Listen to my interview with Angry Black from my radio show, STEVE LUDWIG'S CLASSIC POP CULTURE: www.spreaker.com/user/mxpw/steve_ludwigs_classic_pop_culture_4_2

ANGRY BLACK, HOWARD STERN, & ME

(Part Two)

By Steve Ludwig

Before I begin, may I take a moment to thank all of you from Venezuela, the United Kingdom, Italy, Canada, Sweden, Ukraine, Russia, the United Arab Emirates, Thailand, Germany, China, France, the Czech Republic, Israel, Indonesia, Latvia, South Africa, Romania, and of course, the good ol' United States of America who have read my blogs...I appreciate it, and I hope you enjoy reading this week's installment about my friend Angry Black, Shelley Harris.

So it's April 27, 2001. I find myself standing on line outside the (at the time) WWE Restaurant and Nightclub. Time: 5:45 AM.

It was still morning dark outside, and some of the Howard Stern, Angry Black, and Crazy Cabbie faithful were lined up waiting for entrance to the big fight between Angry Black and Cabbie.

I didn't find the need to get on line at 4 AM like some of the fans did; I was on Shelley's guest list, and my seat was assured.

By the time I got into the WWE club, it was 6:20 AM; Howard's radio show had begun twenty minutes earlier, with the fight scheduled for around 8 AM.

I went to the woman with the clipboard and told her I was on Angry Black's guest list. I was just a little nervous that Shelley had been so busy the day before that he may have forgotten to put me on the list.

But my worrying was for naught; there I was, right on the list!

I was given a VIP sticker (Huh? Um, it's only me...)) and was led to the front row, ringside.

But as I was being led to my seat, I heard Howard being piped in over the speaker system. I looked up at the stage and what do ya know...

 There they were: Howard, Fred, and Robin! (Jackie the Joke Man had left the show a month earlier over a salary dispute.)

It really was surreal. I'm a huge Howard fan, and to see him and Robin and Fred right there was an almost indescribable feeling. I kept saying to myself, as I was walking to my seat, "There's Howard...There's Howard!"

I sat down, front row, and felt like I must have still been in bed; this is just a dream, and in a few minutes the alarm will go off and I'll start getting ready for school.

But no, I was here. There were so many Wack Packers there. 

Imagine being in the same place as someone you truly enjoy. I mean, it was such a thrill.

I was seated right next to former boxing champ Iran Barkley. Iran was in the green room, as I was, the day before at the radio station.

"Hey, Champ!" I said as I extended my hand and sat down. 

He shook my hand and modestly answered, "Hi, I'm Iran Barkley."

"Oh, I know who you are," I told him. "I'm a big fight fan. I met you yesterday in the green room."

"Oh," he said. I don't think he remembered me, but he was surely friendly to me.

I asked if I could take a picture with him. He gladly obliged:

I got settled and stared like a dope at Howard for a while.

They sound just like they do on the radio (durrrrrrrrrrr), I remember thinking.

On the other side of the ring, I noticed wrestlers Triple H and Stone Cold Steve Austin.

A couple fans were posing for pictures with them. I totally blew it. I was gonna walk over and ask if I could take a picture with them but, and please don't ask me why, I figured being I had on a VIP sticker I should act a little cooler and not seem like the nutty star-chaser I really am!

It doesn't make sense, I know, but that's why I never got my picture taken with them.

The Iron Sheik was there...

Boxer Gerry Cooney was also in attendance, but I couldn't get to him; he was way over somewhere else (and anyway, I'm a VIP, dammit, why should I??).

The same goes for another boxer, Macho Camacho. Couldn't get to him (but again...Me - VIP, who cares??).

Bert Sugar, boxing writer and sports historian (who sadly passed away this past March) appeared out of nowhere on the stage, talking to Howard.

It was finally fight time. The crowd was so excited! Everybody who was tired from getting up so early that morning was suddenly wide awake.

 The fight was scheduled for five rounds.

Michael Buffer stepped into the ring. 

Everybody screamed with laughter as he introduced Shelley this way:

"The African-American pride of the Connecticut School of Broadcasting...Angry Black!"

A loud round of cheers greeted Shelley as he made his way into the ring, and I couldn't have been prouder of him.

