Lancaster, California.

As we lined up on the defensive side of the ball to block a field goal, it was the 3rd quarter. The official time stood at 1:44 left to play. We got down in our positions, center hiked the ball, but there was one problem, the game was over. The referees claimed that the 45 point rule was in effect. After shaking the hands of our victors, we walked to the classroom turned dressing room they had given us. On my way, their cheerleaders each gave us a bottle of Gatorade, as if to offer some form of condolence. I got to the classroom first, looked at my drink and threw it to the ground. My words, symbolic of the season, still resignate in my mind, “I went 0-7 and all I get is a damn Gatorade.”

The play that killed us was a 20 yard touch down run turned out to be the last down of football I would ever play, thus ending an eventful High School career. It was their senior day. Before the game, Coach Rob Davis looked at me and told me it was mine. I proceeded to make 26 tackles, force a fumble, catch a pass, and recover a fumble for a touchdown. I gave my all and left it all on the field for my last high school football game.

To have it end so abruptly, to have to sit in a room of young men, a few criers, and to listen to the coaches last words, was depressing and meloncholy to say the least. As I listened to their words, I chose my final words I would ever utter as a Captain of the Ojai Valley School Varsity Football team. To the underclassmen, “Win for us guys,” I said.

In a season of turmoil, of disappointment, of loss, the most symbolic, capitalizing, and infuriating moment was sitting on the bus before we drove out. You have to know something about me, I gave not only my time and commitment to this team, but also my heart, my soul, my body, but most of all, my loyalty to the cause of victory.

I’m not one for tears, I don’t cry, I always carried myself as a more resilient person than that, but sitting there on the bus, in my favorite hoodie with the New York Yankees logo on it, I lowered my head, leaned towards the window, and let a few tears stream out. It wasn’t just because of the game, but it was for another more important reason. When I got on the bus, people, my teammates, who had just gotten their asses beaten and handed to them by another group of young men who wanted the game just as much, were laughing and joking in delight. The humor was childish, stupid, I felt like starting a fight. “We just got murdered and you sit here in revelry? you aren’t players, you aren’t even men. You are undedicated saps.”

Conversations on the way back to school included subjects like “turn off all the lights, I’m going to try to take a piss in this bottle.” That was the one that stuck with me, the rest is a blur of cheesy laughing faces in the midst of a terrible loss. One with significance and the final nail in the coffin for a forgettable Ojai season. As we prepared for this last game, I could already anticipate the outcome, it was going to be bad. It would be a loss that we were going to find ourselves blown out in. It was predictable.

The way the team was and practiced the whole season was disgusting. Only few seemed to know the difference between hurt and injured. Some didn’t man up and play while others simply made a joke of it all. They would not focus on their warmups and half ass the drills. All this goes by as a dependent variable. The variable was whether or not they would even show up. The player who the coaches seem to have the biggest man crush on constantly showed up 20 minutes late for practice. Remember the old sports maxim, “you play like you practice?”

I’m surprised this kid wasn’t cut immediately. During practices, warmups and drills were completely DGAF’d. Even stretching involved the constant tossing of footballs back and forth, sometimes helmets, as the dedicated ones tried to get a good stretch in to prepare for the days practice. Unfortunately this trend spread across the team from newcomers, to captains. One of the captains had a particular disrespectful tendency of constantly having rumors flying around the locker room that he was quitting the team. I don’t know if this was a tactic for attention or if he was simply on the fence, but all it got him was my disrespect. This player shall remain nameless but one thing is for sure, the last thing we needed was this drama from a captain who everyone looked up to.

Before the games if the opponents looked big, or even worse, if they were mexicans, they backed down and cowered immediately explaining the size of the players. In fear of what hadn’t even happened yet. They would act like the game was already over and the look of defeat came onto their faces. It was a sad sight to see.

A losing mentality driven by inept players could only constitute the worst. Coach Craig Floyd even made it perfectly clear, multiple times, that nobody was forcing them to stay here, that they could leave if they wanted. Each time Floyd said that, nobody left. Dedication right? Not by what I saw. I tried to rally them as a captain, I tried to lead by example, by busting my ass and delivering game after game, yet through it all, I received not only limited respect, but also the displeasure of playing with a team of losers. No heart, no drive, no motivation, and certainly no reason to think of themselves as football players.

Headmaster Carl Cooper told us after the first loss of the season to Trinity, a team we beat last year, that we would be sore the next day. It wouldn’t be completely due to physical strain, but also, to mental strain. We apparently lacked the mental toughness necessary to compete. “Great fighters go into fights knowing they will get hit, what makes a fighter great, is his drive to hit the other fighter harder,” said Mr. Cooper. At the time he said that, I was furious, at the end of the season, I sit and type this in a state of melancholy understanding.

I remember playing every game like it was my last, like a winner, like a champion. I gave my all no matter what, yet in the end it truly matters if you win or lose. It’s not whether you win or lose goes so far when you lose all your games. Your reputation in the end goes in regards to who you spend your time with. Around the league, we were a laughing stock. We were pathetic, we were losers. I hate the fact that I am identified in the same sentence as the OVS Spuds.

The worst part of all: This was my last chance to really become something great. To be part of a team that would play the game the way it was meant to be played. To actually have fun playing football, and most importantly, to win. I am disgusted with the fact that it was my absolute last chance to succeed. It’s over, and there is nothing more I could do. Maybe I should have had that gatorade, perhaps it would have helped ease the pain. Fare thee well football, I hope that in the years to come, Ojai will give you a better name.

Here’s the deal for OVS. Coaches, remember the system in baseball where we cut people? Do that. Forget this mandatory stuff, the basketball team has it right. They have try outs to see if people 1: have the skills and 2: actually want it and don’t just dog it. Especially not in the last weeks of the season. The message of “win one for the seniors” apparently didn’t cross the minds of the unmotivated scumbags who went half jog on full sprints and relied on neck tackling as opposed to proper form. Dropped passes and easy blitzes meant that Ojai was doomed.

Last but not least, whoever bitches and moans constantly during practice and whoever doesn’t take it seriously, either bench them or just send them on their way. We’ve spent the last few years treating this behavior like a joke. It is not a joke, it is not funny, and it must cease immdiately.
My last advice to the players of next year is that, you’d better take what was shown by this years OVS football team as what not to do. Staying dedicated, training hard, and harboring a desire to win and play the game the right way is the most important thing a football team can have. As it turns out, in my opinion, all but 5 players fit into the category of a quitter or an apathetic wuss.