Football

Well, if any Greenville High people who went to school with me read this, they will tell you that I did not play football in high school. Actually I was a huge football fan in high school, but I didn't really get into it until my little brother began playing when he got to the seventh grade. He started out playing rec league football for the Mauldin Mavericks, and it turned out that he was pretty good. His coaches had him playing every position on the field! Now I have always been my brother's biggest fan, but I also have a very addictive personality. So when I started going to his games, my late blooming obsession with football got worse from there. When I got to college, I finally started to put on some pounds and fill out a little bit. Next thing I know, I am being asked to play intramural flag football and be on the offensive and defensive line. I was thinking "Sure, what could it hurt - it's flag football." Well, there was my first mistake. I wasn't too clear on the rules when we first started playing; I thought it would be like flag football in high school PE - Boy was I wrong! It turned out that the rules allowed full contact on the line of scrimmage...and we even had a "Hit Zone" designated in a three yard wide area all the way down each sideline of the field! I will never forget lining up for the first play, and I was supposed to block just one guy in front of me. His name was Aaron and he played on the baseball team for Erskine; his nickname was "A-train". Well, let's just say the ball was snapped, and he simply ran me down like a train zipping through fog. He was aptly named. Fortunately, the play was a run play going the other way, but I definitely caught the "A-train" that night. He pulled me up after the play, slapped me on the rear, and said,"You ain't no fortress yet, kid!" That would turn out to be my nickname later, but not before I put on twenty pounds of muscle. So, although I enjoyed the rugby style flag football, and it toughened me up a bit, I still had to have a taste of tackle football every Thursday or Friday from then on. I would make special trips just to see my kid brother play rec ball, and become an "A-train" himself, knocking people down and causing snot bubbles to appear in their face masks. After my fill of those games, the chance to go to Clemson games came every so often, and of course I jumped at the chance to go if I was invited. Whatever girl I was dating at the time had to give in to the Ever-Precious football schedule, which usually took precedent over any other boyfriend-girlfriend outing, or even the eventual fiancee-related events/ dates. So college went by, and as I kept getting bigger in the weight room, my little brother got bigger as well. So I got to still play our rough-and-tumble "flag" football, and my brother Adam got into high school football for Greenville High. While he was getting better and seeing some good playing time for varsity at a young age, I was getting more acquainted with the weight room and actually began personal training for the YMCA right out of college. I also got to coach some basketball and baseball. Eventually, my brother graduated with a pretty good high school football career. Although this left a small void in my yearly obsession, I still attended Greenville games. I also read up a lot on the game; studied books on the fundamentals of the game. Then one Friday night late in the season a year after my brother played, the team doctor and I got into a conversation, and he found out I had been personal training, and he saw what a good rapport I had with some of my brother's friends. He told me I should talk to the Coach about a job with the football team, as a strength coach or something. So I did at the end of that season...and before I knew it, I was coaching C-team players on the offensive line, and varsity players in the weightroom. Now although this doesn't sound like much to a lot of people, it was everything to me. Because like I said, people who went to high school will tell you... I was the skinny runt in school who never would have made it on the football field. So, to sum things up, a true football player, I am not, nor ever have been. But I still feel more connected to the sport of football than any other, and the funny thing about it is I owe it all to my little brother. Thanks, bro!

Slices of Heaven...

