THE SANDLOT GAMES OF AUGUST

The deserted school yard where late-afternoon August sandlot football games were played each year.

By Bob Vickrey 

August 22, 2013

Almost a half-century ago and far away from the bright lights and cheering fans at high school and college football stadiums, there was another annual ritual playing out more quietly on sandlots in just about every Texas town across the state. Huge numbers of boys like me who did not play varsity football were gathering for our own version of the game on deserted dusty school yards.

Houston’s scorching and humid summer months were hardly a deterrent for the boys of our town to assemble in the late afternoons to engage in games of touch football. By early August there was already a sense of anticipation in the air about the upcoming fall football season, and many of us gathered as if we were training for the first game—even though few of us were actually members of any organized team.

We lived in Galena Park, a typically football-obsessed Texas town, where most of its citizens were passionately preoccupied with the fortunes of their high school team. The Yellow Jackets had begun a long run of success during the 1950s and eventually emerged as a statewide power in the 1960s under legendary coach, Paul Smith. That success led to a lifelong passion for the game for many of us.

There was little organization necessary for these sandlot games. As the summer days began to cool down to temperatures just below heat stroke level, young men of all ages and sizes began congregating on the dusty field in late afternoon and began instinctively tossing footballs in small informal groups. More and more cars continued to arrive on Keene Street as if there had been a formal practice announcement sent out. Eventually, someone stepped forward with a challenge for a pick-up game. Teams were set, and rules were made to accommodate the size of the assembled group.

The “regulars” included college boys home for the summer, local kids attending the community college, and those who still lived in the neighborhood who worked nearby. Many of the games featured locals who were now playing college ball, and on occasion, even a player who was currently on a National Football League roster.

The games were usually played in spirited fun, but the smiles and the levity shared between players concealed the genuine intensity of the competition that was often prevalent just beneath the laid-back veneer. Many of the participants were longtime friends and enjoyed the renewed camaraderie the afternoon games afforded. Nevertheless, secret rivalries stirred quietly beneath the surface and players attempted to avoid the appearance of playing at full throttle, although that was often exactly what was happening. 

Each afternoon game offered new surprises as to the talent level which might surface that particular day. I remember one game that featured two starting college quarterbacks from Houston area schools, plus one more recent high school grad that had just been signed by Texas A&M.

One quarterback, who played with us during the summers, had led our high school to the state championship game in the early 1960s and had gone on to become a star at Rice University. He prided himself on being the hardest throwing passer in America, and if you were on the receiving end of his passes, you hardly questioned his assertion. When I returned to the huddle after catching his pass, he would raise my shirt so he could glimpse the red welt the football left on my chest. He seemed to take some perverse pleasure in leaving his tattoo on my chest. Given my slight physical frame back then, my goal was to keep my footing after catching one of his “darts” and avoid being knocked to the ground by them.  

During one summer game, I remember our attention being diverted to the street when a conspicuously new Oldsmobile Toronado pulled up to the curb and out stepped a football player that everyone on the field immediately recognized. He had become our town’s first All-American who had shattered several all-time college receiving records and had subsequently signed a lucrative contract with the newest NFL franchise team, the Miami Dolphins. 

The game was stopped and he was greeted by well-wishers who gathered around him like the returning conquering hero he had become in our small town. He told us tales of his whirlwind year, and about the trips to all-star games around the country and being wined and dined by sports personalities we had only seen on television. His arrival was about the only time I remember a game ever being suspended. When we resumed our game, he chose to play quarterback instead of his usual position of receiver. He hardly took the game seriously and seemed to have had more fun than anyone else on the field that day. One might have assumed that he felt he had nothing left to prove.

Our high school had sent an inordinate number of players to the college level during those years. Many of them enjoyed varying degrees of success and finished their playing careers, while many others decided the excessive demands of the game were simply not worth the physical pain, nor the time and energy sacrificed at the expense of their college experience.

The game for many of us was about pondering the “what if” factor, and wondering if we might have had what it took to make the grade as varsity players on various levels. During those summer games we secretly measured ourselves against the college and professional players whom we competed with, and occasionally deluded ourselves with visions of grandeur. However, we knew deep within that most of us lacked their drive and passion for the game—not to mention much of their innate talent. It was simply fun for a day to have the opportunity and satisfaction of competing somewhat competently with real players.

The players who fascinated me most were the gifted athletes gathered there who had never been varsity players. Even though our high school team had been loaded with talented players, there were others who were incredibly skilled athletes who chose to forgo a shot at seeking a spot on the team.

My friend Donnie had been a coronet player in the high school band, but when he laced up his athletic shoes he morphed into an absolute beast on the field and came down with just about every ball thrown in his direction. A raw-boned boy named David had been a high school tennis player and when he played sandlot football, he roamed the defensive secondary like he owned the territory. Opposing quarterbacks became hesitant about throwing passes to his side of the field. A tall, lanky guy named Chuck possessed the graceful moves of a gazelle and could seemingly out-leap anyone on the field. Then there was Jeff, who had been a former college baseball pitcher who once received an extended tryout with the Houston Astros scouting team. On the sandlots, he became a terrific roll-out passer who was equally adept rolling to his right or left, and could throw accurately with either hand. He also always seemed to be on the winning team.

During our games, we heard a traditional refrain from those who played competitive college and professional sports. “Let’s see you make that catch across the middle with an inside linebacker bearing down on you.” Most of us could only reply, “touché.” The game was nothing more than mere fun for most of us, and we would be the first to acknowledge that we were unwilling to sacrifice what it took to become a top-notch athlete.

We played out that fantasy on our own “Field of Dreams” each summer on that hard-packed brown turf, and with the exception of a scattered group of girlfriends and wives on the sidelines, there were no cheering throngs to witness our exploits. We played solely for the spirited competition and for the sheer love of the game.

That satisfaction, as it turned out, was simply all we needed.

Bob Vickrey is a freelance writer whose columns have appeared in several Southwestern newspapers including the Houston Chronicle and the Ft. Worth Star-Telegram. He is on the Board of Contributors for the Waco Tribune-Herald and is a regular contributor to the Boryana Books website. He lives in Pacific Palisades, California.