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 Ottens Small Engine2617 E. Broadway ~ Sedalia, MO 65301660-827-0022 |
Paperboy wants in
By: Michael Desmond
Updated: 01/15/2008 at 11:11 AM
Sedalia, MO -
Paperboy wants in
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Sedalia Democrat sportswriter Michael Desmond stands on the sideline during the Mid-Missouri Outlaws’ Central Plains Football League championship game against the Missouri Mustangs.
Sportswriter plays in semipro football game
The Sedalia Democrat
June 17, 2007 - 2:54AM
Ever since the Mid-Missouri Outlaws captivated me with their performance in Wichita, Kan., against the Wild, I have tried to remain close with the team by covering as many of their games as I could or reading about them in the newspaper or just making conversation with the players at Total Fitness Gym. Little did I know that I would soon be getting real close with the boys in black, real close. I’m a big football fan. My family and I live and die by the Kansas City Chiefs on Sunday afternoons. During halftime, we all head to the front yard and throw the football around, nothing serious, just two-hand touch. My perception of football changed when Outlaws coowner and coach Travis Jobe approached me at the gym and asked if I wanted to run some routes with the team at practice. After turning down the offer twice, I’m not stupid, those guys hit hard, I finally decided to go, just to see what it was like. It had been over two years since I had been to a practice, and forever since I had ventured to a football practice. The players looked baffled as I pulled up, and who could blame them? I stated that I planned on running routes with the team and that I planned on helping them anyway possible to win a championship. A couple players asked if I ever played football before, and I smiled and said “Yeah, I play Madden every once in awhile.” They laughed and immediately the Outlaws took me as one of their own. After a successful practice of offense versus defense, co-owner Chad Jackson dug out some old pads for me to wear and just like that, I was an Outlaw. The week before the Central Plains Football League championship game saw every emotion imaginable. For the first time in a long time, I had a mission. I memorized the Outlaws playbook, which was a lot more complicated then people think, bought my football gear and watched as many corny, cheesy, inspirational football movies I could find. The nights leading up to the big game against the Missouri Mustangs, I was nervous, excited and, I’m not going to lie, scared. I couldn’t sleep and I was at the gym more than at home. I wanted to help my newfound team win; that was my one and only goal. I knew the chances of me actually playing in the game were slim, but if I did get in, I wanted to contribute. Game time finally rolled around and the atmosphere was electric. Spirits were high, but there was something different about us. There was no laughing or goofing around on this day. We were “in the zone” and nothing on earth could change our focus. Minutes before game time, the announcer called each of our names as we all met at the 15-yard line. I never thought I would ever hear “at wide receiver, No. 24 Michael Desmond,” but I did on that gorgeous Sunday afternoon. In the Outlaws’ huddle, wide receiver Ben Lyles rallied the gang around as we prepared for battle. The game began and I couldn’t get over how nervous I was. For someone who had only been with the team a week and a half, it felt like I had played with these guys forever. I paced the sidelines, cheering and hollering and every once in a while, arguing a bad call. Then it happened. The offense managed to take possession with just over a minute to go in the half. Knowing the Outlaws’ style, I knew we planned on taking a few shots down the field before time expired. I turned to Lyles and said, “Hey Fitzgerald, Let’s run quads (four wide receivers) and put me and you on the left side.” A grin spread over Lyles’ face as he turned to our quarterback Kyle Middleton and said, “Hey Kyle, paperboy wants in.” Middleton agreed and I found myself jogging onto the field. Sure, it was only for three plays. I didn’t make a catch, and sadly, the ball wasn’t even thrown my way, but in those three snaps, it was like being born again. And just like that, I had played wide receiver for a semi-professional football team. After my few minutes of fame, I jogged back to our sideline, hit a few hands in congratulations and went back to cheering my team on. The mood on the sideline intensified as the Mustangs fought their way back into the ballgame in the third quarter. But as I looked around, I was amazed at the level of composure the Outlaws possessed. It seemed like they had ice water in their veins. The offense, anchored by play caller and wounded coquarterback Jerry Young, regrouped on the sideline while the defense talked strategy. The fourth quarter came and I was going crazy. I wanted to help my team by throwing a block or catching a first-down pass, but I knew that the athletes on the field were far better football players than I could ever hope to be. With just seconds remaining, the final play came down to a 16-yard field-goal attempt. We all kneeled on one leg and held our breath as we watched. And with one sweep of Jackson’s leg, we were champions. The Outlaws helped me that two weeks far more then my 5- foot-11, 170-pound frame helped them. They gave me back a reason to believe. They motivated me, encouraged me and befriended me and that, in my opinion, is what football is all about. What a great experience Lady Luck bestowed upon me to play alongside champions. I had only worked a few weeks to play in that game. The rest of the roster of Outlaws worked their tails off for months and put countless hours of work into getting to that game. In that championship game, it didn’t matter if you were a 48- year-old has-been or a 20 yearold kid who had never played before in his life. We were all champions and the memory of our day in the sun will never be forgotten.
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