It’s hard to look back on this past Sunday. I don’t want to look back. Not yet. Just forward. First to Monday, when I get this bicep reattached. Then to the 6 weeks of healing. Then to the 4-6 weeks of rehabbing. Then to the day I can return to the field with you all and finish the game I started. Because the game I started went like this….
No one was on the field at Woodmere Middle School when 28 of us Jewballers descended. Prime was back. The sun was shining. Was probably almost 60 degrees. I was feeling light, and fast, and healthy. Pray was my QB.  If you didn’t look at your phone to see how effed up the world was, you’d think….what could be better than right now?
I’ll tell you. Three completions with Pray in the early going and a defense locking down Dachs and his very talented core of receivers including Storm and Zinn. The last of these completions a gorgeously designed play with Stella setting the pick and Jordan crossing behind him from the slot to the out and up…and Pray lofts one just far enough to make it worth the sprint toward the ball. There is nothing like that feeling of seeing a pass in the air and knowing that it’s a good pass – a perfect pass – but it only works if you – the receiver – makes the effort to         get there. And it was in fact worth the effort. A TD. Stat, count it. I look over to the other field and I see Yaron and Mighty putting up points. Me and Mighty scoring TDs on WMS turf. It’s 2009 again. Pray to Jordan almost put up a second score, but a slightly underthrown fade to the right corner of the endzone was picked by Dachs, and the score remained Pray 1, Dachs 0. On the next play, with Dachs taking over from the 5, a quick pass to Ernie on Dach’s right on the outside and it’s mano a mano with Jordan. Ernie trying to get as many yards as possible. Jordan trying to limit the damage. I did something I’ve done a thousand times before. Grabbed him with the left arm, pulled the flag with the right. But, just as it happened with Goldberg on Thanksgiving about 6 years ago….the strength of my adversary overcame the biological limits of my physical body. Tendon snaps, arm is done, game is done. People are sympathetic, but I know how it goes – it just sucks for the players on the field. One person has to rotate. The flow is thrown off. The game is tainted. But, wait, it gets worse.
I look over and see Fox on the sideline as well. He’s hurt. He’s out for the game. When it rains…
Right about then, a very nice guy walks on the field. He is the soccer coach for WMS. He still owes me a video of Mighty racing some kids (though we got it later from Zada). He tells they have permit for 9:30. He says we can stay till 9am. When it rains it pours.
There are few things more important in life to get you through a travail than a productive goal. So, in a way it was a blessing. Instead of watching from the sidelines wondering and worrying how bad the injury was, I had a field to build on the grass. I built it. It was awesome but sucked at the same time. I knew Spira would eventually find a flaw, which he did. But the dimensions were perfect. It was trial and error and wound up in the only spot you could build a field on a patch of grass of that size an shape and with the obstacles it presented. The problem was it was diagonal to every reference point around it. So it was a mind eff of a field. Which isn’t good. Also, there was only one of it. So, at 9am, when Yaron v. Gronk and Pray v. Dachs needed to finish their games, they had to share. 15 minutes each on the grass. It was that kind of day for Jewball. But….Jewball is a long story. You take the good with the not as good.
I believe both games entered their 15 minutes of “overtime” with tie scores. Gronk had thrown 2 TDs to Stats, 1 to Ross, and 1 to Dax. And he had 4 picks. Jewball was his with the W. But Yaron was intent on fixing his early season losing streak. He has been throwing the ball well, but just not doing enough to get Ws. That’s why God created Mighty. To get men Ws. The Mighty one catches 2 scores and adds a third via P6 (along with a bonus pick for good measure). Dude was feeling himself! Yelling at soccer kids, challenging them to races, challenging them to leave the field at the end of their game 8 minutes early.  Yaron and Mighty (along with DK, Bert, Rook, Zada and injured Fox) take a close game from Gronk 5-4. Jewball to Mighty for the show he put on.
Pray and Dachs came in to the 15 minutes knotted at 1s. As Pray described it, the wait between games and the switch to grass killed his team’s momentum. Well, may be true, but why didn’t it kill Dachs’? One team has to want it more. One team has to execute better to wrestle the W from the jaws of L. And Dachs did that. Dobs and Beast performed at the line with 5 sacks between them. Zinn had 2 picks and 2 TDs, the final picking icing the already iced game, which was a one handed bit of insanity streaking across the endzone to steal a TD. That’s some dark magic. But, the game was surely turned with Dachs up 2-1 and Pray beginning a drive with ten minutes left from Dachs’ five yard line. A screen to Prime that went the way of the duck and bounced off Prime’s cleats….into Storm’s arms in the endzone. It more or less put the game away in stupefying fashion. Absolutely brutal.
Game 2 was all Yaron and Gronk and not enough Perla magic. This is the game where BK doesn’t factor in the stats, but it’s really all about him. BK takes himself out, The Rook gets his spot, but the The Rook has cleat issues, so The Kid jumps in for The Rook for BK….and the game will forever be remembered as the one where Gronk humbles The Kid. There will be no bragging or big talk after this one. It wasn’t even so much Gronk toying with our young rook, but more like pretending he wasn’t there. It’s crazy that we have Gronk as a QB when he’s probably a top 3 receiver in the League. But, anyway, enough about Crony problems.
Perla always battles. He hasn’t won in a bit, but he’s always right there. His teams (both day and night) just need to take one more step forward to start being a real threat. Right now, they are performing like high grade speed bumps. They slow you down for a bit, but in the end you get past them anyway. The game was close for a while, with a deep ball to Jack for a score and a sliding grab in the corner of the endzone to Prime, but Yaron and Gronk just kept pouring it on. Perla’s team basically had no answer for Gronk and that was the difference. Gronk loaded up the stats line with 3 scores, a pick, a P6, and a sack. That’s Jewball material. He gets it.
As for me, I’m out for 10-12 weeks. But in the age of the Enlightenment, there are many ways to contribute to Jewball. And I will do what I can to stick around the game. I pray and I Pray. Will be back on the field as soon as possible. Gotta work hard. Gotta Ern it. No pun intendoned.

