Bob McCarty Writes

Oklahoma QB Sam Bradford

I’m excited about the opportunity to watch the #1 Oklahoma Sooners take on the #2 Florida Gators in the BCS National Championship tonight in Miami.  Why?  Because I share a lot in common with Oklahoma’s Heisman Trophy-winning quarterback Sam Bradford.

For instance:

• I know what it’s like to be the starting quarterback for an Oklahoma football team;

• I know what it’s like to take command of a huddle and challenge ten teammates to execute their assignments;

• I know what it’s like to line up behind the center and bark signals while staring into the eyes of gnarly defenders intent on preventing my team’s success; and

• I know what it’s like to take the snap, drop back into the pocket and…
  

Unfortunately, that’s where the similarities end.  Unlike Bradford, my career behind center spanned only three seasons.

After a moderately-successful first season as a sixth-grade signal caller in the Enid, Okla., Police Athletic League, things went downhill — and stayed there — during my next two seasons on the junior high school gridiron.  It was so bad that the only number lower than the number of knockout concussions I suffered — (2) was the number of victories (1) my teams realized during the course of two seasons.

Who was to blame?  Perhaps, I was.  Or perhaps it was my social studies-teaching coach who deserved much of the blame.  In reality, it was the offensive linemen, a group that performed like a sieve and had more and larger holes in it than the average miniature golf course.  Enough finger pointing, though  Let’s move on.

Even after enduring two seasons chock full of character-building experiences that left my teammates and I feeling a lot like most Oklahoma opponents this season, I didn’t hesitate to show up for my ninth-grade team’s pre-season tryouts.  Unfortunately, only nine players mustered similar bravado.  The previous two seasons had, it seemed, sucked the football-playing desire out of most of my teammates.

And so it was decision time:  Would I stay or would I go?

Though the team eventually attracted enough students — notice I didn’t describe them as “players” — to fill one-deep depth charts on both sides of the line of scrimmage, I opted to pull a Brett Favre-like move and announced to my fans (i.e., my coach and my parents) that I was retiring from football, all the while hoping my retirement wouldn’t last more than a season.

So far, it’s lasted more than three decades, and I’m now trusting guys like Bradford to do my dirty work for me.

BOOMER SOONER!

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