Could a Career Change Be in Order?
Jeff Foley
Monday May 29, 2000
In layman terms, the form says that if I get injured, maimed or killed, the Albany Firebirds are not liable. No surprise there. This is what Albany general manager Joe Hennessey and I agreed on after he talked to the team`s lawyers. He said, "We can`t afford to have the franchise brought down by a lawsuit just because a writer gets hurt playing football." So I sign the form and make a deal with myself. If I get through the day, I`m spending the night at home with my wife. I`m not required to sleep at Lake Shore Apartments; Coach Dailey has given the local players - there are six of us - permission to head home whenever we`re not involved in team activities. His only advice was: "Be smart. Don`t spend all night running around."
Like I have the energy for that. I feel like a 90-year-old man. My legs are so stiff that I have to use both arms to get in and out of my car. And, as wide receiver/defensive back Dale Koscielski and I walk to the field, I realize that it`s Saturday morning. This is the last thing I should be doing. Saturdays are reserved for sleeping in, watching TV and curling up with a book. There`s no way I should be getting ready to play football - the most demanding thing I ever do on a Saturday is walk the dog. Weekends are supposed to be a time to get excited about.
"But there`s nothing to look forward to when you`re in camp," Dale says. "Saturday is just like every other day."
Practice begins promptly at 8 a.m. It`s sunny and about 50 degrees outside. After a stretching session, the skill players and big guys are split up. Coach Dailey`s voice booms from the other side of the field as we line up for receiving drills. "Good," he yells at a lineman. "Good butt block. That`s the way to do it."
Offensive coordinator Ed Hodgkiss has "Touchdown" Eddie Brown start us off, as usual. A rookie wide receiver/defensive back, a player with NFL experience, watches the 30-year-old run a deep pattern.
"I ain`t gonna be doing this when I`m 30," the rookie whispers to another receiver. "I ain`t putting my body through this for another 10 or 12 years. Shoot, when I`m that old, I`ll be laid up inside my own butt-naked club, watching the dollar bills roll in."
But age is not an issue for Brown. In 1999, he set two AFL regular-season records - 138 receptions and 45 receiving touchdowns. He says his success, or any success, is based on having heart. "Heart gets rid of fear. And fear`s your worst enemy. Once you get rid of the fear, you`d be surprised what you can do."
I keep that in mind as Hodgkiss summons me into a three-on-three drill. I`ve been standing on the sideline for much of practice, notebook in hand. I drop the notebook to the turf and sprint into a huddle. Quarterback Jeff Loots is on my left; Greg Hopkins is on my right. Van Johnson stands opposite me. We clasp hands as Loots calls the play.
"Is this Chinese to you?" Hopkins asks.
I tell the wide receiver/defensive back I`d have an easier time understanding the foreign language. He laughs and walks to the line of scrimmage with me, explaining what my route entails. After we line up, Loots yells "Go," and I run a short route in front of defensive specialist Evan Hlavacek. The pass goes to Hopkins - who hauls it in and blasts upfield - but I run my pattern correctly.
"OK, Foley," Hodgkiss says as we form another huddle. "This is your play."
It`s called Wing Delay. Apparently, it`s an effort to get me a catch in front of the home crowd at the Pepsi Arena against the Carolina Cobras. The offensive coordinator explains that I`m supposed to stand a yard off the line of scrimmage. Then, when the ball is snapped, I take one step back, one step forward, and cut across the field at a sharp angle. The only danger is that I`ll be running into the middle of the field, where defensive players lurk like junkyard dogs.
"If you catch it in a game, get down in a hurry," Hodgkiss says. "Hit the ground as fast as you can, `cause that linebacker will be waiting for you."
I trot to my assigned spot and peak at Hlavacek, who is standing about five yards away. He has no idea that this play is designed for me. I try to keep a poker face as I wait for Loots to drop back. Hlavacek`s body is low to the ground; he looks ready to cover any move I might make. He`s grinning, but his eyes are narrow and focused.
While my participation in camp seems to excite and amuse most of my teammates, it`s a safe guess that nobody wants to be burned by the writer/offensive specialist. A common line in the locker room has been: "You`ve got to catch a pass in a game, Foley. We need to show the league that we`re so good, even our writers can come up big." But I doubt anyone wants to be the guy I learn to catch passes against.
I dash across the field and the ball hits me in the upper chest before I turn to look for it. It smacks into the front of my shoulder pads with a thud. I wrap both arms around the football and slow down as Evan taps me on the back. Skill players are still not allowed to hit each other during practice - unlike the big guys, who are practically fist fighting - and this is good for me. I make the catch, but Evan is right there, in a position to drill me.
It doesn`t matter that I would have been splattered on the turf. Word of my reception spreads like a brush fire. Cheering and laughter sounds out. "Alright!" yells one of the linemen from the other side of the field. "Foley got his first catch!" Loots points a finger at me and nods. Even Hlavacek pats me on the helmet.
"Nice job," says Hopkins. "You should quit writing books and play football."
Jeff Foley was a writer for ArenaFan Online from 2000 to 2001.
