Audible - a change in the offensive play called by the quarterback at the line of scrimmage.
Nancy and I went out to hear a band a couple of weeks ago. The hour was late. The dance floor was crowded. "Wintergreen!!" she yelled to me above the crowd. "What does that mean?" a good friend asked. I smiled. It was time to go. It is a code word with the most interesting of origins.
1990 was the year. The country was on the brink of war with Iraq. Michael Bolton's glorious voice was belting out How am I Suppose to Live Without You on the radio, and The Cincinnati Reds were on their way to a World Series victory. However, in the Fall of that fine year something else was brewing in unit 18 of Lake Terrace Condominiums on the campus of the University of Tennessee - the formation of one of the greatest teams in modern history - Captain Bob's Fabulous 14.
| Not Captain Bob's Team |
This band of unlikely heroes was thrust together two days after the team-submission deadline for on-campus intramural flag football. The idea to form a team came late and after a long football Saturday. It was around 2:00 a.m. when the first call was made. Due to our late arrival on the scene, my brother and I were forced to look to a list of candidates who had not been chosen by the many teams already in existence. Quite frankly, none of the candidates considered and ultimately signed by Captain Bob (me) had been real considerations for any other team. The finalized roster was a veritable who's who of kids picked last on their neighborhood teams growing up. There are no photographs of this team. No one would take our picture. But, if you close your eyes, the team sort of looks like the fraternity formed in the movie, Old School.
Preseason projections were not good. Our starting inside linebacker was an uncoordinated and slow hemophiliac who'd never played organized sports. Our projected starting quarterback ended up missing most of the season due to pre-game anxiety. The roster included a suspended member of the Golf team, several on academic probation, and at least 5 players who could not run under a 10 second 40. We had one guy who could really punt well, but kicking the ball was not part of Flag Football. Half the team smoked cigarettes on the sideline and all but a couple drank to excess before kick-off. There was an aversion to practice so fierce that it was not even mentioned. We had no uniforms. Our only fan was my girlfriend, and "fan" is a strong word. Looking back over the roster, we wouldn't have been preseason favorites at anything unless it was a team hot-dog-eating contest. As the season approached, we found our strength - drinking beer and talking about our various theories of how success could be accomplished on the field. Travis, the dreamer of the group, became our chief play designer. John, my brother, became the designated driver. As our first game approached it became apparent that I'd be the starting quarterback by default. Our starter wasn't prepared for the bright lights and crowds numbering in the tens, and no one else could throw it beyond 10 yards.
A couple of weeks before the first game, Travis designed a play that would alter the landscape of football in a profound way and create a code word that would become part of my everyday vocabulary. The play was a wide-receiver audible. Yes, a wide-receiver audible. An audible, usually called by the quarterback, is a change in play called at the line of scrimmage immediately before the ball is snapped. Usually, again, the quarterback changes the play after assessing the defense. He does so by calling out codes to inform the players of the new play. Our play, code named - Wintergreen - was a true innovation in the game. The code word would emanate from Travis (of course), not the quarterback, if he believed he could blow by his defender. Travis was a receiver. It was a hot route (Wedding Crashers reference) to Travis where he would run a straight fly pattern to the end zone. Suffice it to say, I didn't think this would ever come up. Primarily because I didn't believe we had one receiver, including Travis, who could run a fly pattern without stopping for a Gatorade half way down the field. "We'll use it later in the season," he said, "when we've gotten use to our positions." In the weeks leading up to the first game, Wintergreen was often discussed with great reverence. There was great speculation about how the play would be called and what circumstances would qualify it as a viable option.
The first game finally arrived. Beneath stadium lights on a cool Fall evening, Travis and I walked to mid-field for the coin toss. I sized up our opponents. They were wearing matching shorts and shirts, each player with a new pair of cleats. They looked to be members of the university's track team, a team that would go on to win the SEC Championship that year. Our team, clad in Fruit of the Loom white t-shirts with sharpie-written numerals, looked like prisoners of war being returned to a defeated nation.The coin was tossed and possession granted to us.
We trotted out onto the field of battle and huddled up for the first time. The faces staring back at me reminded me of the faces of the men in the opening scene in Saving Private Ryan as they huddled inside the troop carriers about to land at Normandy. Some vomited into the dirt, others prayed. In order to lead men it is important to be stern and confidant. It is also important not to go overboard on the "Rah Rah" stuff. Striking the balance is what being a leader is all about. "Ain't gonna lie, boys. It doesn't look so good" I said. With that and believing we were at a real speed disadvantage, I called a short pass play, took a deep breath and said "here we go." As we approached the line of scrimmage, unified only in our belief of impending doom, I held back in the shotgun position and assessed the defense. Every defensive back was up in press coverage and the linebackers, who had the physical prowess and crazed looks of tigers in the wild, were set to blitz me, each of them easing up between defensive linemen. Travis was being covered by the reigning SEC 400m champion. I realized at that moment that I'd never seen Travis so much as run to the mailbox. He could play guitar and tell jokes, but I'd never seen him engage in an athletic endeavor in my life. I adjusted my flags on my waist and looked over the mismatches at every position, preparing to run for my life. "Down... Set..." I began. Then, suddenly from my right, on the first play of the first game, came a booming call from a familiar voice - "Wintergreen!!!!!!" rang out into the night and echoed off the fraternity houses. Everyone on our team suppressed a laugh. Our opponents looked at each other dumbfounded. It was one of the most hilarious moments in my life. "Hut!" I called. Travis sprinted by his man and as the ball left my hands, I knew it was true. Travis was five yards beyond his confused defender when the ball hit his hands, his chest and then the ground. We lost a lot of good men that day. (Wedding Crashers)
We went on to make the playoffs that year. We had some great games and Wintergreen was used to greater success. Since that night, Wintergreen has been called many times. It has been mine and Travis's code word to leave a party. It has been used to signal trouble among my friends. I recall one night in a famous musician's palatial home where it was used to signal "let's get out of here!" It has been used by my wife and I when we need to signal each other that we don't know someone's name at a party or, as it was the other night, to indicate to each other it is time to leave the party or event. I've given that name to basketball plays when I'm coaching my son in AAU. Anytime I hear the word I am filled with laughter and happiness. This is the legend of Wintergreen. Thank God for good friends.
