Man Moments

For some reason yesterday morning, I thought back to a time in college. I'm not entirely sure what caused this momentary flashback, but it was there.

"Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear." Empire Records. Anybody?

Anywho. So, I was taken back to a night during my junior year standing outside of a friend's house. We had just finished with a meeting for an organization when one of the guys there said his truck wouldn't start. Naturally, all of the men began to walk that direction to assess the situation. Usually my assessment would go something like this:

"Pop the hood."

hood pops open

"Yep. That's an engine."

looks a little closer

"Something's keeping that thing from turning on."

closes hood

However, that night as he turned the key, I heard a familiar sound. I knew what was wrong. I knew what was wrong.

Anybody got a screwdriver, I ask. Next thing I know, screwdriver in hand, I crawl underneath the truck, locate the starter and begin tapping on it. He turns the key and the engine comes to life.

I tell him that his starter is failing and that he should probably get that taken care of soon. He drives away probably thinking I'm a car genius. That's not true in the slightest. I've just come across starter related issues before and was in the right place at the right time.

But here's what I was thinking about: that made me feel like such a stud. Manly, you know? I mean, c'mon, crawling under a pickup and fixing a mechanical problem. It felt good.

I think we need that as men. Those moments when we totally come through in a traditionally manly way. That's not to say that a woman couldn't do what I did. Heck, I guarantee you that my cousin Kelli knows much more about the inner workings of an engine than I do, but my point is men need to have manly moments.

Which leads me to last night.

I find three things curious about what led to the events of last night:

1) The story I just told you about remembering feeling particularly manly.

2) The fact that I was unusually careful about which shirt I chose to wear to my flag football game last night. Selecting one, that I knew I could sort of replace if I chose to do so.

3) The fact that I had just had a conversation with my sales manager about how it takes a bit longer to recover from sports injuries than it did a few years ago.

So, last night I head to my football game a little more pumped than usual. Why? Because I was playing quarterback.

I hadn't played a game at QB since I've moved to Chicago. The team I found to play on was already assembled and already has their quarterback, and he does a good job. It just so happens that he couldn't make the game last night, so I nominated myself for the job of fill-in. I was pumped up, but also nervous because I wanted to make a good impression and win the game, so I was hoping the rust wasn't too thick.

The first drive was awesome. We moved the ball right down the field and scored a touchdown. That definitely calmed the nerves a little.

Sadly, the next drive I threw a pick six. Underthrowing my intended target on a short flag route (the receiver runs straight and then breaks at an angle toward the sideline.)

To get you to the point of this story quickly, a blown call cost us one touchdown (as I was reaching the ball across the goal line the defender hacked my arm causing me to fumble; attempting to strip the football isn't legal in flag but it went uncalled). And their only offensive score came on a deep pass against one of our more reliable defenders (fluke.)

Fast forward to the last few minutes. We're down 14-6 and we're driving. We were fired up and wanted to win this game. I had found some success running the football when the coverage was good, so with about 30 seconds left in the game and us driving I decided to take off.

I slip through a couple of defenders, and as I approach another I decide to spin and hope that keeps him from pulling my flags.

And that's when the lights went out.

Next thing I know, I 'm on the ground. I remember spinning. I remember a flash of pain. And what sounded in my head like a car crashing.

My hands are on my face. Blood is on my hands. Stars are in my head.

Slowly everything starts to settle down. I know that the refs have stopped the game. Someone says there are nineteen seconds left.

I sit up. Then I stand up, wiping blood on my shirt. My carefully chosen shirt. The tears from the initial impact have faded away. I can see pretty clearly. My face hurts, but other than that, I'm okay.

The refs are pulling me off the field. My team is finding a QB.

"I can play," I tell no one in particular. "I'm gonna play."

"No. You have to see the medic," says the ref. "Lie down here. Tilt your head back."

I do as he says. He tells me the medic is right over there, and I should go see him.

"Tell him to come here, " I say.

He goes and gets the medic. I stand up as he comes over.

"Oh...,"he says. "Let's see. Yeah. That's broken. Here's an ice pack and here's..."

"Can I play?" I interrupt. "There's nineteen seconds left. Then I'll be right back here to see you."

"I guess. Are you sure you want to?"

I go back on the field. The team had already sorted out the new positions, but I tell them I'm good; let's finish this.

*I must note here that my friend Cory Minton did attempt to get me to go and sit down and not play. (This should keep him in slightly less hot water with Stacie for not stopping me.)

We're about 16 or 17 yards from the end zone at this point. On the very first play with my new look nose, I attempt a pass but get hammered by the defensive lineman who was rushing.

In flag football.

No sympathy on this field tonight. The clock stops for the penalty.

12 seconds left.

Incomplete pass. Clock stops.

5 seconds left. Last chance.

I drop back. I look right and as I my eyes scan to the other side of the field I see a hole opening up and my receiver, Chris Bartas, moving right towards it. I throw. He catches.

Touch. Down.

14-12.

Sadly, we don't convert the two-point try, so the story ends with a loss. But I have to be honest with you. That was a moment that I felt like a man. Throwing a pontentially game tying touchdown with a broken nose. How many people have done that?

I don't tell you this story to boast in our near comeback. I don't tell you this story to let you know that I am now the proud owner of a broken nose (though some of you probably need to know that, so, hey I broke my nose).

No, I tell you this story because as men, we need to take opportunities to feel like men. We need to remind ourselves that being a man has nothing to do with the losers we see portrayed in modern sitcoms. Or the losers we see in modern advertising who can only be motivated if the end result includes beer, TV or women.

There are the everyday moments when we can achieve this feeling. And then there are the bigger moments that come around less frequently.

It was as if throughout the day, I was being prepared for my mid-sized man moment and the backstory for this post. And it felt good to step up to the challenge. I encourage you to do likewise.