 This was the real deal! Celebrities, famous athletes...Hank the Angry Drunken Dwarf!!!! They were all here!

Crazy Cabbie was introduced, to a mixture of boos and cheers.

Good, I thought, they like Shelley better.

"Let's get ready to rummmmbbbbbbllllle!!" Michael Buffer made it all official.

The bell rang, and I think most of the people in attendance were surprised at the ferocity of the punches; both Shelley and Cabbie put all the pre-fight hype aside, and they slugged it out!

Angry Black knocked Cabbie down in the second round; he bloodied Cabbie's nose!

Cabbie landed a few hard shots of his own. It was close after three rounds, but I had Shelley ahead. Sure, I suppose I gave him a few "friend points," but even Iran Barkley said he thought it was close when I asked him.

The strangest thing happened at one point in the fight, and I can't ever remember losing control like this since I've been sober (In my drinking days, all bets were off!).

At one point between rounds, Cabbie leaned over the rope at Shelley's section where all of Shelley's guests were sitting, and said something like, "Ah, he ain't nothin'!"

real arrogantly, just like a professional wrestler might.

Of course, we all booed, but I lifted both my hands, gave Cabbie a double-fingered salute, and yelled "F... You!!"

Oh, man, I quickly sat down and thought to myself, "Get a hold of yourself."

I don't know what came over me; talk about being caught up in the moment! I'm usually able to control myself.

I knew the fight was going to be broadcast on E! Television and NBC, and I started worrying: "Oh, no, what if my students see what I just did??" (Luckily, it happened between rounds and wasn't shown on TV. Shhhhh, our secret, OK?)

The final bell rang, and the judges' tallies were added up. In the meantime, Howard asked boxing expert Bert Sugar who he thought won the fight.

Sugar said it was close, but he'd give Angry Black the decision if it were up to him.

I agreed; Cabbie did rock Shelley on occasion, but Shelley definitely got the better of Cabbie.

Michael Buffer gave the final tally...The three judges' declared the fight a draw.

People cheered the decision; people booed the decision.

I still felt Shelley won, and so did Bert Sugar.

Macho Camacho said Cabbie won, but what did Camacho know, right? He should be glad I didn't stick my VIP sticker on his nose.

After the fight, during a radio commercial break, Howard came down to the ring to pose for pictures with the boxers and the boxers' handlers.

Ever the good guy, Shelley noticed me down at ringside. I gave him a thumbs-up, great job, and he motioned for me to come into the ring.

Nah, I shook my head. 

"Get up here. Howard, do you mind if my friend Steve comes in for a picture?"

"No, come on up," Howard said.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I walked up the ring stairs, bent down under the ropes (all the while very aware that I could easily trip on the way in and make a total jerk of myself), and stood alongside Howard and Shelley. Here it is:

All I could think to say was, "Thanks, Howard," and he simply replied, "You're welcome," and he started working his way out of the ring and back to the stage area to continue the radio show.

I shook Shelley's hand, told him great job, and went back to my seat. 

Howard was going to interview both Shelley and Cabbie, so Shelley also went to the stage.

I listened to the interviews for a while, noticed it was getting late in the morning, and decided to make my way out and to my car to get back to school for my afternoon classes.

An unforgettable experience, to be certain, and all because Shelley Harris is such a neat guy.

I asked Shelley a couple weeks ago if he's still in touch with Crazy Cabbie. I mean, they share a history with the Howard Stern Show that will last forever.

It seems Cabbie did Howard wrong a few years ago, and ever since then Shelley wants nothing to do with Cabbie.

As far as Shelley is concerned, nobody disses Howard.

The last thing you'd want to do is to make Shelley an Angry Black man.

Thanks for everything, Shelley...

Follow Shelley on Twitter: www.Twitter.com/AngryBlackTHSS

Follow me on Twitter: www.Twitter.com/Ludguy

If you enjoyed reading my blog, would you kindly consider buying my book? It's a funny (yes, that's right, funny) look at my quintuple open-heart bypass surgery, and it's called SEE YOU IN CCU - A LIGHTHEARTED TALE OF MY OPEN-HEART SURGERY. Go to my website  www.ccubook.com to buy it half-price. (Also available full price at amazon.com and bn.com).

