The Last Football Game

As far as I’m concerned, it’s all Keith Saunders’ fault. That guy, and maybe some pretty bad blocking assignments, cost us all championship jackets. Of course, I don’t really mean this, especially about Keith. He was one of many superior athletes on the 1971 team that could have been champions if not for a great deal of misfortune. Such is life, and brutally hard lessons are all part of it.

In the not so distant past in the early fall I asked a very successful high school head football coach which pro team he thought would win the Superbowl. “Whichever team is healthiest at the end of the season,” he said without hesitation, wisdom from a man with a master’s degree and major college football experience.

To say Keith was healthy at the end of the season would be like saying Joe Frazier was just fine after 15 rounds with Ali. I use the Joe Frazier comparison because Keith was, and I’m sure still is, that kind of tough. To this day I’m still not sure how well Keith’s injuries were known as Keith was the last one to complain about adversity and took his pain in stoic silence. Like a lot of the best athletes in smaller schools, Keith played on both sides of the ball. I don’t remember where offensively, I think as a wide receiver on passing plays, but recall he was also a defensive safety, extremely fast and agile, one of the key reasons we had the record we did. Beyond question, Keith shouldered critical responsibilities, almost, if not completely impossible, when knees and ankles are held together with athletic tape.

We were in the locker room suiting up to get on the bus for the Schuylerville game when I noticed Keith’s face flash an expression I’ve seen only in people experiencing excruciating amounts of pain. He’d just stood up after putting on his pads and appeared to experience 220 volts to his nervous system to go with boiling oil down his spine. He then instantly erased his momentarily contorted face, maybe because he saw me looking right at him with what I’m sure was an expression of concern. Keith just put on his psychological armor to go with his pads, threw on his jersey and walked out to the bus. I remember a slight limp but no words, probably because none were exchanged. They weren’t needed.

After many years thinking about this and knowing the yards of tape Keith used before each game toward the end of the season, I believe it’s a safe bet all of our coaches knew Keith was hurt, but, maybe not how badly, because Keith was so adept at hiding his pain. We didn’t have sophisticated medical imagery in use today and, like I just said, Keith tried especially hard not to show discomfort to anyone.

But I also think the odds are good that all of us, and that includes every player on our team, were not about to tell a senior who made the enormous contributions Keith had for four years that he couldn’t play for the championship. It was Keith’s last football game, and I’m not just referring to the season, but to a life experience. Nearly every senior who walks off the Cambridge football field at season’s end has played his last real football game. A few get a shot at college ball. I don’t recall anyone ever making the pros, except for a couple participating in what was and may still be called semi-pro in locally organized leagues.

Maybe I was more acutely aware than many of the finality theme as I watched the colorful fall scenery pass by, the yellow dog bus bumping and rolling toward our last matchup. Unlike Keith, a talented athlete, my claim to minuscule football fame was almost a miracle. I had finally earned a starting varsity slot as offensive left guard and replaced a 200 pounder, mostly because our offense was geared more to speed over brute power. I was about 140 pounds dripping wet and full of splinters from years of riding the bench.

I give a lot of credit to Larry Saari, Class of ’71, for teaching a most effective blocking technique the year before that made a jamoke like me mildly effective. Larry wasn’t a very big guy either, but he was a far better overall athlete who often used a blocking tactic I’d describe as a Scud missile rocketing about 18 inches off the ground.

In my junior year, Larry explained it didn’t matter how big the opponent was, if you hit him low and at speed, you’re going to knock the guy down, and this was 99 percent of my job. In my senior year our team featured a very quick backfield; Doug Luke a major star. We employed a lot of sweep plays. In these cases, both guards pulled straight down the offensive line when the ball was snapped, my aim to nail whoever happened to be out there, most often a linebacker.

Being both semi-suicidal and half-fast gave me an edge over the bigger guy I replaced, and using Larry’s below the knee hits also worked well when pass blocking, except in that case it was common for the guy to fall right on top of me.