I was at Pizza House today, eating one of my favorite calzones, and it tasted so good, it made me think of what Heaven must be like. Now, I am not saying heaven must be full of pepperoni and cheese calzones floating on clouds and you can just reach out and take a bite any time you want (although, Italian food fans must agree, that would be pretty sweet). But I know there have been many ideas passed down through generations of what Heaven must be like. There are those who think we who believe in Jesus will just stand inside the Pearly Gates and sing Hymns of praise to the Lord for eternity. There are also those who believe that everyone will have their own version of Heaven rewarded to them, where they will be in a place where everything will be hunky-dory, and they will be able to roam free and do whatever makes them feel happy. Well, I think Heaven will be a little bit of both. I have a theory that came to me as I was cutting up a little slice of my calzone; I think throughout life God gives us little slices of Heaven while we are here on Earth, to give us a little peak of the Joy of heaven. I think God wants us to know what it is like to thoroughly enjoy some things so much, that we appreciate him for them. I think these little slices of Heaven can be similar to the second idea I mentioned about how everyone will have their own version of Heaven. My slices of Heaven here on Earth are instances such as: when my six year old gives me a bear hug after not getting to see his daddy all day while he was at work;
when my wife hugs and kisses me after some big chore gets done that she couldn't do without me;
when I lift more weight in the weightroom than I have ever done before;
when something I have been dreading at work actually turns out way better than I planned;
when something extraordinary happens for my parents or my brothers;
when my son scored his first touchdown in flag football;
when my son scored his first hat trick in soccer;
and of course when I eat a calzone that tastes so good, it inspires me to write.
The list could go on and on, but the point I am trying to make is that these slices of Heaven that we get while we are living our mortal lives are just small samples of the feeling of elation we will have once we are finally in Heaven with our Creator. We will have such a feeling of happiness and Joy just seeing that God kept his promise, that we will want to sing eternal praises to Him. Of course, if I am wrong, all I have to lose is Hope. But if I am right (and I will only be right if the Bible is true), then there are a lot of people who will unfortunately lose a lot more than just hope.
Either way, I guess we all better enjoy our little slices of Heaven while we can.

Here is my dream-come-true best seller; or at least a snippit.

Chapter 1
Evenin' friends. The name is Rayford- Rayford Clay Fortmeyer- and I'm gonna tell you a little story. I'd be afraid to tell it to ya if I didn't know that everybody involved in the story is now sittin' behind bars. But fortunately for me, that's where they all are like a bunch of caged up birds. I'm about to tell you how they all got there, and who they' are. It all started back in 1992, in a convenience store located in a small town in central North Carolina. I worked the cash register every night. Now this convenience store was located right off the interstate, so we got visitors of all sorts to come in throughout the night; especially since we were open twenty-four hours. Well little did I know that the visitors to the store that night would change my life forever.

It was probably around 2:30 in the morning, and the store had hit its usual dry spell of no customers at that time of night. I was sitting on top of my favorite black stool behind the register, looking at the latest Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. As I looked up for a moment to see if any of the windows needed cleaning, this big, black Cadillac pulled up to one of the pumps outside. The two front doors opened, and two of the shiniest suits I've ever laid my eyes on got out of the car. There was one pretty tall and lanky guy, and he had one of those "rat-lookin' " faces. The other guy was a little shorter, with a sorta muscular, yet sorta fat kind of build. Despite the shorter stature, I could tell this was the guy in charge. Although he had a kind of chubby face, there was just somethin' about his eyes. His facial expression was just the kind that said, "Yeah, I'm somebodysomebody you will respect." The two fellas came inside and looked around. They didn't seem to be in any big hurry, just stopping in for the usual gas fill-up and something to drink. The shorter fella walked up and gave the breath mints a look-over. He noticed me and said, "Howyadoin'?" "Yep, definitely a Yankee," I thought to myself as I nodded my head to him. The tall dude spoke up from the Cold Drinks' section, "Hey Joey you wanna try this Sun Drop stuff?" The Joey guy looked over to him and replied "Yeah, but grab some of that RC stuff, too. It's fantastic!" Joey then looked back at me and asked, "So you got any good reading materials back there behind the counter?" I pulled out the latest editions of the most popular "Gentlemen's" magazines. I thought to myself "These yanks ain't that bad." Heck they liked nudie magazines like anybody else and they even liked RC cola! Joey and his friend came up to the register, breath mints and all. Joey then asked me to also throw in twenty dollars for gas. I began to ring them up, when the big glass door opened, with the obnoxious cowbell that was attached clangin' away as usual. A short, well-built black man walked in, wearing a long trench coat. I looked at my two new Yankee visitors and said sarcastically "Wow, this is a busy night."

