Bad Boys, Bad Boys

We were ready. Yes, the big day was almost here, and though only twelve years old, we knew it all. We were the best, the toughest, the smartest, the-----What Coach, what did you say? We're what? Suspended?
Yep, it was a fateful Wednesday afternoon, and it was the final practice before our opening flag season game at Mullan. Since we were the best and the biggest and the toughest, why couldn't we miss the last practice before the game?

I don't know to this day which one of us first brought up this act of mutiny, but I am assuming one of us did. Perhaps is was just one of those spontaneous things that kids do. I don't remember. All that I don't remember is that the two of us smugly walked straight home from school that day instead of going to practice.

The next afternoon we were where the bus was to take us to the game, and the the coach was running some last minute exercises with us. He divided the team up into first, second, and third strings, and , hey wait a minute, Why were our names not called? There were only two of us left, and we I guess it must have been some sort of coincidence, but it happened to be the same two who skipped practice. This couldn't be. They needed us, We were first string., We were the best, we were---told that we were off of the team.

However, that only lasted for a minute, Coach said that we could board the bus, but we would not be playing that day. So, we boarded, and made the trip to Mullan. During warm-ups, we were divided in to strings again, and yes, there were just the two us left again. Coach told us to go by ourselves and play catch with the football.. Disgraced, humbled, and in a state of disbelief, we went to play catch. He threw the first pass, and that was when it happened. His first pass shot off of my right middle finger, and snapped it like a match stick.

I was almost sick at my stomach. I showed the finger to my teammate, and he said it looked kind of bad.
About that time the game started, and our suspension must have been lifted because he and I were told to take the field, that we were starting. So, our first game was under way. I was fighting back the pain and nausea, and I swear that that kid from Mullan whom I was blocking must have known my finger was hurt because it seemed like he hit it on every play.

Finally, during a time out, I showed the finger to the coach, who took one look at it, and said " You're not hurt, get back out there" I did, and we won. It was the first win that was to start a two year run of being undefeated. Anyway, when i got home, my mom took one look at my finger, and off to the old Wallace Hospital on Cedar we went. Dr. Gnaedinger came back with the x rays results and told us that it was badly broken in two places. It was taped and splinted, and home I went.

The next morning, Coach stopped me in the hallway of the school and asked how my finger was. I showed him the splinted finger, and he said "hm, sorry, I didn't think that it was hurt". Well, the one nice thing about having your middle finger broken and in a cast, you can show someone the finger without getting in trouble.

I guess I learned a lesson that day. Miss a practice, break a finger. I never missed another practice.
As far as my teammate in crime, well, I am not sure what happened to him. I hear he is around here some place. Go figure.