GAMES at WMS

8am

Game A

Dark

Colors

Dachs – QB
Dobbs
Beast
Kid
Zinn
Storm
Ernie

GAME B

Colors

Yaron – QB
Rook
Mighty
Zada
Bert
DK
Fox

Dark

Gronk – QB
Kut
Ross
Dax
Waldo
Stats
O

945

Dark/Orange

Perla – QB
Prime
Salem
BK
Pray
Spira
Jack

Colors/not Orange

Bron – QB
Storm
Zada
Tom
Sherrif
Gronk
MK

Jewball is the island. We don’t let the outside in. We don’t let the drudgery of the real world permeate the white (or yellow) borders of our turf paradise. But, for as long as most of us can remember, we have called ourselves Jewball. A lot of voices out there might have us question the integrity of our name. Without minimizing how difficult it is and has been to be a member of other tribes and backgrounds, it’s not easy right now to be a Jew. I guess then – since we are all one under this banner – it’s not easy right now to be a Jewballer. I have opinions and thoughts and philosophies about what is going and where it might go, but I’m smart enough to know to keep them to myself and to not listen to those of others. Let’s just stay strong. Stay together. Get through this abysmal era one game at a time. It’s interesting that the Jewball season mirrors the season of this war. We are in Week 4 of the war. We are in Week 4 of Jewball. I pray that very soon it will just be some week of Jewball with no anchors attached and our hostages are home and the rockets stop falling and the missiles stop falling and the sky stops falling and there is lasting peace and security for all.
Because of all this madness, we missed our Draft Party (although the TBI version was superb), and I missed my chance to post a season opening monologue. It’s too late for it now. It would normally be an effusive welcome back in the form of praise for all that is Jewball. An ode to our history and traditions – and generally just expressing appreciation for the moment. You know what? Everything may be going to hell, but my money is on civilization pulling through (call me a psychotic delusional optimist), so let’s go ahead and put the blinders on and appreciate. A Jewball season is a sacred thing. The start of it is a holiday. We celebrate the reunification of the world we have built over the decades that this league has existed. Built over decades but flourished beyond even the Oracle’s prophecies over the past five years. We emerged from a Dark Age where Jewball found itself in exile, playing in Croton, to outlasting Croton, and enter the Revolution. And just when we thought we could not achieve a higher plane of existence – because the football was so damn good and we had ourselves a turf field and no one to interfere – we realized that Jewball was not a season, but that….Jewball was life. And I say that in as un-cult like a way as possible. We ascended to our current incarnation. We are in the age of Enlightenment. Where Jewball is a universe without (many) boundaries. It’s on the field, it’s off the field, it’s on days of joy, and days of heartbreak. With too many permutations to name, but they are all awesome. So, if you just got here – you missed a lot, but you came in at a really good time. Thank you for being here. Not just the Rookies, but all of you. In times like these, you sometimes need to remind yourself why life is so precious and so worth living. So worth sticking around for. So worth wading through the muck of it all. I’m sure we all have different individual answers. But, I know that for me Jewball is right up there.
As of this writing, I did not watch TBI yet. Week 1 seems like a long time ago. I didn’t write a recap for my game. It was the only game I followed that week – Dachs v. Gronk. I left the game and headed for the airport. Dachs wasn’t himself. He wasn’t with his choice receivers and nothing was clicking. Daxxy got hurt and the gameplan changed. Gronk was just fine after basically a year off. With Goldberg dominating in the clutch and putting up 3 scores, he gets a Jewball and an extremely strong start to his season. He made some great plays this past Sunday as well.
Week 3 started off in classic Jewball fashion. Love changing fields on the spot. It’s an ugly situation, but always handled with grace, and elegance, and faith. It’s so much easier now with smart phone and whatsapp. Imagine pulling it off in the olden days. That was handled by leaving Klink or B-sh or BD by the field to redirect everyone to some location…where we also didn’t know if it would be open. The best was when you go to that new location and Jesus or Rabin or Ike were standing there to send you on to the 3rd location. I’ll tell you something….we always found a field. Always. Even if it was pathetic…we lay the cones down somewhere and played. This past Sunday was not so bad. Hewlett had lacrosse, we were told. Re-rout to Woodmere, and by the great gods of Jewball it was empty and nary a security guard in site. We are subject to the fates for the next 3 weeks, and then permit season begins.
The games were actually very good – in terms of competitiveness. Unfortunately, for those who love Jewballs and Ws, neither game had one. Both ended in ties. The only thing less fun than recapping a tie is recapping a blow-out.
Game 1 looked like it was going to be a blow-out. Dachs, reunited with Dax, and finding nice chemistry with Ross and Vegh, went up 3-0 early. Pray had a really good team and Pray is really good so it was tough to watch the lack of fight that was being put up. He was joined by Beast, Steve-O, Daveo, Blitz, Goldberg, and Mighty. Honestly, I don’t remember exactly where things turned. I know there was a sequence where Pray scored (gonna guess to Mighty) and on the next drive Dachs threw an ill-advised cross body pass that fell short and Pray picked it, flipped to Steve-O, and a few plays later Goldberg caught a fireball from Pray in the back of the endzone (after having dropped a similar pass a play earlier). All of a sudden, Pray was back in the game. Offense prowess let to defensive dominance and after another TD to Mighty and a Daveo P6, Pray was leading 4-3! Dachs got back to using his bro at will to gain yards, but even more-so – unwilling to take chances – began running for huge chunks of yards. The game went back and forth in the final half hour and was knotted at 9:30. People had to go. The chippiness was getting chippier, calls were being made and not respected, respected was being called but not made, made was being respected but not called – it was just a mess. So, after Dobbs ran one in with Steve-O maybe getting him at the 1, and Mighty scoring a TD after a flag guard call by Ernie (who had a sparkling comeback game – good on ya, mate!), Dax saw the arguing proliferate and he had enough. He’s not hear for the bad vibes. He assessed and said he was done. And he was right. We gotta fight that urge, people. I gotta fight that urge. Bad vibes have always been a part of Jewball, but at the same time they have no place in it. People tell me that it’s about the rules. Better rules. Clearer rules. Are you joking? You’re not, but I wish you were. This isn’t about rules. Callers are gonna call. Arguers are gonna argue. Protesters are gonna protest. Chumash players are gonna chumash play. All we can do is remind and ask and beg…(each other and ourselves)…don’t make bad calls. And if you made one, take it back quickly. Don’t make calls for people. Don’t make calls from the sideline. Don’t make calls from the field if you aren’t playing and just filming (Jordan!). And if a call is made and stuck to – even a horrendous one – for the good of Jewball and so that Dax doesn’t feel dirty when he goes home – respect the horrendous call as if it was a good one. Don’t argue. Don’t even say, Coooooomeee Onnnnn.
Game 2 was less exciting than Game 1, but still well played and ended with neither side claiming victory. Perla proved himself once again resilient. Coming back from a 2-0 deficit. Yaron was on fire in the early going, slinging majestic needle threading passes to the Ice Man and Jack. But Perla is a never say die type and he surrounded himself with gamers like the Sherrif, BK, Tom, Storm, Rook, and Legs. None of those dudes are folding. And so they battled. Perla hit BK deep over Jordan for a score. Hit Tom deep to get close to endzone and punched it in. Game was tied. Perla almost took the lead but floated one to Legs in the endzone and Jordan managed to pick it. Yaron and the Ice Man scored again, but so did Perla and BK. So there you have it. A recap. May they continue. God should bless us. Our families. Our great Jewball family. God should see what we have done here at Jewball and are doing and how we conduct ourselves and operate with pure love and respect and humanity and in that merit bless this world of His, which is currently on fire.

