Coulter was about to brush past me before I could get my two little hands on any part of his body. I was the only thing between Donny Coulter and a touchdown. Suddenly, I knew I needed to do something different, something unexpected, and do it in a split second. I had to act, and I had to act fast. Quickly, I turned toward the center of the line, dropped to all fours, kicked my legs up in the air, and planted my feet firmly on the tire of the parked car next to me. As I turned to look over my right shoulder at Donny, he suddenly had a look of desperation as he saw my block and tried to leap clear of it. He almost made it. Donny tripped and tumbled to the hard surface of the street with a look of startled surprise and shock. And maybe a little pain. Donny picked himself up off the asphalt street, as a cheer went up from our team. Donny Coulter had been stopped, stopped cold, stopped by the littlest, scrawniest kid on either team, stopped by ME, stopped by the left-over kid who never got chosen. I got back to my feet and saw Donny come charging over to confront me. My team members and my big brother Scotty rushed to my side to protect me. “What do you think you’re doing?” yelled Donny Coulter with his face shoved down toward my face. He had put a strong emphasis on the word doing. “Dummy, this is two-hand-tap, not tackle football,” he said with an agitated voice and a strong emphasis on the word tackle. I smiled proudly up at the great Donny Coulter and said, “I didn’t tackle you Donny. I just gave you a road-block.” Everyone on both teams burst out laughing – except Donny and me. Donny was in pain, and I was confused. Wasn’t I supposed to block? I was told to block. I was an official blocker. What was so funny about a road-block? It happened all the time in football. Didn’t it? Then my big brother Scotty came over and put his hand on the shoulder of his little heroic brother and said, “It isn’t road-block, Gary. It’s roll-block, silly.”
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