It rained all night and all morning before the game. The field was a soggy and muddy mess. One of the end zones was a lake. In other words, November football in Western Oregon and the kids were all right and salivating at the prospect of playing in a swamp.

A sizable crowd turned up and got soaked watching a defensive struggle. Both teams were covered in mud and exhausted after pounding the ground game at each other. No offense had attempted a pass. Each team had fumbled a dozen times. It was like the Three Stooges playing the Marx Brothers.

Gardiner led 6-0 with time running out in the fourth quarter. Ogden had the ball first and goal on Gardiner’s three-yard line. A touchdown tied the game; the two point-conversion would win it.

Garbonski had tried to ram it up the gut three times in a row and Gardiner stuffed him every time. The Son called a timeout. It was fourth and goal from the one with five seconds left. The Father came over to the Son and whispered Statue of Liberty.

The Son smiled. Why not? The Raiders would remember that unconventional play call the rest of their lives. It might even serve some of them as a useful metaphor in clutch situations during adulthood.

Eubanks ran in the play. He fell down on the way and on the way back.

The gadget play worked to perfection. The score was 6-6 with no time remaining. Only one more play—the two point conversion.

The Son sprinted out to the offense. They were huddled up. He told Eubanks to accompany him. On the way, Eubanks fell down.

One play. Run to daylight, hit paydirt, win the game, and record a 4-2 season. If not for those damn elk, the Raiders might have gone undefeated!

This was it. The last time the team would battle together. There was a lot on the line,

but…

not…

everything…

“Okay, the Son said, “We’re running tailback dive at one. Whiskey you’re out. T Squared, you’re carrying the ball.”

Tailback dive at 1 was a basic running play where a tailback line up in an eye formation, takes the hand-off from the quarterback, and follows the fullback into the hole between the center and right guard. Thus, Garbonski would lead the way into the melee with Eubanks right behind him.

The coach looked at his players. They looked at him. Eubanks looked at the ground. The players got it. Garbonski gave a thumbs up.

“Coach,” said Eubanks, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” said the Son.

“I want to win.”

“So do I. So does the team.”

“Coach, let Whiskey take it.”

“Goddammit T Squared!” yelled Garbonski, “You’re taking the hand-off and following me into the hole. I’m going to blow up anyone in the way.”

“Okay,” said Eubanks.

It would be the first time Eubanks toted the football during a game.

They put their hands together, counted to three, and bellowed Raiders! Whiskey and the Son ran off the field.

Rain had stopped falling. Some patches of blue sky appeared. A few deer emerged from the woods. A bald eagle landed on the left upright of the goal post. It was all like something the Gods of Football ordained and somewhere Jim Thorpe and Red Grange approved.

The quarterback barked the signals. The center hiked the ball. Garbonski rocketed into the hole, Eubanks took the hand-off from the quarterback with textbook form. The fullback obliterated two defensive lineman then flattened a linebacker. The hole was as wide and deep as Crater Lake. Eubanks could tiptoe into the end zone.

He fell down inches from the goal line.

The game ended in a 6-6 tie and the Raiders finished with a 3-2-1 mark. A winning season.

The Son had arranged for a surprise pizza delivery after the game. Ten pepperoni pies to the field! He saw a kid carrying them to the field and waved him toward the goal line. The Son sprinted onto the field and toward the offense. The Father followed and so did the rest of the team. Everyone was screaming.

They gathered in a circle at the goal line and took a knee. They tore into the pizza. They ate quietly for a a few minutes and then the Son said, “Okay, enough of this. It’s time for a pit drill in the end zone. RIGHT NOW! Who’s up for that?”

Eubanks shot up his hand. It was holding a slice of pizza. The team jumped to its feet, ripped on their helmets, fastened their chinstraps, and splashed into the lake. It was on.

The Son tossed Eubanks the ball and called out Garbonski as blocker. He called out two more players as tacklers. He blew the whistle. The tacklers crashed into Garbonski. Eubanks shimmied side to side. He saw a sliver of a way to avoid getting crunched.

And then he fell down.

Decades later, Oregon City School District renamed Ogden Junior High Tumwata Middle School. Tumwater was the the tribal word for nearby Willamette Falls, a sacred place where Indian trade and salmon fishing went on for ten thousand years until Pioneers destroyed everything within two decades of settlement by all the usual suspects of destroying indigenous people and their traditions in North America. The district also changed the school’s mascot to otters (voted on by students). The colors were changed to red and black. Soccer became the most popular sport.

That was progress in Oregon.

They started with two victories, 18-6 and 12-6. The second victory was a curious experience for the Raiders. The opposing team featured a girl. In fact, she was the star player, fullback and middle linebacker, just like Garbonski.

No one wanted to hit her, especially Garbonski. She was creaming ball carriers on defense and stampeding over tacklers on offense.

At halftime, the Raiders trailed 8-0 and showing no signs of life. The Father and Son conferred for a few seconds and nodded their heads. The Son addressed the team and asked what was going on with the lackluster effort, although he already knew.