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WEEK 2
LHS

8am

GAME 1

Dark

Bron – QB
BK
Zada
Dobs
The Rook
Daxxy
Scharf

Colors

Dachs – QB
Waldo
Kut
Vegh
Beast
Jack
Mighty

Game 2

Dark

Pray – QB
DK
Dax
Daveo
Whiskey
E
Blitz

Colors

Rabin – QB
Fox
Oppen
Storm
Kid
Tom
Ice Man

945

Dark

Bron – QB
Rabin
Storm
Kut
DK
Tom
Sting

Colors

Perla – QB
Pray
The Rook
Dobs
Beast
Oppen
MK

WEEK 1
8am – Game 1

Colors

MVP – QB
Pray
Waldo
Steveo
Bert
Mighty
Oppen

Dark

Bron – QB
Ross
Dax
Whiskey
Beast
Danny
Kut

8am – Game 2

Colors

Dachs – QB
Sam
Stella
Daxy
Jordan
Fox
Zada

Dark

Gronk – QB
Zinn
BK
Legs
Goldberg/Rook – Defense
Vegh
Spira

945

Colors

Perla – QB
Beast
Zinn
DK
Sting
Tom
Zada

Dark

Pray – QB
Rook
Kut
Daveo
Yonio
Oppen
Dobs

Although one particular route has always been at our quarterbacks’ disposal, it was never consistently used (and certainly not executed to such exquisite perfection) – until this season. It took brothers – Dachs to Dax – to show us the full potential and devastating effectiveness of the comeback route. To work, the maneuver mandates a lot of things go right. It requires a sequence of conditions met relating to speed and distance and timing. More than any of that – it requires faith. That the receiver stops at the agreed upon moment and deceptively returns to a previously tread spot. That the QB will release the ball at the split second his target slams the breaks so the defender is unable to react. Perhaps this unquantifiable element of faith (above all the technical criteria) is why it remains an unpopular play call. But – as we saw – when handled properly and with precision, it is nearly unstoppable.