And we can't forget my wise-guy brother, Tom. He and his buddy since second grade have a really neat blog. They discuss politics, sports, you name it. It's at  www.secondgrademinds.wordpress.com.

As always, thanks to the over 10,000 (and counting) of you who read my blogs!

  Good health, Steve

Listen to my interview with Angry Black on my radio show, STEVE LUDWIG'S CLASSIC POP CULTURE: www.sprealer.com/user/mxpw_steve_ludwigs_classic_pop_culture_4_2
ANGRY BLACK, HOWARD STERN, & ME
(PART ONE)

By Steve Ludwig

Back on December 8, 2006, I had quintuple open-heart bypass surgery. And, yippee!! I survived!

Three years after my surgery, right around Christmas time, as I was doing three of my favorite things -- lying on the couch, watching TV and just vegging-out -- I was thinking of how lucky I was to be alive.

Yes, I know, it sounds corny...and I assure you in my younger days I would probably have secretly laughed at people like myself for being so dramatic.

And I can also assure you that, on December 8, 2006, I had every intention of making it through my open-heart surgery; I had complete trust in my doctors. 

Yet, there was a very quick thought that I could die on the operating table, ya know?

 So as I lay prone, couched, three years and a few days later, I started thinking of some people whom I hadn't spoken to since before my procedure. 

One of them was a really good guy, someone whose company I always enjoyed being in -- Shelley Harris. 

I found Shelley's phone number in my book, and gave him a call. I got his voice-mail, and the greeting was one of those automated ones; it wasn't Shelley's voice. I wondered if this was even still Shelley's number; it'd been a few years since we talked.

Nonetheless, I left a message, just telling Shelley that I was calling him to wish him a happy holiday, and having survived open-heart surgery, I've learned to appreciate how special it is to have known excellent people like him.

The message wasn't one that required an answer; like I said, I wasn't sure it was even still his number.

Imagine how glad I was to reconnect with Shelley a few weeks ago on Twitter.

Howard Stern fans will recognize Shelley by his other name -- Angry Black.

Shelley, as a die-hard Howard Stern fan (like yours truly), always took exception (and still does) to people who would badmouth Howard...people who didn't "get" Howard, like Stern's fans did.

It would make Shelley angry; in Shelley's words, it would make him an angry black man.

He'd call in to Howard's show and defend Howard against all his detractors. 

Soon, "Angry Black" became a fixture of Howard's show; he was a bonafide member of Stern's "Wack Pack."

I'm a teacher, and to supplement my income, I (along with a fellow teacher) bought a small video store in Hackensack, NJ. in the late eighties through the early 2000's. I'd work after school hours and on weekends. 
I met Shelley when he became a member of my video store. From the outset, I could tell he was a cool guy. He was (and is to this day)) a walking encyclopedia of all things pop culture. He knew everything a person could know about movies, TV, music...you name it! He'd hang out in the store and we'd talk and talk about anything and everything.
It was soon obvious that we shared another common interest; we were both rabid Howard Stern fans.

We 'd go to see members of the Howard Stern crew when they were making appearances in the area.
Shelley took these two pictures of me. The first is Jackie "The Joke Man" Martling, at whose show Shelley was introduced to the audience to a rousing ovation.
And the second picture is of Gary Dell'Abate, better known as "Baba Booey." Gary was at a video store signing, and Shelley told me he'd introduce me to Gary. 
He did, and Gary was cool and really friendly. 

Skip ahead to early 2001. 

Crazy Cabbie was a DJ on Howard's radio station at the time, 92.3 K-Rock. Cabbie and Shelley got into a feud, and in order to settle the score, Howard decided they should fight it out in a boxing ring.

There was a huge buildup, with Shelley and Cabbie promising to knock the other's block off.

The fight was scheduled for April 27, 2001, in what was then the WWE Night Club and Restaurant in Times Square (it's now a Hard Rock Cafe).

The day before, Shelley and Cabbie were to appear on the Howard Stern radio show for the final hype. 

Shelley asked me if I wanted to go with him and his fight handlers and hang out in the green room. I thought about it for half a second-- YEAH!!!

Shelley made it clear I wouldn't meet Howard, I would just wait in the green room while he was in the radio studio.

