It's the most wonderful time of the year. No, not Christmas, but the start of Football Season. Though I'm still waiting for that first crisp fall night to remind me that it's true – I got a taste of new football tradition this last weekend.
The Annual Fantasy Football Draft is the new rite of passage. Bringing friends, both old and new, together for a five month s**t talking festival. Held together by camaraderie, the lure of gambling, and the opportunity to prove to someone you played high school football with that you are indeed more Vince Lombardi. It ushers in hope. The hope that three weeks from now that my team can destroy my sister Andrea Hiatt's team, and I call and text her phone with “you stink” — Ahh the spoils of victory!
The start of the season brings about a strange cordiality — one that will not be found several weeks from now. The wishing of “good luck” towards others in a Fantasy League, carries about as much sincerity as it does at a poker table – or a firing line in some cases.
The league I'm in consists of my dad's old high school buddies. And it is now intertwined with the kids of these people. It may as well be the fantasy football version of the show Game of Thrones. The different houses conspire and trade off players all in a cunning veiled attempts to destroy their enemy all while secretly waiting to dethrone the very hand that brought them to the league. My team “Linguica and Meatballs”, a combo of myself and cousin Janelle Riella Schwartz, is a constant 3rd Place trophy holder in the league. Something my dad and Uncle John Riella scoff at. “Your team is a perennial turd.” — both former Champs will attest. And this is why we take secret pleasure...No, open pleasure at beating them during the year. We both realize it's just a small battle within a larger war...but as bronze medal dwellers will take what we can get.
The real joy of playing fantasy football with friends though, is the camaraderie it creates. My old man and his friends have been doing this for close to 20 years – and most have known each other for close to 50. Yet they still find new ways to tease, prod, and get under each other’s skin – like only comrades can. Watching these people at a table is a lesson in S**T Talking 101. I've been fortunate enough to learn from the best. Observing likes of Chuck Carpenter, Frankie Teicheira, Carl Yamasaki, and Rod McCracken banter back and forth, is worth the price fantasy admission every year.
And when it finally digresses into the high school football talks of yesteryear it feels like a warm Manteca blanket wrapping around me. I could sit for hours and listen to big Rod McCraken explain to me how his arm was too strong, and would hurt the receivers hands during his senior year at MHS. I don't believe him. But he's still way too big for me to attempt stepping on that fairy tale. Hearing Frankie Teicheira complain to Mike Bynum about missed blocking assignments 45 years after the fact, reminds me of one thing. That I can't wait 'til the next time I run into my old lineman, so I can also bitch and moan about old times. The league has Larry Yamasaki, the man that scored the first TD in East Union High history. Yes, someone from “the other school” is allowed in. (He was actually part of this league, and group of friends long before me, so I tip my green and white hat in his direction)
There are even league cast outs that still remain within the grip of camaraderie it provides. Rick Riella has taken a fantasy league sabbatical. He claims it is to become a league “Consultant”, and to remain on the up and up – as his wife Mikki has become the League Commissioner. But we all know his retirement is a direct result of an incident some 10 years ago, when he announced “I'll take Daunte Bellpepper from Minnesota”. That moment is still relived each year, like a soldier tripping over his own bayonet in the Civil War.
“. . . whatever and whoever your league consists of, make it a good one. And remember the words of the great Mark Condit — “Camaraderie is key gentlemen.”
The Deaf Puppy Chronicles
The learning curve on raising a deaf puppy, resulted in its first catastrophic injury recently. My injury – not the pup’s. Flashback to Labor Day morn, and the knock upon my door at 7:15 a.m. It wasn't the normal “get your ass out of bed and to the tractor knock”. It was the subdued, yet just as annoying knock of the Jehovah's Witness. It was 7 a.m. on Labor Day!. I did what any hot blooded Catholic would do . . .
. . . I remained motionless and quiet on the other side of that door. The country visit Jehovah Witness is double scary – willing to brave watchdogs and old men with shotguns full of salt.
I stepped lightly to the blinds to watch as worst watchdog ever Charlie, made his way towards them for head scratchings. Charlie however doesn't recognize that he has to crazy albino blue eyes, and for all intents and purposes – looks like a rabid ghost dog. The people slowly began to back track towards their pickup truck. It was satisfying to watch Charlie inadvertently have success as the dog of the house. They were just getting in to their pick up when the unexpected took place. Banshee the deaf wonder pup, who had been let out to pee in the back yard, had snuck her way under the fence, and sprinted over to my morning guests. Only they didn't notice. And there she stood underneath the pickup – awaiting a squishing...
There come those moments in life. They last a second or two. But within them you are able to process a whirlwind of thought. Do I rush out and let it be known I was door hiding? Do I take a chance that Banshee will somehow decide to move from where she lay? If they do run her over, will this possibly prevent them – and hopefully all religious door to door solicitors – from knocking at 7a.m. on a holiday!
Maybe I could visit a taxidermist, and purchase a stuffed puppy, one that could be tossed under the vehicle of all unwanted house visitors. Had I just stumbled upon a groundbreaking deterrent??
And then I heard the pickup start, and sprang from the door. I made a leap from front steps to walkway. One that a 5-year-ago Chris, would've stuck the landing like Mary Lou Retton. But on this Olympic Dog Saving attempt, I landed big toe first. Stub!!! And not your average stub. This was the kind were the skin flapped from the toe, like a bad hair piece. Ouch!
I'm splayed out across the cement, as they start to back away. I'm certain they saw the fall, and are in a hurry to get out of Dodge. So much for kindness and their desire to share their message. I scream “Stop!!. My puppy is under you!”
The passenger seat lady gets out, and Banshee jumps towards her. Meanwhile I am doing the one foot jitterbug hot foot, across a pine needle and rocky driveway. I snatch Banshee from the lady's arms – issuing a very displeased look. “I'm so sorry, are you Ok?”..I show her the toupee like toe tip, assuring her that “No, I'm far from ok”...
And then she says the unbelievable - “Do you have a few minutes to speak abou...”....I didn't even let her finish the sentence. “Are you nuts?!”...and as I hopped away, a “We had no idea the puppy was under the pickup”....I stopped and pivoted on one foot, the way a 5 year ago Chris would have. “Lady she is deaf!”Her non response let me know that Banshee had once again saved the day – in that they drove away...anyway I grabbed The Watchtower pamphlets they'd left at the door, and hunted for the hydrogen peroxide.
Happy Birthday
to my sister
Coach Andrea Hiatt
Forty years ago I received a sister for my 3rd birthday. We've shared birthday parties ever since. I'd much rather have gotten a Stretch Armstrong or one of those nets that automatically return a baseball in your direction...but as kids, you were as fun as a Stretch, and as capable of tossing a baseball as any old net...Happy B-day sis!
“It's not Where ya do, It's What ya do”
cateicheira@hotmail.com