Jewball, I’m done talking about our miracles and magic with a golly-gee naivete. Yes, we are supremely blessed and over the past five years built an absolute behemoth. Yes, it was built on the backs of dedicated Vets and Dark Age Rookies who loved Jewball even when we had far less (or even nothing) to love. It was built particularly on the wings of Yaron, our guardian angel of the Revolution. But we’ve graduated from being dumbstruck by the phenomenon. It happened. No question we capitalized on it. We stared our good fortune in the face and boldly declared that fate could do even better. And even better then. So here we are. Enlightened AF. A bunch of lucky bastards with a fierce, greedy conviction to keep our luck going. We’ve freed ourselves up to talk about something else.

As I pondered this past season and made my notes – a recurring theme became impossible to ignore. In the midst of our overwhelming success and spoils accrued on a global level, there were too many stories of individual struggles and hardship. Too damn many.

I know he will be uncomfortable that I’m talking about this first, but how could I not? PJs literally left his last game of last season in an ambulance after getting knocked unconscious. Did we laugh about it? Of course! But, I mean, it’s not a joke. Everything about his well-being and future was at risk. He was said to be done for good (take note, Singer). Doctors’ orders. Wife’s orders. How could he dare continue to play football (and do all the other incredible things he does for us) when the stakes were so high? The answer: I don’t know how he dared. I just know he did. I know he came back.

I know he will hate that I’m talking about him at all (and the cold sweat breaks out as I type), but if this isn’t a safe space then I’m doing that thing in Donnie Brasco where Al Pacino holds a gun to his head in the car. Gronk had about as bad an off-season as someone could have. Fact. He’s our Jewball brother. Fact. Deal with those two converging facts however you like. But I know that we needed (and will need) him – and vice versa. And I know we can hold our heads up high on judgment day. But, for him, being truly in the depths of (and he will admit it, self-inflicted) hell: How could he show up on Sundays, look us in the eyes, and manage his trademark smirk? The answer is I don’t know how he found the courage. But I know he found it. I know he came back.

If I have the time as this polemic unspools, I will get to our injured players who returned against all odds. I can get to Spira who returned against all logic and precedent. But you see the direction I am heading in to establish this year’s unifying epicenter: 2022-2023 was – more than anything else – more than the year of the Rookie takeover (but, we will most assuredly get to that – as it factors in with serendipitous exactitude) – this was the Year of the Comeback.

We needed a comeback almost immediately. With last year’s League Champion quarterback being MIA, we were in full scouting mode. You ask me if I remember the QB who beat our team last year at Greis, relishing every second of the beatdown, yelling Let’s Fucking Gooooo with an obnoxious finger pointed in the air as he chased down the receiver who just caught a bomb TD? Yeah, I can picture him. He was the enemy. He was not a Jewballer. He was pure Croton. The anti-Jewballer. But we needed a QB and Yaron thought we could get him and his talented brother. Yaron targeted a bunch of guys as Daveo targets everyone. I was (and still am) cautious. My job is to protect Jewball for the Jewballers. To keep it closeknit and grounded. Yaron and Daveo one thousand percent would never do anything to hurt Jewball consciously, but I do know they see (or saw) it’s future differently than I did.

So it turned out the diminutive assassin who radiates competitiveness had a name – Sruli Dachs. The brother was Mordy. I was told things about them by the always optimistic Yaron – that their joining us was possible – but I would believe it when it happened. I also didn’t know if I wanted it to happen. That’s the thing about rookies. Bringing them in is scary. It feels like messing with perfection. More than that – it always feels like jeopardizing perfection.

I saw Mordy – who seemed a lot more human/personable than his bro – at a volleyball game. Turned out he knew Zez and was the son in law of Jonas, who I’d been playing volleyball with for five years. Good signs. I saw Mordy again at softball and Pray was there and we brought up Jewball and his brother. This is where I learned about the infamous Yaron messages to Sruli. Two thousand words explaining that Jewball is not a cult. Mordy – with his surfer bro laugh and smile – assured me that Sruli was out (and disturbed) and that Mordy might check us out (which sounded like him just being polite). If you would have asked me to bet money at that moment whether Sruli would be rocking an I LOVE JEWBALL sweatshirt on Chanukah, drinking a l’chaim with me and Mordy in my house on Purim, then dancing with us in Daveo’s dungeon, and finally winning both Vets Rooks for the Rooks and a Jewball League Championship – I’d probably be broke right now. I would have bet every dime I had against that. As would any of you.
I’m not going to go through every rookie storyline. I will say I was hesitant about each one except Stats since I knew he was Jewball material. The second you meet Oppen, it’s game over. You’re melted. Even if he wasn’t a remarkable talent, the positive energy alone makes him a keeper.

Now, to be Rookie of the Year, in this class – how special do you have to be? Think about it. I mean….think about who came in….and then think about what it would take to be undisputed Rookie of the Year.

And I’ll tell you why it’s Zinn. Because it has nothing to do with football. He’s a mesmerizing athlete. That is not up for debate. You watch him in any game he plays and he will do one or two things that prove his talent massive. But, for me, I’m more impressed by his showing up to Munch’s house before the draft. I’m more impressed that he craves football and wants to wring every drop of it from our offerings. I’m more impressed that he was at Theo’s bris. I’m more impressed that he looks to organize and steps up to lead. I’m more impressed that he doesn’t complain when I randomized the hell out of him in the early going so his wins and good targets were few. That he plays in Bowl Games with the same vigor that he does regular weeks and league weeks. That he scoots to the game after minyan. He is our Rookie of the Year because he gets what we are trying to do here beyond football – and if he doesn’t fully get it (at 20/21 years old!), he fully ventures to get it. That – plus all the talent and competitive spirit in the world – is what makes Zinn the spotlight player of – and it’s not even remotely a question – the greatest infusion of rookie talent our almost 30 year game has even known.

