Everyone loves talking about the Glory Days. That’s just a fact. There is NOTHING better than getting a few brews with the HS or college crew and talking about that run to State or the time you beat your crosstown rival. We’re all guilty of it too, as we’re all washed up bums just living to die, kinda like Al Bundy and his 4 TDs at Polk High.
So I figured why not rally up the best glory days stories from Stoolies? A few good ones came through.
First, I’ll start though. Senior year I threw out Kevin Tokarski of Downers North twice when he was trying to steal 2nd base, once in an early season non-con game and then again in the sectional semi-final at Benedictine University.
He was 23-25 in stolen bases that year, and also put together an All American campaign at Illinois State a few years later:
Not to brag. I bet someway, somehow this gets back to Kevin too. Kevin, if you’re reading this know this: I’m more furious that you didn’t get drafted than you are. I would have never shut up about hosing a professional out twice in the same year trying to swipe 2nd on me.
We also lost in the super sectional that year and went farther than any Wheaton team in history had ever gone in the playoffs up to that point. We completely blew it against Neuqua to go to state and would have won state if we didn’t choke. FUCK.
Anyways, let’s get to the reader emails:
What’s up Dave
2003. Im back up QB and professional holder for extra points and FG’s
Excellent start being a backup QB
Kickers dad gave me $50 GC’s to Applebees every week.
The NCAA just had a stroke with this blatant disregard for impermissible benefits
Lost previous week 48-21
The drama is building…
So, 3 seconds left, tie game. 48 yard field goal. It’s silent, I’m in the zone. Its Friday Night Lights in real life. I know that these next few moments had the potential to set me up for a really nice bj and some muff diving with my girlfriend later that night (I was too busy being backup QB to have actual sex, shut up).
I was staring straight into the asshole of the snapper. I snap my right hand up, give him the signal, he snaps it, a fucking piss missile heading straight for my face, a little high, but still right there. I snag it, laces are facing me, I snag the ball, put it down, left middle finger on the point, I slide my right hand from the opposite side of the ball towards me, spinning the pigskin ever so gently, and make sure there is no centrifugal momentum (or some physics shit like that), so theres nothing affecting its path towards the uprights that have so gently opened up like I was hoping my GF’s legs would be opening later that night.
I fucking nail the hold, kicker boots it.
IT’S. FUCKING. GOOD.
We fucking won.
Bam. This guy will be telling his future son about the time he nail the hold for years and years
Love this topic Dave,
My best glory day’s story comes from Senior Yr of High School basketball. I was coming off missing two games due to ligament damage after falling on Antwaan Randle El’s foot coming down after shooting a 3 in the Schaumburg Christmas Tourney. I was supposed to miss 5 games but I wasn’t having it.. It was a Friday night game vs. Glenbrook South ( I played for Maine South) and I was jacked. My brother who was the starting PG and our small forward Rizzo decide to be idiots and hang with some chicks after school and miss the team bus. They have to drive to the game and make it during warmups and coach suspends them for the 1st half and we have to start two sophs who never play. I decide I need to get the team going and go on an epic run. I score the first 19 points of the game with only 1 miss on the way to 29 points in the 1st half alone. It was an absolute outer body experience that I had never felt in my life, I just couldn’t miss. My bone head brother and Rizzo played the 2nd half and I didn’t get as many touches but ended up with 39 points and a School Record at the time. I earned Chicago Tribune player of the week honors. Total Al Bundy glory days story I will never forget.
The best athletes on earth will tell you about how they could just get in the zone. From Muhammad Ali to MJ, to Curt Schilling, etc. But those guys are paid to do it. This guy got in the zone for getting in the zone’s sake, and now he’s busy slinging mortgages or some shit. Sure he knows his life peaked in HS but that doesn’t matter to him, because his peak was at least sky high.
White Sox Dave,
I went to school at Downers Grove North, and no I didn’t play football against you.
my senior year baseball team was stacked, we had at least 6-7 D1 or D2 starters at all positions, I played second string third, but it was cool because I got to hang and shoot the shit with basically all my best friends, dip every game and take book every other day. One of these kids would go one to break the school dinger record, once held by the one and only Randy “Macho Man” Savage formerly known as Randy Paffo.