Suddenly, the black man brought a sawed-off twelve - gauge out from his coat and cocked it. First he aimed it at me and yelled "Gimme da cash, and be quick about it!" I started cleaning out the drawer, keeping one hand just out of sight and reaching for my Louisville Slugger. The black man noticed my Yankee friends' shiny suits and the Caddy outside. He then stopped aiming at me and pointed the gun at the Yanks. The tall one said "You don't wanna do dat." The black man yelled "What you gonna do about it, white boy? I changed my mind. I think you and yo friend look like mo' money than this hole-in-the-wall sto!" Without any warning, the tall one knocked the twelve-gauge outta the man's hands and punched him in the gut. As the crook stooped over, out of breath, I saw his hand slip into one of the pockets of his coat. The black guy pulled out a pistol and got off a shot. He winged "Tall Guy" in the arm. Just as he was about to shoot Joey, I brought my ol' Slugger over the count! er as hard and as fast as I could. I cracked the black dude right on top of the head; he was out cold! Suddenly Joey grabbed the bat from me and proceeded to beat the tar out of the already unconscious mass on the floor. "Tall Guy" struggled a little bit getting off the floor, but did manage to have enough in him to assist Joey by kicking the black guy repeatedly in the head. After a couple of minutes of senseless beating, the two Yanks finally simmered down. I just stood there, staring at the bloody pulp of a mess sitting there in the floor. I could not believe what had just happened. Just when I was about to ask the two brutes what exactly they planned to do to clean up the mess, Joey asked "So you got any extra large trash bags?" I pointed out the aisle where the trash bags were found. Joey then looked me in the eyes. He said "Don't worry about this mess. We'll clean this up. By the way, the name's Joey Joey Provincios. The newly one-armed bandit over there is Tony. You! , my friend, saved my life. For that, I am indebted to you." And now y ou know how it all started; the first of many experiences with the Provincios family. I reckon a night like that would be hard for anyone to forget; especially a good ol' boy like me. You wanna hear the scary part? Compared to all the other stuff I would be exposed to later, that was just the tip of the iceberg. I don't remember much about the rest of that night following the commotion in the store. I do remember what Joey said to me before I ventured up North with them. As we stood outside the store, behind the Caddy, Joey and Tony carefully placed the wrapped up body in the trunk. Tony went to the driver-side door, climbed in, and cranked the engine. Before Joey closed the trunk, he looked me in the eyes again and said "It would be in your best interest to come to Brooklyn with us. We didn't exactly have much choice as to how the events tonight turned out. These things happen. However, since you saved my life, I would feel like a real grease-ball if we left you here to take the rap for this. Besides, we got a job you can do for us back home." I was still confused as to why I had to come along, but I couldn't help but be curious about any available job outside the convenience store business! So I asked Joey, "Job? What kind of job?" He closed the trunk, then kind of looked me over and said, "Well, you are not exactly what we would call a small person. And it has occurred to me that you might be good at this life savin' business. So the way I figure it, you would make a pretty good bodyguard for my father." Well as soon as he mentioned his family, I realized what kind of Yankees I was dealing with here. However, I felt like Joey was insisting I go without having to threaten me, so I headed for the back door behind Tony. Before I got in and as Joey got back around front, I asked "So what about him?" I motioned with my head toward the trunk. He smiled and said, "Oh don't worry. We've done this kind of thing before. We'll stop somewhere up the interstate and bury him where nobody will find him. You won't have to do anything. We'll take care of it." Yeah, sure... I am sure you can imagine the comfort I felt in those words. So off we went- in the black North Carolina night. After a "brief stop" to bury the body up the road aways, we drove on through the rest of the morning. After the events from the previous night, I don't think I slept a wink during the entire road trip back to Brooklyn. I was too dad-gum wired; what with all the excitement, danger, and stress I could handle in one night. I remember when we first crossed the New York line that afternoon. Joey turned around and said, "You know, you look like you don't get near enough sleep. Your eyes are lookin' a little on the red side. You oughtta get that checked out." I remember thinking to myself, "Dang! You think I do this kind of thing all the time?" Then I also remember thinking that I had better be careful about what I think. The kind of thoughts I had were enough to make anybody crazy, but they were also the kind of thoughts that Joey and Tony wouldn't want to hear bout. Thoughts like "I wonder how much longer I am going to live," or "Can I actually trust two men who just killed a man?" Needless to say, my conscience was not exactly sitting right with me, even though I really couldn't have prevented the events that had taken place.