“We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.”

The above is a quote from Orson Welles, who was a genius, but potentially insane as well. It’s a cynical take on existence. I don’t buy into it, but we have to admit that in many ways – although we are together with others – as we are currently “together” reading this – we are trapped in a fortress of solitude.
I bring it up because when I think about the comebacks that manifested over the course of this past season, though I take pride in the love and friendship that motivated them, I also realize that comebacks are very much a personal and lonely road.

I think about Irv and his accursed nagging back. I think about Waldo in agony rehabbing his broken collarbone. I think about Singer and his season from hell. And of course I think about Pray being wheeled to shul on Yom Kippur.

These are just a few examples of physical injuries and the aloneness they surely engendered within the player. I think of other Jewballers as well going through difficulties in life – God should bless us all. And there is no question that a comeback demands an internal fortitude and mental toughness that relies entirely on the individual. Where I would argue with Welles is that love and friendship is a mere illusion.

When Dax runs his route hard down the sideline, he does so alone. It is him pushing himself using only his brain, heart, lungs, and muscle. But the instant he turns to come back, it becomes a mutual endeavor. He relies on his brother to be there for him. To convert faith into real world action. To deliver on the promise and potential of that faith. To supplant the illusion of his going it alone with a predestined team effort.

That’s a comeback route in football. A comeback in life (as in Jewball) is equally a team effort. It requires many things from the collective, but among them are patience, compassion, and sympathy. Sometimes forgiveness. Both parties must be willing to see beyond the temporary “reality” and take the long view. To maintain perspective. The Year of the Comeback is the year where we proved that love and friendship is no illusion.

A comeback also needs inspiration. Some light at the end of the tunnel to make the fight worth fighting. To get one through those bleak moments of isolation.

It is no coincidence that the Year of the Comeback coincided with the year of birth and rebirth. The year of youthful exuberance on the field and the year of flourishing families off it. When perhaps many of us were this close to giving in to the weakness, we couldn’t help but see the teeming, thriving life pouring in from Jewball – and it acted the Muse. It carried us back like a providential current.

I needed a comeback. I needed your patience, sympathy and forgiveness. As beautiful as Draft Night was, it was marred by poor decisions that fall on me. It tainted the entire season. I imagine at some point we overcame and replaced the bad Draft Night vibes, but that was a team effort.

I don’t want to get too sentimental here, but – when you get older you get to observe life more often than participate in it. And I observed that we are all trying to overcome something. Some more obvious than others – but I see in many ways we are each constantly in the middle of a Jewball comeback. For me it is age, but for others it might be an awkwardness or emptiness. A trauma, a loss, a troubled relationship, youth, or mistakes made and regretted. Many of us arrive here as damaged goods to no fault of our own. This reminds of an unforgettable and cherished conversation I had with PJs on a windy night coming home from Vegh’s shalom zachor.

Sometimes life feels like a Bowl Game. It just keeps going and going and you have all the time in the world to figure your shit out. And just like that it can become TNF where half time came and went in a flash and Dom is yelling, “2 minutes! Clock is running!”

I want us to always be a place for great football. I’m so proud of our being right now a place for great football. I’m even more proud of our being a place for great stories. For great redemption. For great second and third and fourth chances. For resilient comebacks.

Let’s talk about some of these stories and some of these comebacks. As they are the building blocks of this season.

At the 2021 Draft Party, a kid showed up who seemed to place himself in constant shadow. He was there of his own free will so there was no doubting his choice to be present. Yet he seemed at the same time as if trying to fold himself into nothingness. To disappear. I say this not to embarrass The Rook, but to cite him as the ultimate example of someone who had blind faith in us – who we had blind faith in – and – how did that turn out? He is our brother for life. He is my brother for life. And he’s one hell of a football player. After coming out of his shell/car seat last season and only showing flashes of brilliance, his 2022 season cemented him as top of the draft talent. The Rook is on The Rise. Special shout out to Beast and the X-Factor.

I don’t know Perla well yet. He’s guarded. All good. Respect that. I do know he was out of the game for a while. I know Yaron kept tabs on him as a possible QB for us. I know he reached out to give us a try and of course we said yes. There is no greater commodity in Jewball than a competitive QB. He came down in his parka with the hood up, the wristband and stuck in his ways. He came down with whatever baggage he carried, like we all do, but without being open yet to us carrying any of it for him – with him. So it felt like a challenge. Perhaps not the best fit. But then he went on TBI. An act of faith. And so began the comeback. So began the legend. Culminating in perhaps the most joyous moment of the Jewball season. Perla, wrapped in a White Goodman cape, pumping his fist, which clenched a purple -shirt, as the crowd chanted “SAY-LEM! SAY-LEM! SAY-LEM!” Right there – a snapshot of what separates us. A room of men and women proving Welles got it wrong.