Anyways, We were taking BP on a off day before a weekend double header and my goal since I wasn’t playing was to just hit bombs, but it was tough because we played in a deep yard with high fences down the line and the wind was howling in. Either way, on this BP day I was the only one to put one over the fence and to this day, 11 years later I still rub it in to all those guys. Never went yabo in a game, but was the only one during this session with all those soon to be college ball players.
They get pissed off whenever I bring it up, but it’s my glory day moment so they can fuck off.
Thanks and keep up the awesome work with the Red Line guys.
Guarantee Joe beats this story into the ground like it’s raw hamburger meat. That doesn’t and will never stop him though. Hitting that dinger formed Joe into the man he is today and even though he was a scrub bench warmer, he always can fall back on that one BP dinger he hit that one time. At least that was on a real, sanctioned HS team though. Just wait until we get into the intramural glory days stories
Like this one:
I’m a freshman at Illinois, and I join the dorm room intramural soccer team. We make our way pretty well through the season and find ourselves in the playoffs. We win our first game, then we we win again, then again and find ourselves in the championship. We show up to the field for the championship game. No joke, this team we’re playing against is like 18 British guys. They’re all cocky, going through these organized warm-ups in their pristine matching uniforms. The thought of actually losing this game never crossed the minds of these dudes. They were there to destroy us, hoist their trophy, then go get blitzed at Kams.
So the game starts, and they’re not bad, pretty good actually, but their quality of play doesn’t match the appearance that should have went with the fancy warm-ups and matching uniforms. It’s then when we realize we have a chance. But they have a pretty good keeper, and he’s making all these world class saves. We play almost the whole game, and it’s 0-0. Then with only a couple minutes left, we win a corner. Up until this point in the season, I had done some good things, scored a couple of goals, but I was by no means one of our star players. I was a nice role player who did his job and never really did anything spectacular. Then we took this corner, and for whatever reason on that play I decided to hang out just at the top of the box, and sure enough we play the corner into the box, and the ball bounces around a few times then pops out right toward me, and I strike this ball perfectly. This thing came off my foot like a laser, never got more than a foot off the ground. The ball ended up perfectly in the side netting. I rip my shirt off, Ronaldo style, in celebration. We take the lead 1-0.
The referee, after issuing me a yellow card for my celebration, blew the final whistle only about 30 seconds after the ensuing kickoff and we win. These British guys were absolutely stunned, so stunned they weren’t even mad. They just stood there watching us celebrate with dead stares on their face, complete disbelief, as if to say “I can’t believe these bloody Yanks just beat us.”
Those dirty fucking red coats had no idea what’s coming. You didn’t score that intramural goal for your team, you scored it for America and nobody can ever take that from you.
I have two “glory days” stories, both involve high school track.
I have a third from when I was 9 years old, which sounds outside of your requirements (I tripled off someone that is now in the major leagues – he was 8 at the time. I have video evidence of this one). This was in a legit little league game and not just playing a pick up game at the park.
Anyway, for the first two hopefully as someone who has completed a marathon, you can appreciate to an extent. The second track story is a bit more compelling because it involves holding a grudge.
Junior year homecoming, Rolling Meadows vs Hersey, conference title on the line. I’m playing the worst game of my life, J’Marcus Webb levels of bad, QB shoulda died. But anyway we ran a WR screen and our guard laid out one of the most vicious hits on this poor corner, and then the next play we torched him on a goal line fade to win it. Just picked on the kid the whole way down the field to not only cap off our season, but pretty much end theirs as well.
Get to college and find that poor guy is my teammate.
Viva, Bear Down
Not sure if you want to include gym class heroes but senior year of high school last day of whiffle ball at St. Rita(all boys school). The Dildos Vs the Pubes. Those were are actual team names, this class was chaos. Games were timed because we would just play one game that would last the whole class period, my team, the dildos, was down three with the bases loaded. Teacher comes out and says last at bat so a single a double or a triple would not keep the dildos undefeated season alive. Needed a dinger. First pitch yacked it off the wall above the home run line. Dildos go undefeated in whiffle ball.