He was home alone this Saturday afternoon, sprawled on the sofa, remote control in his hand, beer and chips on the coffee table. He’d been watching Michigan vs. Northwestern when the play-by-play announcer lowered his voice an octave and told the viewers that word had just reached the booth that former great Rascal Jenkins had passed away at the age of 47. In addition to his college exploits, Jenkins had enjoyed a seven-year NFL career, four of which as a Minnesota Viking and the last three with the Miami Dolphins.
Tub reacted to the news with a loud groan and a shake of the head. He felt genuinely sad. Tub had last seen Rascal Jenkins at a reunion of their conference championship team four years ago. It looked like Rascal hadn’t put on an ounce in his playing days and he sure didn’t look a day over 30. Meanwhile Tub had grown an ample belly, lost most of his hair and suffered from heart arrhythmia.
After checking on the internet Tub learned that Rascal had had a drug problem and died of an overdose. Tub immediately drew a conclusion about African Americans and drugs but chased it from his mind. It was disrespectful to the recently deceased and was borderline racist. Tub had spent his whole life fighting off racist thoughts — a legacy of his bigoted father. Tub thought of his southern born and bred dad for a second and winced, every other word out of dad’s mouth had been a racial slur.
There was another damn commercial on the football game so Tub switched over to the History Channel, there was usually something good there. Sure enough they were doing a program on the German invasion of Poland that had started World War II. Tub thought he’d take a break from football and thinking about Rascal and his goddamned racist old man and watch a little WWII history.
Those damn Nazis and especially Hitler, he was the one. Sure others followed his orders but he was the ringmaster.
There was footage of Nazi planes and Nazi tanks and Nazi troops and the whole blitzkrieg into Poland. The mercilessness of their attack would be awe inspiring if it didn’t result in such human devastation. Tub could both appreciate the efficiency of the German army and be appalled at ruthlessness of it all.
Pretty soon it all started to depress Tub and he decided it would be better to go back to good ole college football. Michigan and Northwestern were at half time so we switched to Virginia and Rutgers. It was late in the third quarter and Virginia had the game well in hand, leading 24-6. Tub closed his eyes and recalled some of his good times with Rascal. Tub still had vivid memories from his playing days, like the time he flattened a linebacker and thus paved the way for a 75 yard touchdown run by Rascal. Tub had gotten almost as many plaudits for his block as Rascal had for his run. The great thing about it was that the linebacker in question was Jeff Snorkle the All American who had gone on to have an illustrious pro career. Tub also remembered many of the plays, including the whole last drive, of the big win over Tech in his senior year.
Gradually Tub began to doze. It was quiet in the house what with Letty — that was Tub’s wife — and the kids — Aaron and Gina — gone for the day. They’d even taken Lassoo — the family dog — with them. Yes it was a rare thing for Tub to have the house to himself. Damn relaxing. Tub soon was sound asleep and in full dream mode. There he was racing down the field stride for stride with Rascal but it was he Tub holding the ball running into the end zone and out of the stadium to his grandma’s house. There she was, alive again in her rocking chair, baking cookies in that old iron oven. Grandma smiled at Tub. Then Walter Cooley appeared, he was one of Tub’s college roommates. Odd to see him in Grandma’s house.
A fly landed on Tub’s nose and he awoke from his dream. He must have been out half an hour or so. Rutgers had stormed back and was only down 24-19 and had the ball. Tub got up to take a piss and then get a cold beer, as he plopped back down on the sofa Virginia intercepted a pass and ran it back for a touchdown. There was just over two minutes left so the game was as good as over. Tub switched back to the History Channel. The Germans were occupying Poland and invading the “low countries,” easily conquering Holland and Belgium.
Tub took a big slurp of beer and thought how lucky he was to have avoided fighting in a war. Imagine being shot at and having bombs exploding near you. There was so much luck in surviving a war. And if you did survive you could do so with one less leg or arm or paralyzed of blinded or emasculated (that thought made Tub groan). And even if you sustained no physical injuries there was always the psychological trauma of watching other guys killed and wounded. And what if you had to live with killing someone? Even in a war for a good cause that would be a hard one for Tub to deal with. Lucky for him his battles were on the football field, his enemy was just another team and the worst that happened was that someone maybe broke a leg or tore an ACL. Yeah, Tub had to admit he’d had a soft life. Soft like his belly. Sure growing up with an asshole father was rough, but at least dad never hit Tub or his sisters or called them bad names. They just had to listen to the awful things he said about other people. Not just blacks, anyone different. There was no use arguing with dad about it either. He was one stubborn SOB.
