Freddogg Off The Chain

The first 10 years of my life were spent in a North Philadelphia row house. It was a colorful neighborhood of young families, war veterans, corner bars and colored people. We even had ‘Aunt Jenny’ neighborhood friend, drop in cook and possibly Poppy’s girl friend and when I grew up and could dunk a basketball some thought Aunt Jenny lurked in my recessive genes.
Last Thanksgiving I covered the 39th annual Cool spring Turkey Bowl a tradition begun in a plowed over cornfield off a back country road by young black kids just something to do until dinnertime.
And now these same guys are 50 years old and serve as coaches, league commissioners, referees and videographers. There is a rules meeting before a draft and the old guys who created the rules tell story of back in the day there were no rules just played for the glory of playing.
The Reverend Debra Ryder had everyone circle and join hands for a pre game prayer a style from the Bishop Jakes School of preaching. Debra left hand clasp that of her son Morris 6’3” and over 300 pounds. The preacher’s right hand was held by an anonymous skinny white guy in hooded sweat shirt with the words ‘Big Dog’ written across the front.
The prayer ended and Peter Cox appropriately named as the father of 12, started going, “gooble, gooble, gooble.”
“Peter, we went from a spiritual moment to gooble in just seconds,” I said to him and Peter responded “that’s the way we turkeys do it.”
The game itself is tackle, two 25 minute halves on a running clock that didn’t work, lots of prolonged huddles, penalty flags but no questioning of the iconic referee Chico.
“Mr Turkey Bowl,”Peter shouted from the sidelines. “It is spoken, it is written.”
The older men involved in this event I have known for 34 years. I was their teacher and coach and we are bonded, wrapped as tightly together as friends can be. They always make me laugh and startle me with honesty. “Fredman we love you.”
If my life has been all about sliding down the ladder as I often joke then I was destined to meet my friends on this soggy day on Thanksgiving morning.
Peter sang it best doing a ham bone verse on the bus back in 1983. “Fred went to the store and forgot the bread…That’s why they call him Cabbage Head.”