Everyone has dreams – goals or objectives that they hope to achieve. Many dreams are difficult to attain, such as losing fifty pounds or writing a book. But those goals can be realized with enough determination and perseverance. It is possible to reach those dreams with enough effort. And we are rightfully urged to hold onto our dreams and strive to accomplish them.
Then there are dreams that are simply unattainable, whether or not the individual realizes it. Accomplishing the objective is improbable at best and impossible at worst – in a word, a fantasy. An important life skill is being able to discern for oneself when a dream is actually a fantasy. Entering high school, I had a powerful dream, which turned out to be a fantasy. Here’s what happened.
When I was 15 years old, I absolutely loved football – watching it and playing a school yard version of it. I was already six feet tall and had some bulk. My guess was that I would grow another five or six inches and build up my body, thus being a perfect physical specimen to become a football tight end, first in high school then in college (on a scholarship, of course).
That’s what I had going for me, passion and a body that was the right size. I did have some deficiencies, though. Let’s see – I was slow, couldn’t jump, had small hands, wore glasses, did not have contacts and had never played organized football. So, what made me think I could become a tight end? I simply had a dream and I was working toward realizing it.
In the summer before we started at Northeast High School, my friends Paul, John and I practiced every day. We had no equipment except for a football. So, we mostly just threw the ball, ran patterns and envisioned ourselves as football stars. When school started in September, we tried out for the junior varsity squad. Northeast was a huge school. There were over 900 kids in our grade alone. There was no guarantee that any of us would make the team.
Miraculously, all three of us did. I was the least of the trio, though. John was fast, and Paul was large and solidly built. I have already described my own strengths and weaknesses. It became obvious fairly soon that despite my love for the game, I didn’t have the talent that others on the team did, and I certainly was not what one would consider to be an athlete.
Whether by accident or intention, I ended up being outfitted in a most shabby manner. All of our equipment and uniform pieces were hand-me-downs from the varsity. I ended up with a pair of pants that were a size or three too large. My knee pads drooped down below the joint they were supposed to protect. My helmet was also too big. But the most embarrassing piece was my jersey. I received a number 83 jersey that had seen some better days. Nevertheless, it fit! I was happy until I looked at John, and he had been given a number 83 jersey as well. And then I saw that another kid I didn’t know was already wearing number 83, too. There were three number 83s on the team, and I presented the saddest tableau – droopy pants, big helmet and wearing glasses.
The dream was alive, however, despite my outfit. So, I gave it my all during the practices leading up to our first game. There were some very athletic guys on the team. I was not one of them. Soon, it became evident that I was at the bottom of the depth chart, although that chart existed only in our coach’s head. Once the season began, I saw no playing time in the first few games, but still was working diligently and getting hit hard in practices.
During the games, I would stand near the coach. I was supposed to be a fill-in end on either offense or defense. About four games into the season, there were a couple of injuries on the field, and the coach yelled, “Where’s my other 83?” I was right next to him and before you knew it, I pulled off my glasses, left them on the bench and ran in to play defense. That lasted for one play, and I was back on the sideline. Turns out that the coach apparently wanted the “other” back-up 83, not me.
And so it went until the last game of the year early in Thanksgiving week at Roxborough High School. It was cold and my teeth were chattering as I watched our team build a big lead. In the second half with us marching on offense again, the coach yelled, “Where’s my other 83?”
This time he was referring to me. “Right here, coach.”
“Get your glasses off and get in there for 81.”
There was no emergency on the field, so it appeared that I was finally going to get some well-earned playing time. We were on about the thirty yard line moving toward the goal. I saw it as my big chance to show what I could do. In hindsight, though, the coach was just taking pity on me.
After a few running plays on which I blocked, the quarterback, Barry, called a pass play – down and to the corner – to me! I couldn’t believe it. Here was my opportunity to display my abilities and maybe even score a touchdown. As the huddle broke, I split out to the right and was preparing for Barry to call the signals, when the team’s star, Lou Tilley, tapped me on the back and commanded, “I’m taking this. Get over there,” pointing closer to our offensive linemen.
Tilley was the team leader, so I simply did what he said. And, of course, he caught Barry’s pass and made it across the goal line. Another touchdown for the star of the team.
After the season, I began to realize that my football dream was a fantasy. When the next school year began, most of the JV team had been promoted to the varsity roster. Not me. And at our first team meeting, it became clear that I was still going to remain as an emergency back-up at best.
I walked away from football and became involved in the school’s radio station and later wrote for the literary magazine. That was an area where I was on the starting team. At graduation two years later, I received the school’s creative writing award. I had found my niche and started to generate new dreams for myself.
There was no realistic basis for my dream to become a successful football player. Passion, dedication and love of a pursuit are not enough to make such goals achievable. One’s dream should always be a reach, thus allowing growth and individual progress. But a dream that is actually a fantasy will only lead to frustration. That’s what this “other 83” learned.