We all know the feeling. Somebody has just called your bluff. Bollox why’d I go all in on a pair of fours? Not only will you have to suffer the shame of bowing out of the game, you’ll be forced to show to the table – and by extension – the world, that you can write plenty of cheques but when it comes to cashing them you’re about as secure as an Irish banking institution. The aura you so confidently eluded mere minutes before has evaporated as quick as the sweat patches formed under your arms. It all seemed so easy as you pushed the green chips to the middle of the table. Surely nobody will call me? I’ll re-raise just to be safe.......Soon enough you’ve the rent money on the table and you’re pricing how much food will cost you for the rest of the week. In the immortal words of Mick McCarthy – your arse in the bacon slicer.
In the bigger more fluid game of poker, that is American Football, I’d long since re-mortgaged the house with boasts of 50 yard field goals. Within the blink of an eye, Round 1 arrived and my bravado would actually be tested. All the practice with Coach Ramos would be put to the test in the ultimate arena – a live competitive sporting event. I’ve had a fairly successful couple of months in training. My kicking percentage has increased and my bad kicks have nearly disappeared. I am far from nailing all my kicks but I look like a kicker now. Throughout the pre-season, the team had lost a punter so I was called into fulfil that duty as well. Initially this was the position I had wanted but without much practice, I was going to have to wing it. My kickoffs were frankly rubbish until our Defensive Tackle Dave spotted a flaw in my style. A quick change and I was pinning the opposition back with my kickoffs. All this though was in the friendly environment of Spartans Training. The New Jersey Pitbulls wouldn’t be so nice about it.
After getting padded up, I was presented with my jersey. I’d requested the number 32 (an ode to my Sinn Fein days and a goal all Irish Republicans strive towards) and the club had come good for me. The jersey fitted me but the questions as to whether I could fill it out or not still lingered. A quick warm up later and it was time for the coin toss. I was hoping if we won the toss to receive first thus delaying my debut onto the field. In this regard I was not so lucky. The call went up for the kickoff team and all I could do was bless myself and say to Him what he must be sick of hearing from me at this stage – please don’t let me feck this up. I had what I’d best describe as first date nerves: if this goes well I’m going to be very happy and will wonder why I worried but if I goes badly I’ll have to delete her number and I’ll never be able to frequent certain bars again. In this case she drinks in my local so the stakes were high. In near blind panic I asked the ref where the kickoff was from. (Interestingly nobody from the Spartans organisation thought this was important information to tell me). All he would say was the same place as the NFL. Tentatively I placed the ball on the 35 yard line and awaited a whistle. I stepped back 10 yards, cupped my hands a la Johnny Wilkinson, took a deep breath and let rip. Seconds later the ball was stopped at their 35 and I trotted off happy in the knowledge that Act 1 had went well.
Two punts later and I was suddenly up and about. The previous play a Pitbull had tried to clean my out when I came into the vicinity of the play. I’d spotted him a mile off but didn’t move until he got close. Some pleasantries were exchanged and now I was riled up. In training, I half seriously asked the coaches to let me stretch my legs and throw the fake punt – essentially the plan was to pin back my ears and run for Ireland West Africa and the kid from the West of Ireland shouldn’t have much common ground. But we share a passion to do our best and I knew I was in good hands if he was going to be making the hole. The snap came and predictably I fumbled it. When I picked it up, I raised my head just in time to see G clean a bloke out.
Hello hole, hello first down, I don’t think we’ve met before.
I was bundled out of bounds (please, I’m way too pretty to try and cut in field) and arose to a mass of green and black shirts congratulating me. On the next play our running back Goose showed me how to properly exploit a hole and suddenly we were a different animal. Alas it all arrived too late for us to change the outcome but in that short spell we should why we’ll be contenders come the summer.
Every so often the last card dealt is another 4 and you sit there and try to contain your joy as you casually extend your arms to collect your chips along with his. Your swagger back, you reassure everybody that you knew what you were doing but under it all you thank God and convince yourself you’ll never gamble again. Well until next Saturday that is. Roll on the rest of the season.
Follow Seamus on twitter @fbspecial