We beat down Greenwich 42-0 in the game just before our last. During the game one of the big Taft boys fell on my hand and broke two bones in it, so I became another of the walking wounded, but nowhere near to Keith’s degree. I didn’t need my right hand for what I did and a big pad and a lot of tape eliminated most discomfort. Didn’t even know the hand was broken until after our last game when the swelling wouldn’t go down and Mom marched me off to Dr. Harf, an x-ray “on the hill” later revealing the broken bones.

As for more company, I know for a fact quarterback Clark McLenithan consumed almost as much tape as Keith did as he’d also endured a tremendous pounding at that position as did our entire backfield. I’m sure there were dozens of other injuries I knew nothing about. No way to get around it, football is a rough sport.

I still see the Schuylerville field through tear filled eyes, especially at this time of the year. My last game, and the last game for the majority of the seniors that year, coincided with Halloween; it’s why I can still remember the exact date. Oh, man, that Halloween monster really, really hurt, mostly trick and few treats.

Aside from being banged up, we faced our toughest league opponent. Both teams were undefeated in league play. Actually it was unusual to have such a climatic ending in my era of football as unlike now with playoffs and tiered championships, we just played the set schedule and the team with the best league record was awarded the championship. It was just coincidence that the last game became the most important one, and as one might expect, the build up the week before, the pep rallies and community excitement, off the charts to a kid like me. For a very short period we were super heroes about to conquer the world.

As for what actually happened, a 30-20 Cambridge loss, my memories are that we were burned by deep pass plays at critical times and faced a defense unlike any other we saw before, one that most effectively utilized stunting linebackers and an odd alignment on the defensive line. I remember this so well because I recall saying to our center, Larry Bentley, “Hey, Pork, this ain’t working.” Pork agreed and we decided on the spot to change our blocking assignments, and this actually worked better, but even then I knew that two 17-year-olds drawing up their own plays in the middle of a championship game was far from ideal.

I guess as far as further clarification goes, I must add I used Keith here quite a bit as a prime example of the sacrifice and courage I saw one distant Halloween through the mask of a teenager who didn’t understand much about the world but thought he did. As for just who was responsible for pass coverage that hurt us so badly, I’ve no specific memory. For all I know Keith could have been on the sideline then or someone else responsible for covering the receivers who burned us. All I can remember with certainty today are a few long bombs up in the air to open receivers, and deep pain in my gut as I watched the plays unfold.

What I do recall with perfect clarity is standing on about the 50-yard line at the bitter end. I knew I’d just played my last real full contact football game and lost. I would never, ever again get the chance to win another game like this. I felt about as sad as the guy standing on the side of the road looking at his much beloved dog after it had been hit by a truck.

But I no longer feel that way years later. Instead, I’m enormously grateful for the experience of a lifetime, the opportunity to represent a community, the chance to bask in the spotlight and cheers. Few things in my life are more memorable.

I eventually learned the ultimate payoff has nothing to do with a single game, no matter how important. The true reward comes through the process and sacrifice, unknown hours pushing a blocking sled and wishing you were any place but behind a stupid torture device, overcoming pain, fatigue and fear, extending endurance and commitment to levels you didn’t think were possible, backing your friends as they backed you. Ultimately, scoreboards mean nothing and championship jackets fade and wear out. What counts remains inside, forever.

Here’s to everyone who now plays or has played Cambridge football and the many others who support and contribute to the process.

And for you young guys, enjoy it while you can.

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10 Replies to “The Last Football Game”

  1. Thanks for sharing. I am a 1980 graduate of Cambridge and Larry Saari was a neighbor

  2. Thank you for sharing your memories. In the 40 years I have known Keith, he has barely talked about his experience as a Cambridge football player. It’s nice to have more insight into the person I married.

    1. Keith, as I”m sure you know after many years, is a class act of great character. I’m most proud to know him as a friend and classmate.

  3. I played on that team, and remember with great clarity being responsible for letting a receiver get behind me for a long touchdown. I can still see that ball floating in the air, hoping against hope, that it would fall to the ground. But it dropped right into the receivers hands…….#22. I was disappointed in myself at halftime as we were down 24-0. But I am proud of that team. We continued to play hard……..but it was too little too late. Keith was a tough, quiet person. We got beat that day by a very good Schuylerville team. They had a lot a good, tough athletes. Schuylerville won championships in all 3 major sports that year (1971-1972). Cambridge finished second in each of the same. Some disappointing memories, but so proud to have been a part of it all.