I’ve told the story in a prior recap, but just so it gets the bold and underlined treatment – Spira’s comeback to Jewball is a wonderment of biblical proportions. It’s incomprehensible. And yet….it’s just one of our many incomprehensible comebacks. Let that sink in. I’m not going to say Jewball is a place where miracles happen, but – I will say – that Jewball is a place where some miracles have happened. And speaking of miracles….

Pray won MVP two seasons ago and the sentiment that I come back to often with him from that Season Recap is that if the Vets commissioned a team of geneticists to create the perfect Jewball Rookie in a lab – so as to assure us a future of success and longevity – the result would be Pray. What is the man lacking in? When I think of one incredible quality as being his premiere endearing feature, it is immediately replaced by another. Generosity. Kindness. Passion. Leadership. Competitiveness. Wisdom. Humility. See what I mean? Everyone is nodding their heads. Because it does keep going. We knew all these things about Pray before this season and took them for granted. What we did not know about him was that he was superhuman. What no one could know was how he would respond to extreme physical adversity. We had no stick with which to measure his capacity to come back.

I don’t need to remind you of his grueling journey from surgery through the League Championship Game. A game in which he threw a TD to Goldberg, who was mounting a comeback of his own. We can all picture Pray on the sidelines in his cast, and boot, and brace, and whatever other contraptions he needed to wear as he spectated with envy. The man always came out. Always made sure to bring to Jewball whatever he could – even if it was not on the field of play. He brings dignity, gravitas, and a magnetic aura wherever he goes. And if that was all he could contribute to Jewball this season – it would have sucked for him and us – but it would have been enough. It would have been the best he could do and much appreciated.

What we learned about Pray this past season is that there is depth to him that no one can possibly fathom. You don’t come back from his injury in the same season and perform at the level he performed at unless you have the filthiest of determinations. Essentially, Pray, you are on the inside someone the rest of us mere mortals cannot fully understand.

In the year of one fantastical comeback story after another, Pray won Comeback Player of the Year. And, yet, he was not our best comeback story.

Our best comeback story belongs to our 2022-2023 Jewball MVP.
There’s a place in the world for the angry young man
With his working class ties and his radical plans
He refuses to bend
He refuses to crawl
He’s always at home with his back to the wall
And he’s proud of his scars and the battles he’s lost
And he struggles and bleeds as he hangs on the cross
And he likes to be known as the angry young man
Billy Joel wrote these lyrics even before I was born, so surely before Storm was born. But there is a certain type, and the great songwriter nailed it. He goes on:
Give a moment or two to the angry young man
With his foot in his mouth and his heart in his hand
He’s been stabbed in the back
He’s been misunderstood
It’s a comfort to know his intentions are good
And he sits in a room with a lock on the door
With his maps and his medals laid out on the floor
And he likes to be known as the angry young man
As distressed as I was on draft night, Storm was fuming. My Assmen teammate saw every selection prior to his as disrespect – and there were five infuriating rounds of disrespect. Storm came to us four seasons ago mid-season. An angry young man. It was a very memorable game at Woodmere Middle School where he battled with Mighty, maybe almost got into fight, roared after he made a reception, and maintained an audible inner-dialogue the entire time. Yaron called him John. I called him Storm because you couldn’t watch him on the field and not perceive the bolts of lightning or hear the thunder rumbling just below his surface. After the bunch of games he played that season, it was hard to tell if Jewball and Storm would forever clash or find common ground.

One thing that became eminently apparent about Storm was the brilliance of his game. The other thing was his style. He is someone who could show up to game and takeover, but – whether he played well or played in a fog – he made sure he had the right gear, the right cleats, the right attitude. There is a reason he is Kill’s favorite player. His bravado never feels arrogant, though. It’s a personal reflection. It’s often as if he is celebrating his accomplishments to prove something only to himself and we just happen to be witnesses. Whether it be “Stat! Count It,” “Why don’t you come over for dinner,” or “Mama Storm didn’t raise no bitch,” his lines are instant classics. And not because he is trying to make anything happen. He’s a natural showman. He is as real as they come. His realness flows from him in every interaction. On the sidelines, he’s the best guy you will ever meet and it’s all love and laughs. In the game, he’s going to another place. A place where he doesn’t know any of us. A place where there are his teammates and those trying to stop his teammates and him from winning. And the latter must be dealt with accordingly. He plays like football is the word of God. Like nothing matters more. It’s a level that very few of us are even capable of conceptualizing. His devotion to the craft of football – it doesn’t get higher in our group.
The problem for Storm has been that he was never able to fully put all that brilliance and style and passion on display. We saw it in bursts. We knew it was in there. But it never came together in a stream of sustained excellence – until this season. From wire to wire he brought his signature fire and intensity and did not relent. Zinn came in set to torch the record books and Storm stuck with him stride for stride. And while Zinn had an MVP caliber season in terms of pure numbers, he will have to settle for being the latest golden child of Jewball. This is the Year of the Comeback and to be Jewball Season MVP, you have had to have gone through the ringer.

