Mike Maddock My illustrious football career came to a dramatic and quick conclusion when I was in the third grade. It just happened to be my third year in the Irondale, Alabama recreational league, and it was going to be my best. I had just been promoted to linebacker and fullback. Life was good because at age eight, this was one of the rare times in my existence that everyone was not bigger than I.

The growth spurts just on the horizon for every other kid had not kicked in yet, and my frame was perfect for dishing out pain to unsuspecting seven–year–olds on both sides of the ball.

But my life as the anchor of the defense and the rock of the offense was to be short lived. I started having neck pains about the fourth or fifth practice. Then during my first run of my very first game, I took a hit, fumbled the ball, and ended up at the bottom of a pile of vicious elementary school kids.

I came up out of that pile with a searing pain in my neck, and had to be carted off the field crying like an infant. I was nothing like the nail–chewing, dirt–eating, head–splitting linebacker I had dreamed of becoming.

My parents took me to the emergency room where doctors promptly X–rayed me and concluded I had cracked my neck in three places. I was going to be in traction for the next six weeks. My mom had a mild nervous breakdown, and my dad rushed me to another hospital for a second opinion. It turned out I only had a slight sprain, but the scare was enough for my mother, and so began my soccer career.

I recently had the chance to return to the football field as a photographer for The Columbia Star ’s special high school football preview. After spending a few hours observing and snapping pictures of several area teams, I can honestly say it’s a good thing my career ended in the third grade. My little injury got me out of there just in time.

My high school baseball coach once told us that he’d gotten more injuries running bases than he ever did running the football. So, he thought baseball players were the toughest guys around. Well…he was wrong. I think he just said that to make us feel tougher.

These kids playing football today have my utmost respect for simply strapping on all that equipment in the middle of August. The fact that they wear it all to run sprints and participate in full contact drills puts me in awe. I never felt so small in my life as when I tried to get pictures of six linemen, a linebacker, and a running back slamming full force into each other during something called the Oklahoma drill. Some coaches use this exercise to determine if their players can take a hit. I could hardly take the picture.

These kids are much tougher than I ever was, but that’s not the most impressive part. I came away from these practices shivering slightly but with a renewed confidence in the future of this world. With all the negativity swirling around sports and the youth of today, I was blown away by the character and spirit of the kids on those fields. Sure, many of them were fired–up and talking a little smack, but at the end of the day, all these kids were incredibly hard working and respectful. Their coaches were gentlemen and rarely even yelled except to congratulate them for making a good play.

I used to worry about my son playing football when he gets a little older, but now I worry more that he won’t. It is a violent game, but the toughness and work ethic these kids take from the football field into the real world are invaluable.

My injury ended my football career early, and my stature probably would have prevented it from going much further anyway, but I’m glad football is still out there. I’m especially glad kids are still playing. The lessons, both mental and physical, should serve them well.