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Our childhoods are filled with dreams of hitting a home run that wins the World Series, running 100 yards with a kick off return in the Super Bowl, calmly ramming home a 20 foot putt on the 18th at Augusta National to win the Masters or capturing an Olympic Gold Medal. Eventually, we go through a physical revolution as our bodies fight the inevitable evolution of time and competition. Many lose interest in the games after Little League, others are good enough for high school teams but can't play at the collegiate level. By the end of college, all but the pro prospects remain, and even a precious few of them reach their cherished childhood dreams. As dreams turn into reality, tomorrow's superstars become today's doctors, sales professionals, accountants and assembly line workers. The dugout seat becomes a bleacher seat, and the closest we get to the 18th at August National is Jim Nantz's word's eye view on CBS. Yet for some of us, watching is not enough. No sir, I'm a player. Remember that catch I made back in '72? So what I'm not in my twenties anymore. Gordie Howe played in the NHL until he was 54. Morton Anderson is still kicking, Vinnie Testevarde's still winging and Julio Franco is still swinging. If someone gave Rickey Henderson a uniform he would suit up tomorrow. I've got loads goods years left. This is the mentality of the weekend warrior. You know him; grey hairs are winning a turf war with the darker ones while the waistline is losing a battle of its own. He still plays to win although just playing is more important now.  An All Star in 1986 and 1990, Dave Smith holds the Astros career records for most games pitched and most saves. The weekend warrior has two favorite sports – softball and touch football. He will play co-ed if he has to but only when left no other option. This story is about one of those many Sunday touch football games. It's a game not unlike the thousands of games going on any weekend around the country. Like those games it's unique in its own way. In retrospect, however, it's a Weekend Warrior Hall of Fame game. But who knew then? So, for our purposes, turn back your calendar to the fall of 1981. We're in Balboa Park in San Diego. A time when life was good and anything was possible. I pick up the story from there. Remember, it's 1981. As with most weekend games, I drive to the field with the one question in mind: How many guys will show up today. Geez, I hope we get at least six. Once you have enough guys for a game, you hope an even number of people shows up, then no one has to sit out, or you don't have to pick up some stranger walking by the playground looking for a game. On this day, seven show. Armen Keteyian, a former college baseball player and business associate of mine at a San Diego PR firm, Ken Bentley another co-worker who had twice qualified for the NCAA Tennis Championships, Armen's ex college roommate Randy Hanson and me, a former Division 1 college pitcher and soccer goalkeeper who was good enough to spend one day in camp with the New York Cosmos before being told there would be no need for me to return for a second. Each of us weekend warriors with athletic credits better than most. Yet, there were three other players. Jay Thomas, co-star of television's Mork & Mindy who claims to have been drafted by the Charlotte Hornets of the World Football League, was our fifth. Since the WFL has been out of business for seven years, there is no way to validate Thomas' claim, but we know he lived in Charlotte, so we nod our heads and take his word for it. Our sixth player is Dave Smith, the new ace of the Houston Astros bullpen, the best in all of baseball. And while having Robin Williams' comic relief and Nolan Ryan's closer alone would give us something to tell the other boys at the office, our seventh is a local law student by the name of Michael Lockett Garrett. Sound familiar? It should. He's the same Mike Garrett who won a Heisman Trophy at USC, played in two Super Bowl games for Hank Stram's Kansas City Chiefs and actually scored a touchdown. Armen and I had known Mike for several years, so we thought nothing of inviting him out to play. Garrett literally was the seventh man to show up since he forgot to set his clock back to standard time the night before. As he strode on the field comments ranged from Bentley's "wait until I tell my father about this" to everyone's declaration, " Garrett's on my team." Not playing to win my ass. Ironically, each of our "celebrity warriors" was as excited about meeting each other as we were playing with them. One thing was for sure. Those three guys weren't going to be on the same team. Since we were one man short, and we only had one quarterback, Jay played for both teams. Armen and Smith, who played baseball together at San Diego State, wanted to team up again, so they added their starting left fielder, Hanson, completing the Aztec connection, and the teams were set. Okay, I thought, with Garrett, Thomas' arm, Bentley's speed and my hands, this will be a cinch. That cinch lasted for one play as Jay (remember, he's playing for both teams) hit Randy with a bomb for a touchdown. Suckers walk. Our ball, first down. Bentley flies, drops a pass in his hands and returns to the huddle gasping for breath...damn tennis players. Second down Garrett drops a pass. Third down Garrett drops a pass. Thomas informs Mike that there used to be a Heisman Trophy winner who had the same name as his. Garrett finally fires up enough memory cells to make a couple of great catches, which give us a tenuous one-touchdown lead. With Armen's team driving, Garrett again took over. Each time the opposition went back into their huddle, they lost five yards as Garrett gave the ball an ever so slight nudge backwards away from our goal. On a critical drive, he even talked them out of a down, convincing them it was third down when it really was only second. Following that stunt, we had to retreat into a defensive huddle to avoid being caught laughing. Garrett is going to be a hell of a lawyer.
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