Listen, I don’t know everything Storm has been through. What he’s had to overcome. I’m not going to pretend I do. But I know he has had his struggles and hardships. More than his fair share. And instead of wallowing in them or giving in to them – he suffused them into his spectacular performances on Sunday mornings. No one does more with a chip on his shoulder. No one here is real enough to convert that chip into an actual tactical advantage. We say it. He does it. He did it. Because of Draft Night, the comeback was on. He brought a razor-blade-sharp edginess to the field every week. But – somehow – and this is Storm’s distinction – he plays ice cold, but it’s the farthest thing from who he is. He’s all heart. A tough exterior masking a vulnerable soul. Storm, you are our 2022 Season MVP because you brought a passion for football to Jewball that we had not previously known. You put your faith in us to give you the quality of football that you demanded of yourself. You showed us that before we worry about the expectations of others, we need to set the highest bar for the expectations we have of ourselves. It was always clear to us the level of game you expected of yourself – and this past season – you finally showed everyone what you are capable of. And I’m sure you are still hungry. I’m sure the chip is still on your shoulder as you prepare for Draft Night 2023.

And speaking of Draft Night 2023, let us count the comeback stories waiting to be written. Beast, Feit, Goldberg, Irv, Singer, Rabin, Snow, Maor, Daveo, Sting, to name just a few. Like I said, we are all in the middle of our own personal comeback. Just gotta dig deep and write it. But….like I also said….it’s a team effort. And Jewball is here for you.

We are a place where miracles have happened. Believe that. You’ve seen it. You don’t need to talk about it or promote it. Just acknowledge it and be grateful.

It used to break my heart to write this last paragraph of the Season Recap. There was such a finality to it. I sometimes cried because it was like a moment of mourning. A gaping hole in my life was about to open and be filled by nothing. Those days are no more. In the Age of the Enlightenment, the good times keep going. The family sticks together in some form or another through the off season. I think we have a game Tuesday night. If I’m overloaded with emotion right now, it’s just because there is good reason to be overloaded with emotion. But the emotion is not sadness at all. It’s pure unfiltered awe. That I get to be the Commissioner of Jewball now for 18 years. To tie up my cleats with you all on Sunday mornings. To share in your simchas. I don’t know….It makes no sense. Guys, I’m just very thankful. I am under no delusions, here. Jewball accentuates and improves every aspect of our lives and I know my role and task is to keep it going and keep us together. I’m on it.

With that, you know the drill. Kick your own ass over the next six months. Set high expectations for yourself and – whether it’s on a journey of self-motivation or through the comradery of Jewball – come back next season better. Come back stronger. Come back quicker. Come back leaner. But – above all – just make sure to come back 😊

The incredible winter season came to its conclusion on 3/22/24 where LH defeated the Ball Tuggers 7-6. This capped a year where Zinn, Oppen and Stats swept the championships, winning Vets Rooks finale, the Jewball league and now Croton. Congrats Jewballers!!

Congratulations to Roll Tide on a DOMINANT season unlike any other. This is a special team and arguably one of the most skilled team Jewball has ever put together, dominating every team in the league this season en route to a 26-6 finals win over BOP.

Whether one game was better than another is a matter of opinion. Some people like violence. Others prefer laughs. Many swear by the back and forth contest, while a contingent live for the rout. However, there are games that preeminently stand out. The details may blur over time, but you won’t find anyone who questions the impact and intensity of the game. The Rooks semi-finals of 2023 – aka Sophomores v. Freshmen – aka Smores Freshies – was such a game. It was objectively – as in factually – as in not a  matter of opinion – the greatest assemblage of Jewball players facing off in a meaningful game EH-VER. Sometimes that’s not enough. Sometimes the finest ingredients thrown into the blazing fire of an on-field cauldron does not yield the gourmet dish the patrons expected. In this case, the dish was worthy of 3 Michelin stars. Not only did it deliver a heavyweight match with evenly distributed haymakers. Not only did it go down to the wire. It went beyond the wire. It expanded and reached the very edges of Jewball reality. It stretched our formative material and fabric to the breaking point. It caused friction and fraying and the bursting of twine and cables resulting in an eruption of rubber pellets. It burned the motherf-ing house down.
While the Vets were doing their Vets slog across the way to see who (spoiler alert) would get their creaky, sprained, and strained butts whipped by the Rooks in the finals, the Rookie game had an electricity that you don’t even attempt to explain or describe. You just say thank you. You look at it from a distance (or perhaps even from within the twirling grandiosity of its midst) and – with a twinge of jealousy if you are on the outside – behold its sheer reverberating magnitude. You reaffirm all your mantras, codes, and principles. You realize with transcendent clarity that THIS is why we do it. You don’t dare speak its name. You just hope to incidentally harness its energy. Carry it forth in a form that manages to fuel and spark something….something unknown and unexpected that is to come – of equal or greater magnitude.
Before we get to the game itself, a warranted ode to the Smores who arrived with the freshest of looks. An ensemble so clean and dapper that perhaps it fulfilled The Oracle’s tafkid in this life (someone check on him):
Verily, how glorious was the appearancee of the Smores, when they came forth from the parking lot, and donned their crimson garments.

Even as the expanded canopy of Salem’s backyard man-cave, was the countenance of Pray.

As the lightning that proceeds from the splendor of Storm, was the countenance of Pray.

As the beautiful blue stripes which adorn the garment of Dobs, was the countenance of Pray.

As the appearance of the flashing red eyes in the cybernetic skull of Legs, was the countenance of Pray.

As the majesty with which Solo stealthily stalked the Rooks, was the countenance of Pray.

As the gleaming amber in the midst of Whiskey’s bottle, was the countenance of Pray.

