I played Dback on a jr high team. One day we ran plays with the varsity team and the coach ran the same running play up my hole about 20 times in a row [because he was a fucking prick and didn't dig me at all]. The varsity running back never got past me, but I left that practice with bruised shoulders and the worst headache I had ever experienced in my 14 years of living up to that point.
Years later, I ran into Barry the running back [who went on to play rb at a D1 before his career-ending knee injury], and told him that blocking and tackling him was like running into an oak tree, and that he beat me up so bad that day I almost quit football.
He said that was the worst practice in his football life, before he got home his entire abdomen was black & blue and he couldn't dress out the next 2 days. And he also seriously considered quitting football after being worked over like that by a 9th grader.
I told my [step]dad about it after I graduated hs. He told me it was a good thing for everybody that I didn't tell him when it happened, because he would have "Made that mushmouth redneck sonofabitch [coach] Minton answer for it. He was no good and your mother and I couldn't stand him." ... "Your mother never told you, but she hated you playing football, and we were both so glad when you decided you didn't want it anymore."
He played HS football too. Then quit after one of his best friends on the team broke his neck in a game and died. He went on to play basketball for UoP, where he was named All-American both his last 2 years.
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