Tub switched from the History Channel to ESPN where the big clash between Alabama and LSU was about to start. That’d be a good one. In the studio the talking heads made mention of Rascal Jenkins’ death. Such a shame. They showed a couple of his long runs and Tub caught sight of himself throwing the block that leveled Jeff Snorkle. Tub had watched enough highlights to be able to pick himself out. Hell no one ever just shows an offensive lineman, although the Snorkle block got some play. The only time your name was called was when you committed a penalty. The most thankless job in sports but Tub had loved it.
Tub got tired of waiting for Alabama-LSU to start so he switched back to the History Channel. More clips of Nazi tanks — Panzers — crushing everything in their wake. Happy, smiling German soldiers — they’ll get theirs, though, Tub thought — more German planes reigning death and destruction. Hitler — the ultimate asshole — making his wacky speeches or conferring with generals. Tub was at once sick of it all and endlessly fascinated by it. A commercial came on and Tub hit the mute button. Sometimes TV ads got on his last nerve, especially after a day having the tube on. Tub laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, his thoughts returning to poor old Rascal Jenkins. He closed his eyes and fell dead asleep again. This time he was in a war. Tub sometimes dreamed he was a solider but this time he was a German in World War II. He was marching into France and felt damn bad about it, loathing the Nazis and all they stood for. In the dream Tub desperately wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else but he couldn’t risk deserting and besides his fellow soldiers were all friends. Poor Tub was stuck in this battle. He was conscious of it being a dream but it seemed more real than other dreams he'd had. Tub hoped he’d wake up. In the past he could wake himself up from an unpleasant dream, particularly during a mid day nap, but he was having no luck this time, even though he was aware of the fact that the Alabama-LSU game must be about to start.
Tub and the other soldiers had been marching for awhile when they came under fire from French troops. Tub saw men around him fall to the ground hit by enemy bullets. Others, he noticed, immediately started shooting. Tub stood for a second looking around before he headed to a tree for cover. Tub never made it to the tree. A bullet struck him in the chest and he fell hard to the ground. Now Tub could see himself from several feet above. There was blood pouring out of his mouth and from his chest wound. He was struggling to breath. At first Tub could see himself pawing at the ground and trying to call for help, but he soon grew quiet and ceased moving entirely. Why can’t I wake up from this dream? Tub wondered. He was scared. Not scared in the dream, but really frightened. He could not wake up, all he could do was watch the life drain from himself as he lay in a field in France in 1940. Tub tried to scream but there was no sound anymore. His vision of himself on the ground grew fainter and fainter until it turned into white light. Then, contradictorily, it turned black. There was nothing and there was no more and no Tub.
It was 8:30 PM that Saturday evening when Letty and the kids pulled into the driveway at home and got out of the car. They entered the house through the garage, there was Tub’s car, Letty grazed it on the way by. It was cool to the touch, likely meaning Tub hadn’t driven it all day or left the house for that matter. Letty called for Tub as she entered the kitchen via the garage. The children raced past her and yelled for their dad. Aaron and Gina were 15 and 12 years old and deeply attached to their father. There was no answer from Tub and but when they walked into the living room there he was on the sofa. The TV was on but muted. Gina practically jumped on her dad as she gave him a hug. Meanwhile Lassoo sprinted circles around the sofa.
Tub woke up simultaneously scared shitless and deliriously happy to hold his darling daughter. Tub struggled into a sitting position with Gina draped all over him and exchanged a high five with Aaron. Then Letty gave him a hug and peck on the cheek. She’d brought home a pizza reasoning that her lazy husband would not have made anything for himself. The four of them ate in the living room and watched the second half of the Alabama-LSU game. Tub told them the sad news about Rascal Jenkins. In the back of his mind was the last dream he had. It was awful and Tub couldn’t make sense of it. Anyway it was just a dream. He was alive and well and surrounded by his family. That’s all that mattered. But, he wondered, what is this pain in my chest?
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