Memories of Mike are Super

It was shortly after 6 a.m. in frigidly cold Toledo, Ohio. The temperature at the bank was 7 degrees.

I had just picked up my car from the empty parking lot where it was left the night before. Frost covered all the windows and the resistance to start up was evident in the engine. But about 10 minutes later, I was on my way.

"I need to stop for some hot chocolate," I said aloud as if I was talking to someone else in the car.

As I reached for a cup in the gas station of choice and glanced over to the hot chocolate machine, I saw that the machine was out of order. It had clogged up under the excessive use it had endured over the Siberia-like weekend.

"Well, I guess I'll get some coffee then," I muttered to myself. "And something to eat."

With a packaged banana-nut muffin and a 20-ounce coffee in hand, I headed for the register.

The morning papers were laid out including the USA Today. On the cover, four men in red jerseys and pewter helmets were pictured. The headline read "Super Tampa."

The center of the picture featured a man with a taped right wrist holding a football, a huge number 40 on his chest where Superman wore his famous S.

"I went to high school with that guy," I said to the clerk who could not have cared less. "I betcha he's having a much different morning than I am."

Fellow Joliet Catholic graduate Mike Alstott was a newly crowned Super Bowl Champion. And I would venture to bet that his morning in 60-degree San Diego consisted of little, if any, coffee and plenty of celebratory champagne.

I was a year younger than Alstott at Joliet Catholic and although I played baseball and football for two years each, I only recall one conversation with him.

It was during my junior year as tryouts were being held for the varsity baseball team. Well, for me they were tryouts. For Alstott, it was more for getting his baseball legs ready as he traded in shoulder pads for shin guards, serving as the team's quite formidable catcher.

I was standing on third base at Ingalls Park and Alstott was in the dugout about 25 feet away.

"Hey, Deininger," he said. "You got any more sunflower seeds?"

"Yeah," I replied. "They're in the blue bag under the bench."

"Thanks," he said.

And that was it.

When he scored the first touchdown in Super Bowl XXXVII, I proudly bragged "that guy ate my sunflower seeds in high school." Having not known most of the people I was watching the game with, they cared less about this than did the clerk at the gas station.

I played football as a freshman and sophomore at Joliet Catholic although I never played a down of organized tackle football prior to that. Up to that point, my only football playing experience consisted of donning grass-stained sweat pants and mesh jerseys from Venture to play against the other boys in the neighborhood.

I had learned to tackle from either watching it on TV or having it done to me. Some natural ability was there but nothing that could lead to a career playing on Sundays in front of 60,000 people.

I remember watching Alstott bowl over the opposition week after week. My friends and I would be in the Memorial Stadium stands pretending that Alstott charged a fee to give the would-be defenders rides on his back, carrying them for tens of yards at a time.

It was at those times that I was certain I had made the right choice to watch from the stands versus from the other side of the ball. I had thought about going out for the team my junior year but then realized playing dodge ball on Jefferson Street would have been safer.

Defensive back was my position by default while Alstott was cementing his legacy in the Joliet Catholic record books as a punishing running back. Had I played, our meeting would've been inevitable just as the breaking of the bones in my body.

I weighed about 140 pounds and wore glasses. Not the athletic glasses popular back then in many sports. I wore the same brown, round-rimmed glasses on the football field that I wore in Father Jim's religion class. The intimidating presence I was not. I looked more like Cory Haim in the movie "Lucas."

Huge congrats to Alstott and his family and friends. While he was in Hawaii for the Pro-Bowl, I was virtually in the Arctic North of Rochester, N.Y.

Luckily, the hot chocolate machines worked there.

If not, I would have opted for some sunflower seeds. Look what they did for Alstott. Scott Deininger, who goes by Scott Derenger for comedy work, is a traveling standup comedian with a home base of Shorewood. His Web site is www.shaveyourhead.com. He'll appear in Mt. Prospect at The Comedy Spot Feb. 27, 28 and March 1. Call (847) 652-7145.

 

02/09/03