In the end, it's always a field of dreams
Players enter the field for the homecoming game at Comsewogue High School, which was taking on Eastport-South Manor on Oct. 15.
Credit: J. Bryan McGeever
As the decades pass, the dream is always the same. I’m a high school football player on Long Island, but I’ve forgotten my locker combination. By the time I get it open, the team is leaving for the field, but I can’t find my cleats, and my jersey won’t fit over my pads. I sprint to catch up, helmet in hand, when a large, barbed wire fence suddenly appears, forcing me to watch the entire game through it. That’s understandable anxiety for a 16-year-old before a big game, but why is it still happening at 50?
My football career at Comsewogue High School was nothing special — a long touchdown run, a few passes caught in the end zone, and a late fourth-quarter field goal during homecoming. My playing days ended a year later during one unremarkable season at Stony Brook University.
Yet every fall, as the first oak leaf crackles underfoot, it still feels like I’m late for practice, and this isn’t me dreaming. High school football on Long Island, obviously, has left an indelible mark on me, and I wanted to know why.
I recently returned to Suffolk County after 15 years in Brooklyn. To get reacquainted and perhaps find some answers, I decided to attend one nearby high school football game each week, either at Comsewogue, Ward Melville or Port Jefferson, depending on which team was at home.
I was delighted to find that Friday night football is now a staple throughout the county. For Saturday games, the sky over each school was usually deep blue and endless. I went looking for nostalgia but wound up enjoying each game and craving the next.
Although I attended Comsewogue, my childhood home was down the road from Melville, in East Setauket. Melville’s iconic clock tower loomed large over the neighborhood, creating the image of something powerful and foreboding. The last time I had seen a Melville player this close, he was driving his helmet into my chin, and I wound up in the emergency room. It’s strange rooting for them now.
Comsewogue, the field of my recurring dream, has since been named for our legendary coach, Tom Cassese, equipped with a new field house and gleaming turf. The scenic tree line is still the same, as well as its western slope, where players “ran hills” to make up for tardiness. It felt good to be back. Perhaps my gridiron demons would finally be purged.
I finally found what I’d been seeking at Port Jefferson’s homecoming, the reason why I hold high school football so dear. The school was playing Greenport, a team with barely enough players to take the field. Without substitutes, the kids became tired, resulting in a multitude of penalties. I watched a standout player catch an 80-yard pass for a touchdown -- only to have it nullified because of a penalty.
Later, the same player bobbled a kickoff, scooped it up and sprinted 90 yards for a score. His fantastic run, though, would be negated by yet another penalty. Within minutes, his team would lose its seventh and final game of a winless season.
But as he bolted downfield, eluding tacklers and kicking into overdrive, for that moment, he was young, strong and unstoppable. His tremendous effort ended in frustration, but at least he’ll always have something memorable to dream about.
Reader J. Bryan McGeever lives in East Setauket.