As the gang green diadem put on the forehead of Feit, was the countenance of Pray.

As the amiable tenderness depicted on the face of Irv, was the countenance of Pray.

As the smoothness of Jack leaping for the rock, was the countenance of Pray.

As E who sat in concealment, to supplicate the presence of the Boz, was the countenance of Pray.

As the archangel DK glowers on the plane of the goal, was the countenance of Pray.

It was this adversary which the brazen Freshies faced. None of them counted amongst us for more than two seasons. None of them having known of Jewball before a Draft, a Chanukah Party,  or TBI. All of them loaded with confidence and a resolve to vociferously announce their arrival.  To proclaim that the era of the Rookies has begun. The age of Dachs who throws left but is always right. The age of Dax, who hugs you like a chiller but cuts you like a killer. The age of Zinn, who scintillates like none before him and is prepared to rewrite all the record books. The age of Oppen, who rushes forth with a fierceness that emanates from the very depths of his being. Add to this those who joined mid-season like Stats and Perla. Add to this our phenomenal 2021 Class (guys who I feel like I’ve known forever) and it’s hard not to think it’s a Rookie’s world and we are just living in it. For now. Things change.
I wish I could give you a blow for blow account of this game (relax, Logan). From across the way I spied Pray and Dach just stone-cold slinging it. Like I said, it was a title fight between titans. I can’t tell you the order, but I can tell you the stats. 1 rushing TD for each QB.  3 Scores for Zinn. 1 score apiece for Storm, DK, and Solo. I know there was some controversial calls. What else is new? I know it was a tie when the clock ran out and it was too late for college OT. What else is new? I’m proud that we didn’t keep playing. Didn’t force people to stay. Didn’t bring in replacements from other teams. Didn’t have anyone leave in an ambulance. The teams walked off the field and regrouped for another day.
That day came three weeks later. Last Sunday – after Week 20 and the League semis – Week 19 was completed. It was the same drag out grudge match that was left incomplete in the regular season. Back and forth stops. Just a pure clash of talent and passion. The Sophomores did score first with about 10 minutes left in the OT. Pray to Legs crossing over the middle. But it was called back by Dax who thought he had the sack. Call was respected. On the next drive – on a 4th and goal from the 20, Dachs finds Rook in the back corner of the endzone. Beautiful catch by Rook. Magnificent throw by Dachs. Freshies take the lead. And they held it. Pray had a chance to tie, but his receivers were not up to the challenge. I’m going on and on here with the superlatives but Zinn said it best on Week 19 Sunday. It was (perhaps) the best football game anyone has ever played in under the Jewball banner. I have one more Recap to write in the coming weeks, but I’ll allow myself to reflect quickly how proud I am to call both the Sophomores and the Freshmen Jewball Rookies. We are doing something so right. BH. Captain of the Freshies….3 scores and being a 21 year old leader and believer in what we are trying to do here. Shows up to everything. Brings positive energy to everything. We – all of us – are so happy you are here, Roy. Jewball to you.
And this is the point I will end with. I know the Sophomores felt robbed. Rightly so. They worked their asses off and they looked really good doing it. I would argue they were the better team (which is a compliment to the Freshmen for beating them). It always sucks to lose. I’m sure they wanted one more game and to be given the chance to wipe the floor with Yaron and his (modified) Juniors. BUT – as we discussed when Zinn questioned the need to continue the Week 19 game – we have our traditions. Each year – for 17 years – as often as we can – we crown a team winner of Vets Rooks (last year we had a tie and a Rook win…so Rooks get the edge). The Rooks won this year. The Rooks destroyed this year. It’s kind of hard to digest what I’m about to say – but it didn’t really matter which Rook team beat the Vets. The Sophomores and Freshmen (in this moment in time – and it is very much subject to change) are one. This is our greatest virtue. I see on the chat sometimes we forget it. Yes, we have Leagues. Yes, we have Vets Rooks. Competition is great. And for good competition, you need division. You need tribalism. But permeating through that division and tribalism – as paradoxical as this will sound – is a oneness. Tapping into that delicate nuance lies our secret.
Which brings me finally to what was actually the best game of the season. It was last Thursday night at Greis Park. Jewball v. Gumbas. Personally, I think Gumbas are an awesome football team. I respect the hell out of the way they play, the way they carry themselves. They play super hard. They are super nice and friendly. I just think they are excellent. And I’ve watched our teams struggle mightily against them over the past few years. Last Thursday night, with Rook and Zada hanging with me on the sidelines, I watched a Jewball spectacle that was truly like nothing I’ve ever witnessed. Yes, we won. Yes, Yaron did that thing where he plays like a virtuoso and doesn’t flush it all away with confounding decisions. Yes, Prime battled through pain like a warrior. And Zinn went full superstar. Stats tracked guys down who were blazing fast. Oppen pulled flags like a man possessed. O. Pray. Daveo….all did incredible, clutch things. I almost wish it was a game of ours because it is recap-worthy. BUT…I bring it up because I watched it less than 3 days before the Vets Rooks Championship. I watched a team playing together against a superior opponent, and just shocking them with an otherworldly chemistry and an almost tangible commitment to team. I got you. I will pick you up. I will not let you down. They were one. Two Seniors, Two Juniors, a Sophomore, and two Freshies. One.