That was good enough for me...I was excited just for the experience.

I took half a personal day from school. In my car, I followed Shelley, his trainer and a few of his friends in their car, and before I knew it, we were parking in the underground K-Rock lot at about 5:30 AM. 

Shelley knew his way around; he'd been on the show and in the studio many times before. The parking attendant said hi to him.

We took the elevator up to the K-Rock studios. We were met at the door by Ronnie the Limo Driver. As fans of the show know, Ronnie picks Howard up each morning and drives him to the studio. But Ronnie is also Howard's chief of security. On this morning, Ronnie wasn't the silly guy on the radio who was often the butt of many jokes by the other members of Howard's crew.

He was all business. Shelley introduced me to Ronnie.

"Hi, arms up please," was all Ronnie said as he scanned me with the security stick. (I noticed that Ronnie was also all-business when I was at a couple of the America's Got Talent shows in Newark this past summer. He would stand stoically at the side of the stage, watching over Howard.)

We all went into the green room, which wasn't green at all, and sat down. (I've recently been lucky enough to appear on a couple of cable TV shows in promotion of my book, SEE YOU IN CCU [ccubook.com], and the green rooms at those studios weren't green, either.)

 Already I knew it was worth the trip, because walking into the green room a few minutes later were two more members of Howard's Wack Pack: Hank the Angry Drunken Dwarf and High-Pitch Eric.

High-Pitch was actually quite quiet throughout his whole stay in the green room. Perhaps he was self-conscious of his voice when he was not on the radio?

Hank was the coolest. I was wearing a Beatles Revolver necktie (because I was going to school in the afternoon), and immediately Hank said, somewhat drunkenly, "You a Beatles fan?" Before I could answer, Hank said, "I love music. Ask me any question, go 'head. Ask me."

I forgot what I asked him, but he got the answer right. He smiled, took a slug out of the the bottle of whatever it was he was drinking, and said, "Ask me another." So we spent a few minutes asking each other music questions. 

I could tell Hank was a very smart person. Unfortunately, I could also tell he had a serious drinking problem. Sadly, despite efforts by Howard and other members of his staff to get him to stay in a rehab program, Hank passed away from alcohol-related problems, in his sleep, a little over four months after I took this picture with Eric and him on that day:

Each time I look at the picture, I get a kick out of how Hank made himself comfortable, leaning on me. I guess he felt we were officially music-lover buddies.

While I was in the green room, Shelley and Cabbie were already being interviewed on the radio by Howard about the big fight the next day:

There were a lot of angry and crazy words exchanged between Angry Black and Crazy Cabbie. 

Famed boxing announcer Michael Buffer ("Let's get ready to rrrruuuuuummmmmmbbbbbllllleeeee!!!!!!"), who would be the ring announcer on fight day, was in the studio, and I even got to shake hands with him when he came into the green room. The only reason that was possible was because Shelley introduced me to him. 

I hate to blow his cover, but despite his "Angry Black" persona, Shelley is one of the all-time nice guys I've met. Throughout his busy day promoting the fight, he time and again made sure I was having a good time.

After the interview, Shelley and his entourage returned to the green room. They wanted everybody to wait around because E! Television, which taped the Howard TV show, wanted to shoot some segments. 

Stuttering John Melendez and Gary Dell'Abate would each stop in the green room every once in a while, keeping Shelley updated on what was coming next.

Boxing fans will know the name Iran Barkley. He was boxing champion in the middleweight, super middleweight, and light-heavyweight divisions throughout his career. Now retired, he was also in the studio to offer Howard his expertise on who would win the big fight.

I wanted to take a picture of Shelley, Iran, and Shelley's trainer and friends, so I asked them all to get together for a picture. Before I could click the button, Shelley told me to get in the picture (again, looking out for me), so I hopped in the back. High-Pitch took this picture:

You'll notice Iran Barkley, second from the left, right next to Shelley (in the Yankees shirt).

Soon, Crazy Cabbie came running into the green room, followed by the E! Television cameras. 

"I want Black! I want Black!" 

Shelley and Cabbie did some fake lunging at each other, really playing it up for the cameras. Cabbie finally left the room, and the TV cameras were on Shelley.

"Steve, come up here and help me." 

