#007: Game Time
On coaches, brothers, and letting go to find something better.
Last week I woke up in the midst of a vivid, heart-pounding dream. It was the kind that got my blood flowing, with memories that I thought were long forgotten.
It was about football. I played the sport for fourteen years (or, seasons), from when I was in first grade until I played Division II football at Pace University in New York.
Football was an outlet for me growing up and I took out my pent up emotions on the field. The fear and confusion I had from home and school would be released when I played. From an early age, I took football seriously. I won a Pop Warner award for ‘heart’ and one of my coaches said I was ‘tough as nails’.
Tragically, my 8th grade season, one that was filled with anticipation as the last stop before high school, was cut short by a knee injury. I was sidelined and I can remember weeping in the doctor’s office. The doctor said I broke my femur bone and that I’d need to wear a cast for the next 3 months.
Even worse, a different doctor cut the cast off several months later and said, ‘You never broke a bone and you didn’t need a cast.’ That hurt.
Onward I went. I entered my freshman year at Passaic Valley High School (PV) and there were giants everywhere. The head coach was Chet Parlavecchio, an ex-NFL linebacker that drove a Cadillac and was a legend who commanded instant respect.
During my first weight training session, he got right in my face while I was doing leg curls. He shouted, ‘Common, two more!’ The next morning, I couldn’t even walk to school because my legs were so sore.
On another occasion, we were doing bodyweight dips and I was only able to do two reps. He said to me, ‘Dane, I’m impressed.’ I thought he was going to laugh at me, because the older players were doing up to 20 reps with weights on. Instead, he remembered my name, encouraged me, and I worked all the harder.
The Seniors that were around us were my heroes, like Lenny Cusumano. He was a total monster to my freshman eyes. I would observe him lifting weights while I would wonder how it was possible to lift that much. He was the epitome of a leader.
That Varsity team went on to go far in the NJ state playoffs that season, and were by far the best PV team of that era. I was honored to be even remotely connected to that group. Lenny went to play DI football for Syracuse University.
I went on to play for the Junior Varsity (JV) team the following season. I remember playing against the best team in the league—Delbarton. They were a private school with ‘the rich kids’ that were well trained, well coached, and well funded. On the opening kickoff I ran toward their kick returner and I woke up on the field seeing stars. These days I probably would have gone through concussion protocol but I went back in the game soon after that.
That was the hardest I was ever hit in my life. Even the Varsity coaches that weren’t there even came up to me the following Monday saying, ‘I heard you took a big shot on Saturday. Hang in there.’ That’s how visibly I was knocked out. It became news.
Determined to not be tossed around like that again, I was constantly in the gym. The summer from my Sophomore year to my Junior year was a major turning point. I hit my growth spurt and earned a position on the Varsity team my Junior year.
I played Cornerback, grabbing 4 interceptions and many tackles that season. That offseason, my focus got even more intense, and I became Captain of the team. That team became my brothers on and off the field. We lifted weights and trained together. We were the life of the party wherever we went and played our hearts out on Saturdays or under Friday night lights.
Before every game, I gathered 40+ teammates around me and shouted, ‘What time is it?!’
They roared back, ‘Game time!’
I yelled again, ‘What time is it?!’
Louder this time: ‘Game time!!’
Then I’d add, ‘All my dogs in the house!’
They’d all bark back. Then we’d charge onto the field together, ready for battle.
Our team was full of characters. One day, we received a transfer student named Andre Anderson. He was 365 pounds and 6 feet 6 inches tall. Once he joined our team, we felt invincible. But Andre didn’t seem be inspired by football. That was unfortunate, because he was a top national DI recruit. It was rumored that Joe Paterno (the famed head coach of Penn State) was paying attention to him. He could have been in the NFL easily.
Not that our coaches didn’t try. They were always helping us learn how to be men. I distinctly remember Coach Willie Brusso, a soulful man with a booming voice on the field. He had this line that I will never forget, ‘Do it right, do it light. Do it wrong, do it long.’ His point was, don’t cut corners. Talk about a life lesson.
I poured my heart into my final season, but it was gone so fast. Our team was like a raptor pack equipped with driver’s licenses and sometimes we partied too much. As long as we were united there was no force that could stand against us. United we stood.
The beginning of that season took a dramatic turn when we suddenly found ourselves 20 miles away from the 9/11 attacks. We could see the smoke rising from Ground Zero during our first games. There were musical tributes, teammates with families impacted, and a deep confusion about how to focus on football at all. As I write this, I get chills. It’s hard to put into words what that time felt like, living so close to something that changed the world.
But the season went on. The weekly games came and went way too fast. We played our final game together on Thanksgiving. It was the end of an era and time to think about what came next for the first time in four years. Before that, everything was simple. Whenever we finished a grade, we knew what came next and that we’d see everyone again. But after Senior year in high school, it felt like a final goodbye.
One day after the season was over the Head Coach—Bill Johnson, found me in Center Hall, and said, ‘Hey Moose, I have good news. Pace University is interested in you.’ I had no idea he was working on my behalf in the background. As I look back I see God’s hand in directing my steps in so many ways like this.
