THE EMPTY NET: Legends of Nickerson Field

In the fall of 2009, my first semester of collegiate study, I met someone who fascinated me in a way that few others do in the entire world of sports. I’ve been carefully observing him ever since.

I’ve seen him in varying locations — the volleyball court, the baseball diamond, the pitch, the gridiron and everywhere else competitive, but friendly sports games attempt to find a home.

You’ve seen him too. He’s the guy who cuts the sleeves off of his 2008, JV high school baseball shirt.

He’s the guy who puts on eye black when there’s no sun and brings protein shakes for half-hour games.

He’s the guy who wears gloves and cleats for flag football. He gets in a four-point stance to rush the passer.

During pre-game warm-ups, you can hear him talking about how much he dead-lifted today.

After the game, he rejects your handshake — “That was pass interference, bro. In the second quarter. That was pass interference.”

He explains to you why his team lost and yours won, using irrefutable logic — “I pulled my hamstring. It might’ve been my quad actually. You guys got lucky.”

He is the champion of champions. He is the Sunday night warrior — the intramural hero.

And it’s about time he got the recognition he so desperately craves.

Here’s to you, intramural hero, who tells me that he was “all-state” in four sports in high school and runs a 40-yard dash in just under eight seconds.

Here’s to you, intramural hero, who would’ve had to choose between the MLB and NFL if it wasn’t for that sprained knee he got back in the day.

Going off the stories I’ve heard from intramural heroes, Massachusetts has about 130 “No. 1 ranked high school football teams” per year.

What is it about intramural sports that turn seemingly reasonable men (and women) into sad caricatures of themselves?

Why is dignity so readily thrown aside?

Is it for the prize?

You get a T-shirt.

Is it to prove a point?

You’ve proven that you can embarrass yourself more in 30 minutes than most people could stomach doing in an entire lifetime.

Is it to re-live high school glory?

Judging by your athletic ability, I really can’t imagine you had much “glory” in high school sports.

Is it for the girls?

If you think girls care about intramural sports, then you probably won’t have much luck with them anyways.

No, it must be for something else.

You are an enigma. Understanding the complex, inner-workings of your mind are beyond me — or any mortal man for that matter.

I can’t quite figure out what makes you tick. You’re always one step ahead of me.

You wear Under Armour under your Under Armour. Double armor — genius.

You are a disciple of Plato — “How can it be flag-guarding even if no one grabbed my flag?!” I heard you scream to a flag-football referee on Sunday evening.

How could a tree have fallen in a forest if no one saw it?

Your superior critical thinking abilities are lost on those puny-minded refs — a real shame.

You’re a physical specimen and a mental mountain-mover, but still your depth does not end there.

I’ve seen that sensitive side of you.

That beautiful, raw side you only show to me once your team is trailing by 30 points.

The pitch of your voice rises with passion. Big, glistening tears begin to stream down your cheeks.

You bumped into a teammate of mine on Sunday evening and fell to the ground. It was a hard and painful two-foot fall onto to that lush, grassy turf.

But still, you handled it with the utmost dignity.

“Jesus! Am I bleeding? Am I covered in blood?!” you cried as you got up.

In fact, that passion is what I love most about you.

You are so passionate about these games that you’re willing to sacrifice everything — friends, self-respect, permission to enter FitRec — to prove that you’re a good athlete.

You don’t mind yelling “you suck” at teammates, or questioning a ref’s knowledge of “the rulebook.”

Hey, someone needs to remind those guys about “the rulebook” to keep them honest. Props.

So here’s to you, intramural sports warrior — gladiator of the collegiate recreational sports scene.

The next time someone bumps your knee and you start grabbing your face in agony, look up. I’ll be there to give you a nod.

I’ll see you on the field.