I Was A Viking Warrior (For A Day) -aka- Toe-ing The Line

Summer is ending and football season is back, for adults and children alike.  If you are or ever were a football parent, you know this sport brings a different kind of energy out of your kids.

It’s physical, it’s loud, it’s violent.

And if you have ever had the good fortune of being a football team mascot, you know your job is to invoke just that: inspiration and savagery.

That was me, the self-proclaimed mascot of my 8-year-old’s football team, the Eastland Vikings.

And my job was to get the team and the crowd fired up before and during the games.

I grew up spirited and extremely active in everything throughout my school years: marching/jazz bands, choirs, youth/intramural sports, school clubs (often serving as an officer), spirit week in high school, etc. 

That easily bled over to my participation in everything for my boys.

If I wasn’t coaching, I was medically evaluating/treating, feeding or just hyping them up in general, hence the outfit.

That being said, let’s begin this tale…

I Was A Viking Warrior (For A Day) -aka- Toe-ing The Line

Columbus, Ohio 2000

It began mildly, yet pronounced, with me wearing a horned Viking helmet in the stands, leading the chants. But before long, I was sitting in my cubicle at work every Friday afternoon with two ladies on either side of me, braiding my blonde wig to add to it.

I’m sure you guessed that this resulted in a hilarious moment when the Plant Manager walked by my door, then doubled back to confirm what his peripheral vision had picked up.

I smiled at him silently as he put his head down, shook it and just walked by, not saying a word.

And, of course, there was the Saturday morning, gameday make-up application, where I learned why women spent so much time in the mirror before dates.

Once finished, I would don my Viking helmet with horns and grab my sword and double-sided ax and make my way to whatever field they were scheduled to report for the game.

This was my weekly pre-game ritual before firing up the team, leading them on the field and keeping the parents engaged throughout the season.

I once asked my son if he was embarrassed by the nature of my involvement, to which he replied, “Dad, the team thinks you’re so cool. They wish THEIR dads would do something like that!”

All the blessing I needed.

All was going well. Week in, week out, until the day that a painful ingrown toenail threatened to sideline me.  I hadn’t had it taken care of during the first week that it surfaced and bothered me, so when my second weekend with the same problem came around, it had become a REAL issue.

It had gotten so bad that I could barely put any weight on it as it often throbbed in unison with my heartbeat.

The morning of the game, my son told me what design he wanted me to make with my face paint, not knowing I had planned to sit that weekend out. 

That too, was all I needed.

After discussing it with my wife, we agreed that I would wear sandals and sweat socks, to alleviate the pressure and pain of my swollen toe being trapped tightly within the confines of my tennis shoes.

Fast forward to game time…

---

The coaches all commended me for sacrificing my comfort to get the kids energized.  It was a big game against one of the tougher foes and everyone wanted badly to maintain our unbeaten streak.

I limped to the sidelines as inconspicuously as possible as the team finished their huddle around the coaches.  Once finished, they ran to me, forming a newer, tighter circle as I swayed from side to side, growling ferociously, getting them pumped.

The chant began. I called and they answered:

Me: Eastland!
Team: Vikings!
Eastland!
Vikings!!
EASTLAND!!!
VI—KINGS!!

EEEASTLANNND!!!

VIIIIIIIIKIIINNGS!!!

Just then, as they hopped from side to side, they began to jump.
And yes, one of the players’ shoes came down…

…directly onto my exposed foot.

As he landed, digging into my toe with his cleats, I bellowed the most inhumane scream ever at the top of my lungs as my toe exploded in a combination of blood, pus, and goo. 

EEEEAAAYYOOAAARRRRRGGG!!!

Screaming violently, I threw both arms up to the deeply overcast skies as I bent completely backward in indescribable agony, clutching both weapons tightly!!!

That was all the boys needed…

VIIIIII—KINNNGGGS AAAAAHHHHH!!! They all yelled in crazed unison with my eardrum-bursting yowl.

This caught the coaches completely off guard, not having ever heard that sound before by man, beast, demon or the undead.

Fired up like never before, they took the field with an enraged, possessed look that rivaled the most frightening of horror movies.

…which clearly worked on the unsuspecting, newly frightened opposition, who all but wet their football uniforms and nearly scurried off the field in terror.

---

I don’t remember the final score.

I don’t even remember the game.

Being the team physician (I did double duty), I spent most of the game absent, laying down in the back of the family minivan, tending to my own wound, fighting both tears and unconsciousness.

But we won handily.

I never was able to recreate that hellacious howl again, but I didn’t need to. The boys’ fire had been lit and they rode that surge throughout the remaining games, running over everyone in our path.

The Eastland Vikings finished the season undefeated, winning the championship. 

The other teams within the Vikings organization (all with the same name, just different age groups, and divisions [black or gold] spent the remainder of the season calling my house every Friday…

…asking if “Viking Man” could lead their teams out when they played in the afternoon games each Saturday at other locations.

I agreed to many, with the understanding that my pregame ritual had limits. Especially since the coaches had made known to all what happened to awaken the “Beasts Of The East”, as we were known throughout the city league.

Of course, I agreed to help, but only after that visit to the Urgent Care center and, ultimately, the podiatrist.

---

At the year-end Viking banquet I was given a most unexpected surprise when I was called to the stage during the awards ceremony. I wasn’t aware that there was a Cheerleading award and I definitely would not have ever expected to receive one.  But I did, happily.

It was for the team. It was for honor, it was for passion, it was for glory.

And it was good to be loved.

---

Epilogue:
Kroger Grocery Store, Columbus, Ohio 2015
15 years later…

“Viking man!!” an old Black woman yelled, waving at me in the parking lot.  I was dressed in casual street attire and considerably heavier than during those days of Davis family youth sports.

“I have no idea who that woman is.” I told my wife, hoping she might know.

“As many people as we’ve heard calling you that over the past (15) years, you probably never will.  But they’ll always remember you…”

She was right. They always did.

Many still do.

---

Like what you read? Leave a comment below (and please leave your name, if I know you).  Be sure to sign up at the bottom for email notification of future posts from Kenny’s Camera, Cooking And Crazy Confessions at ZootsBlogSpot!