“She’s a girl, Coach,” said Garbonski.

“You’re going to have to hit her,” said the Son, “and hit her hard.”

“She’s cute, too!”

Everyone erupted in laughter. That shattered the tension and Garbonski went out in the second half and clobbered her over and over again, but also helped her off the turf with an apology every time. The Raiders won 14-8. The stories at the pizza parlor after the game about the roughneck female football player became instant lore. As the victory feast neared its raucous conclusion, the Son asked Garbonski, “Did you get her phone number?”

The team exploded into a guttural laughter so loud, so sustained, that the Son would remember it for the rest of his life.

In the first two games, Eubanks managed to avoid any serious contact with an opposing player and he also fell down a lot. His favorite activity was to dive on the pile after a tackle on a kickoff. Luckily, he was so tiny referees never bothered to throw a penalty flag.

Then elk season arrived. A dozen players, including Garbonksi and Eubanks, missed the next two games to go hunting with their families. The Raiders lost 36-0 and 18-2.

The Son tried imagining Eubanks carrying a rifle and stalking elk in the forests of Eastern Oregon and it simply didn’t register. Upon his return, Eubanks presented the Father and Son with frozen elk steaks. It was the one and only time the Son ever ate elk.

The Raiders regrouped and won their next game 24-12. The coaches had a mild scare when Eubanks substituted in at cornerback late in the fourth quarter. There he was, alone, out on a deserted island like Robinson Crusoe. The opposing team hadn’t run a sweep to that side of the field all game, so the Son felt confident nothing injurious would happen to Eubanks.

Sure enough, the opposing team ran a power sweep with an army of blockers bearing down on Eubanks. A cornerback’s job in such instances is to turn the runner back inside. The only way a cornerback can do this is to take on the blockers at the knees and try to undercut as many as possible. A player sacrifices his body so someone else can make the tackle. It’s the kind of play that never shows up on a stat sheet or newspaper headline but what football is really all about.

The army was thundering toward the Raiders’ sideline. Eubanks didn’t move.

The Son said to the Father, “Dad, he’s going to die.”

“I know,” he said.

Garbonski must have sensed the danger as well, because he smashed through the line with demonic force, wiped out the blockers, pulverized the ball carrier, and caused a fumble. The ball squirted toward Eubanks. It was five yards away! He didn’t move. The coaches were yelling at him to make the recovery. The sideline was going nuts. He somehow snapped out of his trance and ran toward the pigskin. There was no around it. He could scoop it up and ramble 70 yards downfield, and score a touchdown! Touchdown Tommy Eubanks!

He fell down.

One game remained and the Raiders stood at 3-2. It was a home affair and against Gardiner. A winning season was at stake and the coaches mentioned this during practice, but didn’t go overboard. It was just another game and everyone would play like they always had.

They made Eubanks a tailback and cornerback and a member of the kick-off coverage team. He was the safety assigned the duty of laying back after the kick to wait and see if the returner broke containment. If he did, Eubanks was the last man to make the tackle or at least slow down the ball carrier until the cavalry arrived.

It was an important responsibility. Eubanks other responsibility was alternating with other players to carry in the offensive plays called by the Son. He would take a 3 x 5 card with the play’s name and diagram, run it out to the huddle, and then run back to the sideline. He fell down a lot doing this.

It was quickly apparent to the Father and Son they didn’t have any real offensive firepower. If the Raiders were going to score, they would need to use surprise and deception. Thus, the coaches installed various reverses, shovel and halfback option passes, and an absurd Statue of Liberty gadget play excavated with a hand trowel from the prehistoric days of the gridiron.

On defense, it was basic: turn Garbonski loose on stunts and blitzes and hope he wreaked havoc in the backfield and caused some turnovers. Other keys to success were not committing penalties and occasionally quick kicking on third downs to gain better field position. If the Raiders could keep it close, they might win a couple of games.

Every player suited up in uniform was going to play on both sides of the ball and on special teams. It didn’t matter if the the game was close or a blow out—everyone played. The coaches made this known to the team early on and it became part of their essential character.

The season opener approached. The Son had bestowed a few nicknames on some of the players, something football coaches never do today because they aren’t clever enough. Garbonski was called Ray Nitschke after the legendary Green Bay Packer middle linebacker. Casey Jones was called Engineer. Jimmy Dickerson (JD) was called Whiskey and Tommy Eubanks was called Touchdown Tommy, which Garbonski quickly shorted to T Squared and it stuck with everyone.

The morning before the Raiders first game, the Son went cleat shopping for Eubanks. He found a pair and then patronized a hardware store where he bought two cans of spray paint, sky blue and gold. The Son decorated the cleats with a badass design. He twirled them aloft and blew them dry.

It was a giddy day in the locker room when Father and Son issued game uniforms. The Son had his Mother alter Eubanks number 7 jersey so it wouldn’t hang like an overcoat on him. Nevertheless, when he tucked it inside his pants, the numeral disappeared. No problem. The Son just got out the spray paint and went to work.