I got off the couch and did a pseudo-shoulder rub on Shelley, acting like I was trying to calm his nerves. I was the nervous one, knowing the TV cameras were on. I remember murmuring something to the effect of, "Crazy Flabby..." or something like that to the cameras, but I guess I wasn't convincing enough; that segment was never shown on TV. 

Before I knew it, it was 11:15 AM. Howard had signed off the air, and I was getting ready to get to school to teach my afternoon classes.

As I was saying goodbye to Shelley and his crew, wishing them good luck tomorrow at the fight, Shelley asked me if I wanted to go to the fight.

Wow! I never expected to be asked to go, because Shelley only had a certain number of guests that he was allowed to have sit at ringside. 

"I'll put you on my list," he told me.

I had already taken half a personal day at school, and although I had left an assignment for my students in my absence on this day, I didn't want to miss work two mornings in a row. 

I told Shelley thanks, I'd love to, but I really shouldn't miss school again.

"Well, call me if you change your mind," Shelley said as I wished him one more good luck for tomorrow's fight.

I drove back to New Jersey, thinking about what a super experience I had had, all thanks to Angry Black.

As I passed through the Lincoln Tunnel onto the Jersey side, I took out my cell phone.

"Hey, Shell. It's Steve. On second thought, I think I will go to the fight tomorrow."

"OK, I'll put you on the list. See you then," Shelley answered.

AND IN PART TWO OF MY NEXT BLOG, I'LL TELL YOU ALL ABOUT THE BIG FIGHT. I SAT RINGSIDE, FRONT ROW. WRESTLERS TRIPLE H AND STONE COLD STEVE AUSTIN WERE THERE.

I'LL TELL YOU WHAT IT WAS LIKE WATCHING THE FIGHT SEATED RIGHT NEXT TO A FORMER BOXING CHAMPION; SEEING HOWARD, ROBIN, AND FRED IN PERSON, AND ALL THE HOOPLA OF THE BIG EVENT.

AND, OH, YEAH, I'LL TELL YOU HOW THE FIGHT ITSELF WENT, AND HOW I ACTUALLY MET THE MAN, HOWARD STERN, IN THE RING AFTERWARDS (thanks to Shelley, of course!).

FOLLOW SHELLEY HARRIS  ("ANGRY BLACK") ON TWITTER: www.Twitter.com/AngryBlackTHSS

FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER: www.Twitter.com/LudGuy

Do you like pop culture? (Please say yes...) I have a radio show called STEVE LUDWIG'S CLASSIC POP CULTURE, at www.PlanetLudwig.com. Thanks!

IF YOU ENJOYED READING MY BLOG, WOULD YOU BE SO KIND AS TO CONSIDER READING MY BOOK? IT'S CALLED SEE YOU IN CCU - A LIGHTHEARTED TALE OF MY OPEN-HEART SURGERY.

IT'S AVAILABLE AT barnesandnoble.com AND amazon.com, BUT IF YOU BUY IT DIRECTLY FROM ME AT MY WEBSITE  ccubook.com, IT'S HALF-PRICE.

MY OTHER BROTHER, TOM, ALSO WRITES A BLOG AT secondgrademinds.wordpress.com.

AS ALWAYS, THANKS FOR READING! -Steve

The following is an excerpt from my sometime-in-2014-to-be-released book, 

FEELING WELL - SURVIVING LIFE AND STUPID PUNS...

HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL

By Steve Ludwig

Another pro football season is beginning, and next month I will my attending North Bergen High School's 40-Year Reunion. So what better time is there than right now to put on the ol' literary jockstrap?

I played organized football for only four years in my life --- high school. Didn't play Pop Warner, Pee Wee, Wee Wee, or on any of those other teams.

In the first day of homeroom, freshman year, my friend from grammar school, Rich, asked if I was going to try out for the North Bergen Bruins freshman football team, (affectionately known as the "Baby Bruins").

I hadn't given it much thought, but being he was giving it a go, I figured, why not?

Amazingly, I made the team. (There's a lot more to it than that, and it'll be in my book next year, but for now...)

After all the cuts were made, or guys simply dropped out, North Bergen High School was left with this motley crew as their Frosh representatives:

So, yes, I made the team, but I didn't have a clue as to what was going on!

