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No Playground For Old Men

Once upon a time, kids would get together at the playground and have pickup games of football, basketball and baseball. They would pick teams, set the rules, and referee their own games. I have fond memories of these types of games happening at Consolidated School in Janesville Township when I was a kid. Best of all, adults were nowhere to be found.

Then, as we became a more advanced society, pickup games went by the wayside, replaced by “organized” sports and the advent of video games that kept kids indoors. And so it was for my two children.

Not that there is anything inherently wrong with organized sports. My son Rob benefited greatly from having a superb Milton Youth Football coach who helped him get up to speed, even though he was starting the sport five or six years later than most of his teammates. Too many of the problems with organized games arise from overzealous (and sometimes obnoxious) parents. In general, it seems that there's nothing a kid can do that an adult can't find a way to bugger up.

So for years, it has been rare when I would drive by a schoolyard or a park and see a group of kids participating in an unscripted, unscheduled game. But lately in Milton, that's changed.

Rob has fallen in with a group of teens that – gasp! - play pickup games. The first time he told me that he was going to play ball with a group of kids, I think I was as excited as he was.

Rob and his friends have made weekend football a regular event at Goodrich Park. A few weeks ago, he invited me to participate. Ignoring the fact that I was out of shape and middle-aged, I happily accepted.

The football games are, for lack of a better term, “tackle-optional.” What I mean is that basically, the game is tackle, but the game is also co-ed. Many of the girls that participate opt to be declared down with a two-hand touch rather than being tackled. Some of the boys, however, take the game very seriously. Rob, for example, is always covered with mud and grass stains by day's end. It is an interesting mix of skill levels, but it works and everyone seems to have a great time.

The games are refreshingly loose. This pole marks the goal line, that pole marks out of bounds. Second base on the baseball diamond marks a first down. And no one ever seems to know what the score is or bothers to keep track.

So what was I doing out there with a bunch of kids, some of them a third of my age? I don't know, but that first week, it sure was fun. On one of the first plays of the afternoon, I went deep and Rob hit me with a touchdown pass. The Lyke boys celebrated with a chest bump. It was a good day for the old man; caught two TD's and threw for another. Better yet, I felt good – got a little winded at times, but hung in there. I wore my grass stains as medals of honor.

And that was the point where I should have walked away.

To remind me of my age and lack of conditioning, my body rebelled a few days later. On a rainy afternoon, while running through a parking lot to avoid getting soaked, boing! I strained not one, but both thigh muscles.

When Football Saturday rolled around, my thighs were still sore, but like a gimpy Joe Namath hobbling around with the L.A. Rams, I didn't know when to quit. So I went out there to play, even though at best, I was at three-quarter speed. I played until my legs couldn't take it anymore, and then called it a day. (The nice thing about pickup games is that the players come and go at will.)

So after that humbling experience, you'd think the old man would know better. Unh-unh, baby. With the soreness gone from my thighs, I set out in week three to show that I was still a player.

The first time I ran full speed, I tweaked my thighs again. I couldn't believe it. Father Time, why must you mock me so? Well, there was no way I was going to run one play and then quit. So I played through the pain...and sucked. There's no better way to put it. I couldn't run, I couldn't catch, I couldn't tackle. And for good measure, I added a nice sore hamstring muscle to my mix of ailments. Defeated and humbled, I limped home.

This past weekend, while the kids enjoyed football on a beautiful Indian Summer day, I went on a long hike in the Kettle Moraine State Forest with my wife. It was a much less dangerous form of exercise with someone my own age.