ROLF!!!!!!!!!
Check this out. We had a neighborhood in the early and mid-50's with about 15 little trouble-making post-WWII kids, I guess we were about the first baby boomers (I hate that phrase).
We had this one game we all loved. There was this one yard in our neighborhood where we played our "football" games, and everything else for that matter. This one game we made up was GREAT, I recommend it highly. We'd all get home from school, and all show up in the yard in about 15 minutes after checking in and out at home. We usually had about 8 to 12 kids playing this game.
It was called, Kill The Man. Here's how it went. We'd all get in a close group, one kid with the ball would throw the football directly up into the air, and one kid would "have the balls" to catch it. Then he'd try to run around as long as he could before any or all of us "killed" (tackled) him (and there was no such thing as "piling on"). As soon as he would get up with the ball, he threw it up in the air again, and the same thing happened over and over again.
Let me tell you, about an hour of that, and you slept well at night...... and you were considered a real jerk if you didn't grab the ball a few times, in order to get smeared!
And about that kid in YOUR neighborhood with the "target" on him. We had one of them too. Sometimes in this game, if our "target kid" was participating.......the throw was "mysteriously" directed to him, just to get him involved, you know. Ha! It was a ball. "Kill The Man".
Yup, me too.
I'm one of "those."
"We had this one game we all loved. There was this one yard in our neighborhood where we played our "football" games, and everything else for that matter."
I swear every neighborhood had such a lot, even in the urban areas.
"This one game we made up was GREAT, I recommend it highly."
Now?!!
For who?
HA!!
That's funny.
"We'd all get home from school, and all show up in the yard in about 15 minutes after checking in and out at home. We usually had about 8 to 12 kids playing this game. It was called, Kill The Man. Here's how it went. We'd all get in a close group, one kid with the ball would throw the football directly up into the air, and one kid would "have the balls" to catch it. Then he'd try to run around as long as he could before any or all of us "killed" (tackled) him (and there was no such thing as "piling on"). As soon as he would get up with the ball, he threw it up in the air again, and the same thing happened over and over again."
Y'know if that doesn't sound like you're describing an American version of Rugby, I don't know what does.
~Really.
The empty lot in my neighborhood witnessed much.
Lemme tell ya about the 3 brothers who were the biggest "organizers" of our sandlot football games.
The oldest & largest was nick named, "Oddy".
I needn't tell you *why* we called him that because needdless to say "Oddy" was not the "gifted" one of their family.
Then there was "Larry," a HUGE ox-strong redheaded kid with a chipped tooth & freckles.
Something not quite *right* about "Larry," y'know?
Still ain't.
Lastly the youngest, a tall wirey, & very strong blonde headed kid name, "Guy."
Guy was one of those quiet type of kids with a *silver* front tooth (~remember those?) & saddistic streak.
(BTW, none of the brothers had the same color hair & we always wondered why that was too afraid to ask; but, I digress. :o) )
Long story short these brothers had a last name real close to "Bordens." Y'know the diary, with a pic of "Elsie" the cow on the carton??
Keep that in mind.
"Oddy" was gigantic & actually went on the play starting center for the University of Wisconsin after HS, in the early 60s. He was *that* big. So big in fact was "Oddy" that one of us "smaller" guys could each hang onto one of his thighs & "Oddy" just kept lumbering down the field with us waving in the wind.
Now the two oldest of the three one day just HAD to wear their "official" football shoes to one of our games & lemme tell ya those spikes looked damned BIG to kids our size.
We didn't hesitate telling 'em we had some serious doubts about "our general safety", right?
These two brainiacs "assured" us no one would get hurt, mocked us calling us "sissies" & naturally being the suckers we were, we believed 'em.
Of course now in hindsight, I'm almost certain the two winked at each other soon after deducing we'd swallowed their LIE!
Sure enough.
Not long into the game it "appeared" -- to our utter horror -- these two clowns were actaully trying to deliberately step on us; &, the 2nd largest lumox "Larry" succeeded in spiking my hand during a full gallop.
Hurt like crazy.
I've a "short fuse" -- had one all my life -- & so I spring up immediately & begin calling that asshole every name under the sun.
The two brothers just look at each other & laugh uproariously at the pain they've inflicted; seemingly, satisfied they'd attained all or part of some kind of secret, agreed upon *goal*.
~& that really pissed me off.
Buttttt...all was well -- for them -- until I shouted at 'em their old man's picture was on a milk carton!
The two stop laughing & in a normal tone of voice the readheaded kid "Larry" says to me matter of factly, "you die."
I *instantly* took off like a scalded cat, as if I'd wings on my heels, putting 15' between that SOB & myself before he commences & the chase is on.
Good thing I was smaller & as such much quicker, too; because, this kid's temper was something we all were quite familiar with, the stuff of *legend* that temper & somthing to be *feared*.
Unbeknownst to me, I'd *found* the guy's "Hot Button." :o)
I figured my only chance -- for "survival" -- was to climb a tree, a *big* tree, so I navigated toward the largest one just adjacent to the "football" field, a 60' pear tree.
By the time I hit that tree's trunk I'd so much momentum I climbed that sucker using only my hands, without my feet ever touching a branch & just out of reach of this guy's mits taking furious swipes at my feet.
I reached the very top of that tree where lucky for me the combined weight of the lumox & mine, c/would've easily caused the thing to break, sending us both crashing to the ground; so, he slowly retreated back down the trunk & the threats & dire "predictions" of my future once he got his hands on me flowed freely the whole way down.
The top of *that* is where I stayed.
The lumox sat at the base of that tree fuming & working himself into a frighful lather talking to himself, saying stuff I never said which firther enraged him even moreso.
He waited there for me until well after dark.
When he finally did leave he said nothing, just slowly looked up at me (now decended to a safe altitude about 15' above 'em) & slowly waves his finger at me.
Then just walks away.
I -- *instinctively* -- knew what that waving finger meant.
Knew I'd better damned well *never* say that to any of 'em about their pa, ever again. ;^)
That kind of behavior used to be called "establishing a pecking order" & it was those kinds of interactions which served to keep everything on the up & up as well as everyone "honest."
Know what I mean?
Of course our society's long ago did away with "pecking orders" which explains (to my satisfaction) the explosion of loudmouths seen, today.
...also expalins the army of bloodsucker sheisters who're needed to protect 'em.
Even the strongest among us went down.
Hehe. We played that too. We called the game Smear the Queer. Which of course would never be permitted today. I don't believe any of us knew what queers were anyways.
As for my Dad and us crying, his line was "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about."