I had to look around at the way guys were suiting up that first day putting on our equipment. We had these hip pads that you wore, obviously around the hips. There was a longer pad in the back of this hip pad contraption  that protected your tailbone. Only problem was, I thought it went in the front to protect my "family jewels," and I had the stupid thing on backwards. When I noticed how the Pop Warner/Pee Wee/Wee Wee veterans were wearing theirs, I quietly, but quickly, spun it around the right way.

Hey, we're among friends here, right? OK, so speaking of the "family jewels," can you believe I never wore a protective cup in my entire football career? Actually, I should take that back; I did wear a cup once at practice at the beginning of my sophomore year. It really bothered me when I ran (no, I didn't have it on backwards like my hip pads), so I never wore it again. Sue and I don't have any kids, but I assure you it wasn't because I didn't wear a cup!

When I took to the practice field on the first day as a freshman,  wearing full equipment, I felt like I did when my mom used to send me out in the winter with my snow suit on; I could hardly move around. I had to keep fixing and pulling up my thigh pads. I couldn't lift my arms over my head because my shoulder pads felt weird. I was a mess.

It was decided I'd be a running back on offense, and on defense, a safety.

In football terms, the word "key" means to watch how and where guys on the other team moved, so you could get an idea where the play is going. I wish I'd had known that...

As I stood that first time in my safety position at practice, my coach told me to "Watch your keys."

Hmmm...Watch my keys? I thought it was strange that he'd be concerned where my house keys were (in my football locker with my school clothes), but I just figured he was looking out for me.

A few plays later: "Always be aware of your keys."

Now I started to think that maybe last football season there was a rash of stolen keys in the locker room, and the coaches were told to remind us players to be careful of our personal belongings.

When I heard for a third time about my friggin' keys, "You know where your keys are, right?" I decided to just concentrate on trying to figure out where the play on the other side of the ball was going.

Finally, when Coach asked another defensive back about where his keys were, and he replied, "The tight end and fullback," a little light bulb went off in my dull brain. 

I figured out how to unlock the mystery of the "keys."

I played on junior varsity (as well as suiting up for varsity games) during my sophomore and junior years. (My pads and equipment fit much better than they had freshman year, by the way...)

I always considered myself lucky to have been on the squad; there were so many great athletes on my team. Many went on to become stars in college; I was just along for the four-year ride and enjoying it, proud to be one of the "Scarlet and Gold."

And we were pretty damn good students, too. The term "Student/Athlete" absolutely applied to my teammates and me. 

The JV went undefeated my junior year, and I (along with many of the JV guys) played quite a bit in the varsity games, too. I had the privilege of having legendary Mr. Joseph Coviello as my head coach on varsity.

Here I am as a junior (#27) in one of our varsity games (hoping not to fumble the ball):

When senior year rolled around, I somehow managed to be starting on both offense and defense. The local newspaper had a picture of Coach Pizzichillo, Mike, Artie, me, and Jim preparing for our first game:

Our senior year, we were given gold practice jerseys (as in "Scarlet and..."). I wanted #27, but the closest thing was a number 24 jersey. 

As totally silly as this sounds, I just didn't feel comfortable wearing anything but my #27 (even in a practice jersey), so within a couple days, I "accidentally" on purpose tore the jersey in half in the locker room, never to wear #24 again.

I swear to all of you who know me today, I wasn't wearing a wig in this senior football picture of me:

 No, I wasn't wearing a wig, but I did have to wear a knee brace in the final three games of my high school football career. 

Why the knee brace?

Well for that answer, we need to travel to Brick Township, NJ. The first game of the season, senior year.

It ended in a scoreless tie.

Here's a picture of me (that appeared in the Asbury Press Sunday Press) in the first half trying to make a tackle. Don't know if I made it or not!

But in the third quarter, I was involved in a play that, for all intents and purposes, ended my football career. But it's what happened after the play that makes me laugh.

I was on defense, and a play was happening way across the field, on the other side. I wasn't even involved in it; there's no way I could've gotten close to the play to make a difference, so I just kinda watched it unfold. 