About the time that I finally convinced myself that none of this stuff was my fault, we were on some street in the heart of Brooklyn. Tony drove the Caddy right up to the curb in front of this little Italian restaurant. I couldn't believe it. It was like I was stuck in some Mafia movie, like Goodfellas or something. The name of the restaurant - you guessed it; it was Provincios'. You could smell the aroma from the authentic Italian food, coming out through one of the doors propped open by a large barrel. On top of the barrel there was this sad, droopy lookin' Basset Hound all curled up. Going down the rest of the front of the building, there were two large glass windows. Near the door that was closed, there was a neon 'OPEN' sign glowing from the other side of the glass. Joey turned back to me as the car came to a stop. "Ah Home sweet home," he said. As you can imagine, I was pretty tired, having no sleep and all. Apparently, Joey didn't think anything about it. As soon as we got out of the car, he said "Come with me. There is someone I would like you to meet." I had a feeling he was gonna say something like that. I knew he wanted me to meet his father, so I prepared myself for anything. I followed closely behind Joey, and Tony stayed outside to smoke a cigarette. Joey led me into the restaurant. It really was a nice little place; very Italian. The first large room, the main dining area, was dimly lit, with a small candle at each table. The sunlight coming through the two large front windows was the main light source. There was a small crowd of folks grabbing a late lunch, but they didn't seem to be the people Joey wanted me to meet. Joey led me into the kitchen, and from there we took a lot of little turns around all the kitchenware and cooks. Finally, Joey opened a narrow black door and we walked into what seemed to be some type of living room. There, in the middle of the room, was a card table, with four guys dressed like Joey, playing cards. There was one guy who seemed to be the one in charge. He stood up, came over to Joey, and gave him a big hug and one of those Italian kisses on the cheek that you see in movies.

You talkin' to me?

Okay, here's a pet-peave for you. I despise and detest small, whimpy, skinny, inebriated individuals who think they can take on the world! This is exactly why I don't drink, people; because I can just see myself after drinking some "Invincible" water, and then picking a fight with the largest, most testosterone-driven strong man in Greenville County. Yeah, that would be brilliant - yet, this is what I deal with at the bar on some weekends. Okay...I am 6' 2", 250 pounds, yet 5' 8"-5' 9" guys who weigh about a buck-fifty want to mouth back to me; mind you, from several feet away as they are walking backwards or hiding behind their little girlfriends. Now let me teach a valuable lesson here to those of you who are suffering from this 'little man' complex.
1. If the bouncer tells you it is time to go, do not argue. This may anger the individual who is most likely 2 to 3 times your size.
2. If the bouncer commences to shove you out the door with very little effort, and you end up on the street, do not in any way, shape, or form, make a scene in the street and act like you are going to come back at the bouncer. Although this may provide great amusement for on-lookers, it is quite futile. The only thing that can become of it if you actually have the nerve to come back at the bouncer is to become one with the pavement.
3. Do not hide behind your girlfriend as if she is holding you back. Although she might be able to avenge your honor, in the end you just look foolish.
That concludes our lesson for today!