This was not just another after school football practice session. At Roosevelt High School in Seattle, Washington, in the 1930s football was rising in popularity.
Normally I played Half-back. During practice, I was playing defense. And one of my friends, Sperling, was running towards me intent on scoring a touchdown. My job was to tackle him, which I did. The problem is I didn't use proper technique. I ran into him using my head and shoulders. Sperling was lying on the ground writhing in agony and I was also in considerable pain. I resolved to follow conventional procedure in the future in tackling and quit improvising.
The coach was jumping up and down, shouting, wanting me to hit 'em like that again.
He didn't care how much I'd hurt my friend. One of his players was there on the ground. And he was more concerned with my potential to hurt other players.
He had been an Olympic sportsman at the Greek Olympics in Crew. So he was admired and idolized by most of the local sports fans.
For me - Sperling was my catcher in baseball season. He was the last person I wanted to hurt.
That should not be the object of high school sports - hurting the players.
I never forgave that coach for his attitude. And I lost my stomach for that sport entirely. You shouldn't have to knock a fellow down to prove your worth.
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