The ball was floating towards my side of the field. I broke on it like a thousand galloping horses. Like a charging bull. Like anybody with a conscious mind fleeing the desolation of the internet in 2025.
I just provided you with three similes. I don’t typically like similes when I’m reading. I don’t typically like similes when I’m writing. But here we are, knee deep in this piece of sports journalism, and I figured I’d go for it. Three similes in a row. Like a writer throwing caution to the wind.
And indeed, caution was thrown to the wind as I leapt into the air and got my fingers on the ball. The ball deflected into my arms. Tip drill. I fell to the ground cradling the ol’ pigskin. Interception.
***
And indeed, caution is being thrown to the wind as I try my hand at sports journalism. As I try to describe to you the glorious return of Sam Tanner to a football field in 2025.
But first, some memories:
I remember playing football with Katie’s family nearly fifteen years ago. It was dark. It was cold. I ran a crossing route. So did Katie’s cousins. My head is still ringing from that concussion.
I remember playing football with my college roommates Josh and Mike nearly twenty-five years ago. Pioneer Gophers. We made our way in to a field by the Mississippi River in a pack of college freshmen. I demanded that I play quarterback. Damn my foolish, Napoleonic pride. I remember hitting Josh on a short in. I felt good about myself. I assured Mike I could get that ball to the end zone. He doubted me. Hurt by his lack of faith, but unable to admit that I was hurt, I got angry instead.
“I can get it there,” I growled.
Mike went deep. Mike slipped. He fell to the ground. I heaved the ball. The ball did not get there. Luckily, Mike has Kent Hrbek’s wingspan. He reached out and pulled the ball in for a touchdown. It was glorious.
I wasn’t able to walk for weeks after that game.
Over thirty years ago, I played football all the time with my friends. After middle school. Sometimes after high school. Mostly, we ran in my friend Nick’s cul-de-sac. They called me Tatonka. Well, Nick did. He thought it was funny that I was chubby but, once I got going, you couldn’t catch me. I ran like a buffalo, for those of you that prefer simile to metaphor.
And then it was 2025, and I was bringing in an interception.
***
A guy I play basketball with mentioned a flag football game outside of Iowa City. A faculty member has a football field in the corn. They play in the fall.
I bought some cleats, found some shorts without pockets, and made my way to the field last Sunday. I didn’t do much. I made a few tackles. I played offensive line. I pulled in an interception on the final drive. I took a quick screen for a decent gain. Mostly, I had a blast playing football again, despite my advanced age.
Speaking of my advanced age, my thumb is throbbing as I write this sentence. My feet ache and don’t get me started on my groin. But I popped a few Tylenol when I got home. Luckily, there was no cyanide. The pain subsided. A little.
I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to going back next Sunday. There was such joy in sprinting up and down a football field in the corn. I can’t wait to show these folks Tatonka. I don’t think I’m as chubby as I was in middle school. But I’m certainly not as fast. Still, I can reach back in time and remember how to run like the buffalo.
Samuel Jaye Tanner 