Bobby was my catcher.  Farm raised, never watched sports. Me and my other buddies would talk about the Braves, Falcons, Dale Murphy, Gary Matthews,  Jeff Burroughs,  Bruce Benedict, Bob Horner,  Steve Bartkowski, William Andrews, and Tommy Nobis and he had no clue what we were talking about. He knew about farm work and tractors, and how to kill and skin and an animal or catch and clean a fish. Many days after school if it was cold we carried our shotguns or .22s to the woods and if it was warm we hit the local ponds or creeks. One day after baseball season several of us were fishing a small pond and someone asked Bobby why he didn't play football. He said he never thought about it and we all encouraged him to sign up. Bobby was one of those guys who always seemed much bigger than he was. I've always thought of him as a big farm-raised, strong as a bull, country boy,  but thinking about it now, he wasn't taller than me, and I bet I wore bigger pants than he did. 
Anyway, ol' Bobby decided to play football. The first couple days of practice, we were just in shorts and helmets going through conditioning and a little going over plays. Coach Hebert put Bobby at noseguard. I thought this was a great idea until I realized he would be coming after me. I was quarterback and my dad wasn't even the coach. The first day of contact came and everyone was ready. We did some bull-in-the-ring, then some tackling drills. Bobby was a man among boys. He had no idea how to use his body to hit, he just bulldozed everything in his way.
Next day at practice we went live. Running plays and tackling and everything. We lined up in the wishbone. I don't remember the play that was called, I just remember Bobby wrecking me before I could handoff. Next play was an option and he hit me before I could even pitch the ball. I was sore after 2 plays. We ran several more plays and it was the same thing. The coaches moved offensive linemen around and nothing worked. Coach Hebert lined us up in the I formation and told the fullback to block Bobby. Not a chance.
Coach Hebert was a former college qb and played in the Canadian League or some type of semi-pro football. He knew his stuff and I was his favorite. Before games, he would get on the field with me and let me warm up. He told me one time that the other teams watched me throw and that would back the safeties up and let our running game get going. He let me call my own plays sometimes and would listen to my suggestions. I asked him to let Bobby block for me. Finally, they moved Bobby to left guard to see what he could do. I got killed the first 2 or 3 plays. I was getting hit before I could even get to my running back. Coach Hebert finally called a pass play. It was a quick 3-step drop similar to a pop pass. I got sacked before I could even get my throwing arm up.
Now, I told y'all before I had an above average arm. I could throw a football consistently 45 yards and on a good day I'd hit 50 yards. Well, I got up from the sack and Ol Bobby was about 3 steps from me. I threw the ball as hard as I could and hit him square in the earhole. It knocked him to the ground. Bobby started getting up and I saw the look on his face. This was one of those fight or flight moments. This happened to be the second proudest I ever was of myself. I form tackled Bobby before he could get his bearings and slammed him down. I planned to start punching him, but before I knew what was going on I was on my back and Bobby was beating the dogshit out of me. He punched me everywhere I didn't have a pad. My throat, my ribs, my thighs, beside my thigh pads.. I think he even hit me in the calves. Luckily, i didn't wear a qb facemask. I wore a running back or linebacker facemask. It seemed like it was a 30 minute beating but it was probably over in less than a minute. Coach Hebert dragged us both to our feet by our facemasks. He was yelling at me and asking why I did that. I said, "because he's a faggot!" That pissed both of them off and I thought Coach was gonna let him hit me some more. I said, "He's the one tackling me'" See... ol Bobby never watched sports and all he knew was you tackle whoever had the ball. When he moved to guard, it put him 2 steps closer to me and he was just turning around and killing me, along with whoever he was supposed to be blocking. Coach got it straightened out after about a 10 minute laugh.
The worst part, and the part I dreaded the most, was Bobby rode to practice with me. Usually I rode up front with my Mom, but today my sister was with us so I had to ride in back with Bobby. We were both still mad and I think I had snot bubbles and my eyes were watering. I wasn't crying though, no matter what he says. About halfway home I cut my eyes over at Bobby and he was shooting me a bird as he mouthed the word "fag". I busted out laughing and snot came out my nose and we were over it and buddies again. We won the league again, and nobody could block Bobby. I wasn't the only one he made cry that year and after he learned his job on offense, I didn't have to worry about his man tackling me. Just like the movie says, You never have any friends later on like the ones you have when you are 12...