When the Son presented the cleats to Eubanks he told the team they were more than just cleats; they were talismans, a magical force that would guide the Raiders with honor. The players ate it up and right then and there, Garbonski started the tradition of touching Eubanks cleats before a game. Even the coaches! It was a wild sight to behold and relaxed everyone before kickoff.

The referee came over and asked for the Captains. The Son appointed Garbonski on the spot and he sprinted out to midfield for the coin flip.

The rest of the team and the coaches gathered in a huddle and put their arms around each other. They started chanting Raiders, Raiders, Raiders. They were becoming a team, a brotherhood. If you’ve never been in such a huddle, and the same thing can happen before opening night of an amateur theatrical performance or new restaurant, you haven’t lived.

Garbonski returned from the coin flip, joined the huddle, and said he’d lost. The Raiders would be kicking off.

It was then the Son espoused the team’s philosophy. He’d thought about what he might say for this inaugural and defining moment, but never written anything down or rehearsed it.

Team first. We are a team, not a a gang. We never cheap shot. We never talk bad about teammates to their faces or behind their backs. If one of us screws up, we all take the blame and we pick up our teammates and support them. We are family on this field, in the classroom, in the halls. We play hard every down. We talk with our pads.

The Son stuck his right arm into the middle of the huddle and told the players to, “Put your hands in here.” They did. So did the Father. They counted off to three and then screamed, “GO RAIDERS!” They broke the huddle and the kickoff team raced onto the field. Eubanks fell down.

Twenty-seven players turned out. Almost none of them had played organized football so the first day was a walk/run through of all the various rules about blocking, tackling and scoring. The coaches also introduced and defined words and phrases such as “flat,” blitz,” “interception,” line of scrimmage,” “zone coverage” and “three-point stance.” There was a whole new vocabulary and it was essential to teach it.

The next day, players were issued helmets and pads, instructed how to dress, and then told to gear up in ten minutes and meet at the field’s 50-yard line. There the season would truly begin with a pit drill, where players actually had to block and tackle and couldn’t escape a circle. In other words, they had to hit one another. Grapple. Collide. Fall to the turf and get up. The coaches had to see who liked contact or who flinched. There was no other way. Collisions weren’t for everyone. There was always cross country. (Soccer wasn’t around yet.)

After a week of practice, it was clear to the coaches there wasn’t much athletic talent but the character and spirit of the team were outstanding, There wasn’t one bad egg.

Several Raiders stood out:

Casey Jones at quarterback and strong safety. Slow, couldn’t throw, but didn’t fumble. Loved to knock heads and was a fair punter (meaning 25-yard knuckle balls).

Fred Pudwell at tight end and defensive tackle. Decent speed but no change of direction. Mediocre receiver and blocker but could play every down and never got winded or hurt.

Jimmy Dickerson at tailback and free safety. Solid if unimaginative ball carrier. Excellent tackler in the secondary and never gave up on a play.

Ray Garbonski at fullback and middle linebacker. The undisputed stud and leader of the team, a maniac on offense and defense, a ferocious hitter and one-man wrecking crew. Would rather demolish an opposing quarterback than score a touchdown. A great football player with a great football name that harked back to the days of classic football names such as Dick Butkus, Ed Podolak, Sonny Sixkiller and Bronco Nagurski.

And then there was the bespectacled Tommy Eubanks, all four foot, three inches and 79 pounds of him. The coaches couldn’t find a jersey or pants to fit him so they improvised with cords and scissors. He apparently didn’t own any cleats or tennis shoes, and showed up wearing tan Buster Browns.

The Son noticed this and hustled to the locker room’s lost and found bin and rustled up some black Chuck Taylors a couple sizes two big. He stuffed socks inside and Eubanks was good to go. As for his helmet, the coaches couldn’t find one small enough to fit Eubanks’ head. Every one they tried looked like a diving bell on him. The Son checked the lost and found again and produced an Elmer Fudd cap. He told Eubanks to wear it with the flaps down and then put on the helmet. Snug as a bug with a single bar face mask to boot! Billy Kilmer would have been proud.

Eubanks roared out of the locker room like a madman, running in the most unusual form. He swung his arms quickly back and forth in a kind of punching motion, like a flyweight boxer going frenetically to the midsection. His hips swiveled, his knees knocked together. Twenty yards out the door, he fell down.

In the first pit drill, Eubanks fell down again and again, whether carrying the football, or trying to block or tackle. It wasn’t so much as he feared contact, he just was so uncoordinated he couldn’t stand up while moving any direction on a lumpy football field.

What Eubanks had in mind going out for a football team was mystifying to the coaches. Nevertheless, he seemed to love every minute of it. They had two goals for him: keep him alive and set him up for some kind of success on the field.

The Son also had another private goal for Eubanks: never allow him to be bullied or taunted by his teammates. During his eighth grade football season, the Son had participated in merciless bullying of an awkward and impoverished teammate that was aided and abetted by the coach. It was a disgrace that haunted him into adulthood and he knew he would cut any player off at the knees who mocked Eubanks or hit him unnecessarily.