A basic rule of football is, never leave yourself unguarded (except if you don't want to wear a cup). Stupid me did just that. I wasn't paying attention to what was going on around me. Suddenly I felt a tremendous pain in my left knee, and it buckled inward from the front, and down I went. A Brick Town player had blocked me out of nowhere. Of course, I'm not going to blame him, I should have been watching out for myself, but the block wasn't necessary because I was so far away from the play. But, it's my fault totally for not being alert.

I was on the ground, writhing and rolling in pain. I mean, it really hurt. 

My teammate and friend, Pete Scarpato, later told my mother as the team exited the bus back in North Bergen, "I thought he was dead!"

But no, I survived. I was helped off the field. I faintly heard the crowd clapping for me.

Remember I mentioned a minute ago that something that happened after the play made me laugh?

As I sat on the bench, with Mr. Ira Wolfe, one of the best trainers in history, tending to me, I felt someone put his hand on my shoulder and ask, "You Ok, Stevie?" 

My dad had worked his way down the stands and to the bench to see how I was.

Before I could say a thing, Mr. Wolfe said, "Hey, Mr. Ludwig, it's nice to meet you!"

"How ya doin', Mr. Wolfe," my dad replied, and they shook hands.

They then proceeded to carry on about a five-minute conversation about how quickly four years go by, and how my father couldn't believe that my high school career was almost over; and before you know it, my younger brother Tom will be in high school, and how my older brother Bill was already out of high school for two years, and blah, blah, blah...

Uh, hey guys...Remember me? My knee? Throbbing pain?? Killing me??? Might die????

But all the while they were talking, Mr. Wolfe was wrapping ice around my injured knee, so I shouldn't really complain.

It turned out to be ligament damage; so much so that I missed our next five games.

I was nowhere near where I should have been when I returned for the final three games, and I was used sparingly; I just didn't have the mobility anymore. 

But I was still grateful to be able to suit up with the guys for our final three.

Our record was 7-1-1 that year; we were co-county champs.

About fifteen years later, I was talking with a friend, a girl, who was at the Brick game. She let me in on a little secret. 

She told me that while I was being carried off the field with my knee injury, and she saw my #27 and realized it was me, she was relieved because she had a crush on our quarterback, Tommy Clark, and it would have simply destroyed her to think he had gotten hurt.

Gee, thanks, so nice to see you after fifteen years...

I didn't keep all of the material things from my days of high school football. For instance, someone who went shopping at the Salvation Army is now walking around with a North Bergen County Champ jacket that has "Steve" stitched in it.

 I still have a game ball that was presented to me in my senior year by the coaches.

And although my white game jersey is long gone, I still do have my red game jersey that I wore junior and senior year, and the chin strap I wore in my final game:

Goofy? Yeah, of course, but as the years go by, I want more and more goofy in my life. And since when is goofy a bad thing, anyway, right?

I don't recommend to anyone to live in the past (unless it has anything to do with the Beatles!), but I also don't recommend to anyone to disregard your memories of great days gone by. 

Our nicer memories bring a smile to our faces when we need a minute to figure out how the heck life got so damned complicated, and why some people who were so much a part of our lives are no longer with us.

These memories bring me a little bit of peace.

Playing high school football, in the grand scheme of all the things that have happened in my life, is certainly not the most important thing to me. 

But I will tell you this...The memories of playing with that dopey pigskin have given me some of the biggest smiles in my life.

And the guys who were my teammates, although I never see or get a chance to talk to most of them, will always be at the top of those memories.

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Do you like pop culture? I hope so, because I have a radio show called STEVE LUDWIG'S CLASSIC POP CULTURE, at www.PlanetLudwig.com. Thanks!

IF YOU ENJOYED READING THIS BLOG, YOU MIGHT LIKE READING MY FIRST BOOK, SEE YOU IN CCU - A LIGHTHEARTED TALE OF MY OPEN-HEART SURGERY. YOU CAN ORDER IT AT MY WEBSITE:  ccubook.com.  IF YOU ORDER DIRECTLY FROM ME AT MY WEBSITE, THE BOOK IS HALF-PRICE ($7.99).

AND MY OTHER SMART-ALECK BROTHER, TOM, HAS HIS BLOG AT secondgrademinds.wordpress.com.

As always, thanks so much for visiting my blog!

  --Steve