I never had a dream about a particular Penn State football game. However, perhaps more accurately and intriguing, I virtually was living the dream of being a Penn State football player through my association with so many players in my fraternity and meeting many others through them. Several of my fraternity brothers even encouraged me to walk-on to the team. In fact, my vicarious experience became so intertwined with reality that occasionally I would eat training table with the team in the HUB basement... and once even participated in a special team holiday meal stravaganza! I was nervous that I would get in trouble when one of the coaches spotted me (most of the players at least recognized me if they didn't know me). But, when I walked by an assistant coach with a tray full of food - no alarms went off, to my amazement.
It seemed to me that Mike Cappelletti was my biggest proponent, as he often asked me to join-in with his personal workouts - I surmise he was gauging my athleticism during these sessions. My particular weakness was flailing at the speed bag, while Mike was making it sing with that rhythmic "rap-pap-pap... rap-pap-pap..." sound. A graduate fraternity brother of ours - Frank Ahrenhold, was in charge of the weight room so we accessed those facilities, too. Mike also provided me with the most motivation, when he told me, "the team needed more tackle-dummy holders." lol (ALMOST pissed me off enough to walk-on).
So as time progressed it seemed interest in my prospects waned, so I thought. Then one day out of the blue, another FIJI brother - Tom Shuman, gave me a brand new pair of shiny white "astro turf" type of football cleats. I'm dumbfounded... I say, "but Shu?" And he explained he has quite a few and that he would probably never have a chance to wear them all, so he would rather see them get some use. (however, the shoes had to be at least 2 sizes too large for my feet - but, whatever). Then, some time after that (I cannot remember any exacts dates, it was so long ago), Shu comes up to me and ask to accompany him to Rec Hall to help him workout his arm catching a few of his throws. So, this episode occurred during football season - because I remember thinking how important this help must be for Shu because of the "big" game the coming weekend. It made sense straight-forward at face value. I was feeling all proud that Shu ASKED ME, even though he could have asked any other football player or other athlete in our frat.
As we walked up the hill toward Rec Hall, self-doubts were beginning to creep into my mind. Why the heck DID he select me to go play catch with??? I was always semi-touting my defensive football skills (you must remember - living with a bunch of alfa dogs one must bark loudly too or they'll piss on you)… How did he even know I also played wide receiver in high school, I never told anyone about that? Then I really started to become concerned... heck, it's been quite a while since I even caught a football... and I heard stories about some of the Penn State receivers commenting on how hard Shu threw the ball... that sometimes it would be spinning so fast the laces would cut their hands and sting like crazy. I was becoming fearful of attempting to "look the ball into my hands" only to have ii burn through and break my nose or some other similar type painful embarrassment...
So now we on Rec Hall's floor around 7pm... and we managed to find enough space toward a corner. So Shu tells me to line-up on his left side and run a medium slant-in pattern about 8-10 yards deep. I am just about in sheer panic mode... I HATE cutting to my right to make a catch... I am much more comfortable going the opposite direction... surely this is going to be disastrous… So he barks out "hike" and I sprint the designated path toward my imagined inglorious demise. As I made a sharp cut right and raised my hands in front of my face to at least protect myself from getting a broken jaw... to my utter surprise... no ball in face!!! Ball is fluttering like a wounded duck and my body just automatically swoops down and backwards as I stretch-out only inches above the hardwood floor and the ball is readily obtainable just out of grasps of my hands... when suddenly my brain kicks in again and thinks... IF I continue along this trajectory any further, there is no turning back and I am going to have floor-burn on both of my arms that's going to sting and be nasty for at least a week. Not sure which happened first - perhaps it was simultaneously, but my body suddenly went into "abort mission" mode as I jerked myself up and away from impending collision with floor while thinking "what a crappy pass, must have slipped out of Shu's hand... he could see that I could have easily caught the ball but stopped out of self-preservation... why get all beat up over a stupid errant pass? Shu needs to workout his arm for the big game and obviously he needs to workout the kinks, so I need to be fit to keep practicing...
I picked the ball off the floor and shuffled it back to Shu while expecting to run the same pattern again, as it was practice... you keep running plays until you master them. BUT, instead... it was over... just like that! One flubbed pass and Shu says he's finished and let's go back to the frat House, which we did with no further words exchanged... A few years later, I ran into him at a pub in Aspinwall. We had a pleasant chat but still did not discuss that occasion. I would love to learn his side of the tale after all these years. Yinz around, Shu?
At the time, I developed the impression that he was apparently "auditioning" me (without my awareness) to gauge my natural aptitude and inclination. Penn State's passing schemes were not very sophisticated back then and I THINK Shu was just looking for someone who he could trust to catch the ball no matter where/how in short yardage situations. I can only guess that a former high school teammate of mine - the late Rich Kriston, must have told Shuman about I can hold on to the ball even after absorbing devastation hits. Once in practice I was completely destroyed when I made a turn upfield after making a safety valve catch... When I regained consciousness, I saw our safety looking down at me with concern. Having the ball still clutched safely in both hands against my chest, I simply placed the ball down on the ground with one hand and got up saying "first down" and ran off the field where I found me little "private spot" to vibrate in the "bright light..." THAT was definitely a concussion.
Anyway... that's my "Penn State Football dream story" on how I blew my chance to play football at PSU (or at least hold tackling dummies during practice).
In honor and memory of Rich Kriston:
https://www.legacy.com/obituaries/postgazette/obituary.aspx?pid=163907395