  4. Great hearing your stories. The players today are playing in a program that was built by players who, like yourself, have been written about and who still share their memories. Tradition is something that takes time to build, as well as slow growing former player and fan support, which today has become impressive. A player plays harder when surrounded with heroes from the past. Most winning programs are indebted to people who paid the price in the foundational years but who didn’t always win a ring.

    1. And Oliver thank you for your major contributions for the videos you share with us all that allow a guy like me 2,000 miles distant to still be connected to a great program. It’s very much like family, take, for an excellent current example, Steve Luke’s post making sure, after so many years, to show we all played a part and didn’t always succeed. This is very much like the group in general I shared a special bond with. From the biggest star, like Steve’s brother Doug, to the guys who gave us a cold drink when we came out of the game, nobody walked around like the were better than anyone else, and this is the sort of teambuilding spirit you make reference to that I must agree is critically important. As far as community support goes, I want to add a final detail that really touched me after the game was over and lost. As we rode back through Cambridge we passed a big group holding a banner outside of Bill’s Restaurant. Don’t remember what the banner said but the cheers and support in the face of a most bitter defeat will never be forgotten in my mind, and I’m sure the minds of my teammates who saw the same things I did. It’s easy to support a winner, but so much more important to support others when times are hard.

  5. Thanks for sharing such well written reflections. I was also on that team and remember Keith as a particularly tough and selfless player. I must confess my own contribution to that loss, which was to drop a pass that hit me right on the numbers – funny how such a thing still haunts the soul after 40+ years. I also remember the bus trip to Schuylerville that day. We were eerily silent for the entire trip. Not a word was spoken. I think the coaches interpreted our silence as “focus,” but even as a sophomore, I sensed the silence indicated we were not “right” that day. We were tight, too tight. I wished I’d had the courage to speak out. I didn’t. Wondering if others recall it the same way. Thanks, Mike – great blog.

    1. Thanks, Gerry. No need to feel badly. We all did what we could do, and had a great run.

  6. Mike, as always a really fine piece of prose. As a Cambridge graduate, I never played sports for CCS as I had little interest in athletic competition those days. After school work to make a few bucks, tinkering with old cars, blowing up various things, finding someone old enough to buy beer and appreciating the ladies ( & oh almost forgot: studies) kept me pretty occupied. All in all growing up in Cambridge in those days was a blast.
    It’s great to see the fine football teams that CCS has produced in the last few years. Particularly nice to see my nephew’s son Calvin Schneider quarter-backing this years amazing team. The amazing coaching staff has built a physical engine that is most impressive.
    From what I understand CCS scholastic program still turns out some fine young men & women and that of course is the true mission of it all.
    Hope things are going well for you. Keep on trucking’ paul s.

    1. Paul, you just got me thinking I’ve badly neglected writing about a most important Cambridge group, its gearheads. As you well know, our community was full of them and some of their creations are almost legendary, but were, in fact, quite real.
      I often feel sorry for younger people because they missed out on a time when the average person could walk into a car dealership and drive away in a rocket ship, one that was actually affordable. Today, while it’s still possible to buy high performance vehicles that are even faster, the sticker price is usually more than the cost of a lot of houses. Only the rich can now afford such luxury delivered whole and complete today. Fortunately, there are still many, young and old, creating road bombs most worthy of recognition.
      In Cambridge the gearhead culture was diverse. We had mature and safe sportsmen like Ray Olson who owned a Shelby GT, a car that now sells for high six figures, and others on the opposite spectrum like my gang. We dreamed of owing a nice car like Ray’s, but seldom had the opportunity to drive anything near its speed, actually most fortunate for all concerned.
      OK Paul, my next post is for you and all of my gearhead friends, one about the lower spectrum, the first of many planned Road Warrior tales most abundant in our town. I welcome anyone’s contributions to a most noble cause, the need for speed. Thanks for your interest.

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