For the remainder of summer vacation Count and I spent each morning playing catch and hurdling tombstones. Count was the starting pulling guard on offense and nose tackle on defense. Not only was he the biggest player on our team, he was the biggest player in the league. More frightening then his size was his speed. I was no slow poke and he could stay with me in the forty. After one of our races he informed me it was time to see if I could take a hit. "Forget it, I'm not going to be your tackling dummy.
"I believe in a fair fight. I'll give you a three second head start."
"You'll never catch me," I boasted.
"We go until I get you or I can't run anymore," Count challenged.
"Deal," I answered.
I learned the meaning of freight trained. We started at the front of Fernwood. After fifty yards I looked over my shoulder - Count lumbered along. I was lolled into a false sense of security, I never seen him run further than forty yards. Piece of cake, I thought taking the turn at the rear of the graveyard. I looked over my shoulder again. Pow, he nailed me. My head bounced off the ground, pain exploded through my skull. Count called it a rock headache. It probably was a concussion. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be my last head injury.
"Just what I figured," Count cried as I held my head in my hands. "You're panty-waist wide out material. You can run like the wind as long as the wind blows towards the sidelines."
After the season started, I realized he was easy on me. It was frightening how hard he hit people. I'm amazed no one died. When I asked our coach why he winced when Count clobbered someone, he said: "I hope it doesn't hurt as bad as it looks." Count wasted people with a smile. He'd destroy them, help them up - extending a word of encouragement, and waste them again. He only got mean when someone called him Cunt. There was one on every team - the world will never be in short supply of idiots.
Once, while playing defensive back, I was in on a tackle when the running back called him Cunt. "I'll show you who's a Cunt," Count snapped. The next play he broke the kid's leg.
I'm glad I never pissed off Count. I knew there was one name I'd never call him. Shannie and I were walking down Main Street when I asked if she ever saw Count get mean.