That news changed every step after that. It meant that I could continue playing football. I was ecstatic, yet sad to leave my brothers and the high school era. But on to the next chapter of life I headed.
At that time I was selected to play in the Robeson Classic game in Newark, NJ that Spring. It was a collection of the top players from across the conference so I had a chance to meet some amazing athletes, some of which were also headed to Pace. Soon after that game, during the summer of 2002, I found myself driving across the New York state line, crossing over the Tappan Zee Bridge.
I arrived in Briarcliff Manor in Westchester County, New York, because the football team’s practice facilities were located on Pace’s campus there. This is among the richest areas in the world. A lot of NYC wealth is parked in estates there.
I met my roomates, and began the life of a college football player. The weight training and the competition skyrocketed in intensity. We were up before dawn in the gym every day and we had triple sessions (three practices a day) in the summer heat. And film sessions at night.
Speaking of film sessions, the tradition at Pace was for the Freshman to perform Rookie Skits. My skit was about the biggest, baddest Senior on the team—a Captain named John McFadden. Every time someone fell asleep in the night film sessions, he would turn around and yell, ‘Wake up! Common guys!’ But I saw him also fall asleep on a few occasions. So my Rookie Skit was an imitation of him sleeping, while I wore shoulder pads under a 3XL size t-shirt. Everyone had a big laugh.
Entering Pace felt like my Freshman year at PV all over again. Except this time, the Seniors were twice as strong and fast. The strongest players were bench-pressing 225 pounds (a standard for testing strength) nearly 40 times. And the fastest players were running 4.4 second 40-yard dashes. We were all in the best shape of our lives, pushing each other to our limits.
It was also a mental battle, not just physical. My style of playing sports was always in playing ‘street ball’. This was learned from my early days playing football and basketball with my Dad and brother on the street. I would have to defend against my taller brother in any way possible. There were no playbooks.
But professional coaches spend enormous energy and time building playbooks. During warm ups in a hotel before a game, I knew I wasn’t starting, so I took the playbook and tossed it straight into the garbage, without giving it a second thought.
About ten minutes later, I heard a terrifying sound, ‘Everyone line the f*ck up!’ I nervously got in line. Suddenly, Coach I started screaming at the top of his lungs while he held a playbook in his hands: ‘Who threw this in the trash?!’
I had to step forward: ‘I did, I’m sorry Coach,’ I said apologetically.
Everyone knew that it was the best case scenario, because I was a Freshman and wasn’t starting or even a backup yet. I honestly didn’t need the playbook. Coach I gave me a look of disdain and we went on with the season.
I never worked harder than I did in that offseason, determined to play my Sophomore year. My role on the team began to take shape as a hard-hitting Strong Safety, as I was blitzing like mad in practice and tackling running backs for losses. So the Defensive Coordinator, who was Coach I, gave me the start in the first few games that year.
Then came the Iona game on September 20th, 2003. The game prior, my first time playing in a college game, I had a handful of tackles and two forced fumbles. So I earned the start against Iona. It was a close battle, and I was playing well. But then came ‘the play’ that ended the honeymoon.
I lined up opposite to a fast wide receiver. Heart pounding, he sprinted forward as I defended him man to man. He faked like he was going toward the sideline, and then pivoted hard back toward the middle of the field. I bit hard on the pivot, and I got burnt. That mistake lost us the game, 29-22.
Coach I may have forgiven me for the playbook incident, but never forgave me for that mistake. Not only did I lose the starting spot in the next game, he benched me for the next handful of games. During a subsequent practice session, I watched my replacement get screamed at by Coach I, and he used me as an example, ‘Don’t you remember Iona? That’s why he’s over there!’ As he pointed at me, the pitiful second string player on the practice squad.
It didn’t matter though. Later that season, doctors discovered I was bleeding internally and needed a major surgery. I was advised to stop playing football, so I hung up the cleats for good. I was crushed.
Losing football was a major turning point for me, and for the better. Stepping away freed up my time and energy, and I moved on with the same grit that got me through triple sessions. I redirected my energy to learning and leading. I turned my average GPA around from a 2.1 to a 3.1 and became president of Student Government, receiving a full scholarship.
A year after I graduated from Pace, I returned to the Briarcliff campus and I saw Coach I. He was storming away from the practice field red-faced, and cursing under his breath. I saw him and said, ‘What’s up, Coach?’ He kept racing forward in a rage and bitterly muttered, ‘Yeah…what’s up. Arghh.’ That was a full 4 years since ‘the play’.
My studies led to classes on Chinese language and history, and eventually to a decision that would have been unthinkable to the kid doing leg curls for Coach Parlavecchio: I moved to China, where I’d live for most of the next six years. I met my future wife there and was baptized, finding my faith along the way.
Football didn’t take me where I thought it would. It took me somewhere better.
Last week I woke up from a dream with my heart still pounding. For a moment I was back on that field, fifteen years old, surrounded by my brothers and coaches. Then the room came into focus and I was here in Colorado Springs, a long way from the Passaic Valley foothills, but still carrying everything those fields gave me. I thanked God for all of it. Even the doors that closed.
Disclaimer: This essay was fully written by me. However, I asked Claude for structural and grammatical suggestions and generated the images with ChatGPT.