My friends, I swear on this Holy Bible that what I am about to tell you is the Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing but the Truth, so help me God!!!
When I was just 17-years old, my high-school letter sweater and everything it stands for actually led me into the middle of an incredible violent brawl.
I was up against no less than TEN very dangerous bad-boys, each and everyone had already served hard time in various prisons for any combination of violent crimes, including murder, armed robbery, rape, assault, and gang fighting. None of them had been even remotely “reformed”.
Their onlookers had plenty of loaded guns and rifles and they were fully prepared to use them.
As hard as it is to believe, I was only 17 at the time and I was all alone.
At my most vulnerable point, I had just hit their leader with all of my might and I too was knocked down.
They were converging on me like a pack of hungry wolves, and I was completely at their mercy.
Now, before I tell you how I got out of that improbable predicament let me tell you how I got into it.
It all started when I was in High School where I was a bit athletic. In my sophomore year, I lettered in track and gymnastics and football. I was a middle linebacker. I was good enough that I actually had a good chance at obtaining a scholarship in a small-sized college. But, as it turned out, I injured my knee and spent half of the season of my senior year just sitting on the bench. No such scholarship would follow.
However, I still wanted to try to play college football so I was a walk-on at Western State College, in Gunnison. I am pleased to report that I indeed made the junior-varsity team, both as a middle linebacker and a guard.
One of our most noteworthy games was in Canyon City, at the Colorado State Prison. Yes we played the prisoners’ team. They were called the Canyon City Cons.
When we entered the prison we were thoroughly searched. The guards went through our bus and all of our equipment, with a fine-tooth comb. I guess they wanted to make sure we were not sneaking any weapons in.
Then they escorted us into a large locker room that was big enough for both teams. Armed guards were patrolling on ovr-head cat walks because large rooms are frequently places where problems occur in prisons.
The prisoners’ running back would be my responsibility. I would have to “Key on” him all day. Whenever he got the ball, it was my job to stop him. His name was Ron Lyle
Let me tell you just a little bit about Ron Lyle.
As a teenager, Ron shot and killed a fellow in a gang fight and was sentenced to 15-25 years in prison. Soon after he arrived in prison that gang put a hit out on him. It was not long before somebody got to him with a homemade knife and slashed his belly from one end to the other. It would take 7 hours of surgery and 35 pints of blood to save his life. Then a Lt. Mattax introduced new sports to the prison to give the prisoners something worthwhile to do.
Ron was an awesome athlete who excelled at basketball and football but he was an especially talented boxer, Two years after our game, Ron was released from prison and immediately embarked on a professional boxing career. He won 19 consecutive professional fights, 17 by knockouts. The story was too juicy for the promoters to resist. They soon booked the bad-boy from prison against none other than the heavyweight Championship of the World: Muhammad Ali. Ron impressed all the experts as he pounded on Ali early, and lasted 11 rounds before Ali was declared the winner in a controversial decision. (VIDEO)
A short time later Ron Lyle fought George Foreman. Lyle knocked Foreman to the mat twice in the early rounds and then Foreman regained his composure and knocked out Lyle in the 5th round. Many boxing experts came to refer to that fight as the most exciting heavyweight fight in history. Here it is. (VIDEO)
Now that you have an idea just what a beast Ron Lyle was, let’s return to that fateful football game. On that particular day Ron Lyle was not Muhammad Ali’s problem, or George Foreman’s problem…HE WAS MY PROBLEM!!!
Can you imagine that?! A 165-pound, 17 year-old kid, (me) was supposed to control a 220-pound beast among men.
When the game began, armed guards took up positions around the field with several of them behind the prisoner’s bench.
It did not take long before the inevitable conflict occurred. The quarterback for the cons pitched the ball to Ron Lyle to run around the end on the prisoners’ side of the field. It was my job to stop him. I had to run as fast as I could because he was so athletic. When I reached the sidelines I could tell that I was baely going to reach him so I had to take a giant leap.
At the point of impact, I was running as fast as I possibly could and I hit Ron with everything I had but he sidestepped the brunt of the impact and he barely stepped out of bounds. All of that extra energy from running so hard and leaping had to go somewhere and I ended up hitting the ground so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of me. I tumbled end-over-end, ass-over-elbows and crumbled up like a piece of newspaper in a Wyoming wind storm. I did not stop until I landed right smack dab in the middle of the prisoners’ bench. Instinctively, all the guys on their bench jumped up and came toward me.
My mind was still spinning around from the impact. I was dazed and barely able to focus, but then I realized I had crashed into the feet of some of the meanest dudes on the entire planet.
IT WAS THE SCARIEST MOMENT OF MY ENTIRE LIFE I thought they would kill me for hitting their hero so hard. After all, he was the leader of their “GANG”.
I impulsively resorted to self preservation and curled up in a fetal position and awaited the inevitable outcome.
The Cons drew closer.
But then, the strangest thing happened. One of those cons patted me on the helmet and screamed out “Nice hit, kid” and another one of them patted me on the shoulder and proclaimed, “Get back in there and do it again” Yet another bellowed, Way to go”. Their whole bench joined in with a support and enthusiasm I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams.
Naturally, I was relieved and I quickly gathered my wits the best I could. I staggered back to the field and got an equally positive bunch of “atta boys” from my own team mates, and right then and there I knew I had genuinely earned the respect of everyone within eyesight.
As it turned out the prisoners were the cleanest team we played all year. There was no biting or scratching or leg twisting or any of that stuff in the piles, like were so common in our other games. Football was a privilege for the prisoners which allowed them to act tough and manly, as long as they respected the rules.
I’d like to tell you that I scored the winning touchdown, or something like that, but this is not Hollywood. It is real life. In fact the prisoners actually won the game. Furthermore, any objective observer would say that the 220-pound future-boxer got the best of the 165-pound, 17-year old college kid that day, but the young fellow won something too: lots of respect and that is a lot.
When the game was over we returned to the locker room where another important lesson was to be learned. We concluded the game with a shower, just like we always did, only this time we shared a locker-room with the prisoners,
I don’t know much about ladies locker rooms or showers, but prison shower rooms are unlike any others. The armed guards patrol over-head on cat-walks to make sure nothing goes wrong.
But there was something more uncomfortable to be concerned about. When a group of teenage boys are butt-naked in front of a bunch of scary guys who had not been with a normal partner for years, they get a very awkward and predictable “stare”. As we took our showers, we were in full view of the cons. Cat calls and whistles soon filled the room. The guards seemed unconcerned as long as that was as far as it went. That was the only time in my life that I felt the anxiety of actually being a sex object.
Well anyway, before we left we ate a late lunch in the prisoners’ cafeteria. Once again, we were surrounded and protected by guards. While we were eating, our equipment managers put away our gear under the watchful eyes of more guards. They were making sure no prisoners would escape in our bus.
We then took a 4-hour bus ride back to school and returned to our relatively boring college lives.
The moral to this story is: Life’s best lessons come from tackling the beasts that live within our own self-imposed prisons. That is why we cannot grow if we always remain in our comfort zones. We must try new things and expose ourselves to failure. But as this true story illustrates: Inside every failure, lies a pathway to success.
And that is the truth, so help me God!
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