George Strong IV stands at the end of the his team’s practice field at Crestview Park as the sun sets. Strong is Campbell County’s smallest junior football player, weighing in at 48 pounds. - Photos by News-Record Photo Editor Nathan Payne npayne@gillettenewsrecord.net
George Strong IV listens, buried under his teammates, while his coach talks to the team before their breakdown. Strong is the smallest junior football player in Campbell County but plays with the determination of a player twice his size. - Photos by News-Record Photo Editor Nathan Payne npayne@gillettenewsrecord.net
George Strong IV, No. 25, stands over a player he tackled during his team’s last game of the season. Strong is the smallest player in junior football in Campbell County but plays with the heart of the biggest players. - Photos by News-Record Photo Editor Nathan Payne npayne@gillettenewsrecord.net
At left, George Strong III talks to friends on the sideline by writing on a pad of paper. He is undergoing experimental treatment for brain tumors in Seattle and was able to attend his son’s game. - Photos by News-Record Photo Editor Nathan Payne npayne@gillettenewsrecord.net
Published: Tuesday, October 21, 2008 1:08 PM MDT
Story by News-Record Writer
Andy Chapman achapman@gillettenewsrecord.net
Published: Tuesday, October 21, 2008 1:08 PM MDT
Story by News-Record Writer
Andy Chapman achapman@gillettenewsrecord.net
At 48 pounds and barely 4 feet tall, it’s hard to be taken seriously, even in the junior football program.
That’s George Strong IV.
He’s just like any other kid. He likes watching the Denver Broncos and quarterback Jay Cutler, his favorite player. He likes to read and take care of his four rabbits.
But George weighs less than most 9-year-olds, in fact, 97 percent of them weigh more than him.
He’s the smallest player in Gillette’s junior football program. All the third-graders are bigger than him. At equipment checkouts in the beginning of the year, they had trouble finding a helmet small enough for him.
His mom remembers when she found him in the kitchen with a jug of half-and-half, a mixture of milk and cream. He was drinking it to try to get bigger.
It hasn’t worked.Despite his size, he plays football. He loves the game. It’s a passion instilled in him by his father.
It’s more than a game. Through football, he’s learning to become a man. But he can’t figure it all out. A kid needs a dad to teach him and be by his side.
The other players can glance at the sidelines to get a thumbs up or a smile from approving fathers. George can’t do that.
George’s father isn’t there.
During the season, he finishes his homework, eats dinner and runs upstairs to get dressed for practice. Afterward, his mother, Carla, checks his work. Only after that will she drive him to practice.
After the hour-long session, it’s home again, and maybe a chance to talk to his dad via text messaging or e-mail.
His father, George III, has to use electronic means to talk to his family because he’s far away and too weak to speak out loud.
He was diagnosed with cancer a little more than a year ago. He’s undergoing experimental treatment to rid his body of three brain tumors. Doctors drilled holes in his skull and dropped in radiation seeds. He’s been all over the country for treatment, and is now in Seattle at a treatment center.
He’s made plans to come home several times, but medical complications forced him to stay in the hospital. The family only saw him twice during the summer.
Before the cancer, the family would play touch football games in the yard. George III didn’t play many sports in his high school days. But he’s loved the game for a long time, and he’s wanted his son to play football since he was born. Since the cancer, the games have all but stopped.
The younger George, however, hasn’t.
“He knows Daddy wants him to play football,” Carla says.
But even in his escape, playing football, he’s reminded of what he doesn’t have.
He’s always been what his mom calls a “fruits and vegetables” child. He does eat meat, but not much. The average weight of the third- or fourth-grade players in the Gillette league is 60-80 pounds, and some are more than 100 pounds, twice the size of George.
At this point, he’s used to it. Carla estimates he was 47 pounds in his third-grade year, just a one-pound difference from where he is today.
It’s practice day and George’s team, the Buccaneers, are working on tackling. The coaches line him up against a player that’s got 6 inches and a few pounds on him. Predictably, he gets the wrong end of the hit.
He gets up, and takes his place in the back of the line to do it all over again. This time, he comes at the other guy with a little more speed, a little more oomph, and drags him down to the turf.
The Bucs’ coach, Chad Eischeid, is quick to praise him for the effort, yelling “Good job, George!” afterward.
This isn’t pro football. At this level, the players get equal playing time. His season had mixed results, when he fumbled a few times and got hit hard.
But he’s one of the most well-liked players on the team. He’s one of the best tacklers, too. Every time he got somebody to the turf, the coaches would smile. He gave full effort every down for them, so they rewarded him with some running plays.
Eischeid likes the kid. He’s pulling for him. He never complained, never quit on a play and never gave the coaches a reason to think he didn’t want to be out there.
“He was always one to give it his all,” Eischeid said. “He’s got to have one of the biggest hearts around.”And he made his mark. He scored a touchdown, his first, in a practice scrimmage against another team on a 30-yard run. Carla, watching from the sidelines, mirrored his progress on the run every step of the way, screaming and jumping in excitement.
The actual game that weekend, however, wasn’t as successful. He completely whiffs on a touchdown-saving tackle. Later, he fumbles the handoff, one of many miscues on the day.
He scrambles out from under a pile of opposing players after a botched play left him with no running room. He adjusts his uniform, tightens his chin strap and runs back out there to play defense.
It’s what Dad wants. What he wants, too.
He trots onto the field in his red Buccaneers jersey and black cleats. The quarterback takes the snap and hands the ball to him. He hesitates for a moment, sees a crease in the blocking lanes and takes off, juking defenders.
Fifteen yards later, he’s tackled out of bounds. It’s a first down, and he trots back to the huddle, panting for breath. It didn’t win the game. It didn’t even help them score on the drive. But it matters.
George IV couldn’t sleep the night before his final game ��” or the night before that, or the one before that. His father flew into town on Thursday, and the excitement didn’t lend itself to sleep.
Thursday’s practice was the last one before the season finale. The younger George pleaded with his mom to let him go, because the players who didn’t show up wouldn’t get to play much on Saturday.
George III didn’t plan on going to see the final practice because he was so worn out.
“I just need to sleep,” he said, on the way from the airport.
But on the way past the park where the younger George practiced, he motioned for Carla to pull over. He wanted to be there and watch.
The thought of watching his son energized him. George III was up before anyone Saturday morning. He got dressed and rounded up the family and got them ready to go. He stood near the field before the game, watching his son’s warm-up activities. He paced the sidelines, trying to get the best view of the action.
Surrounded by friends and family, he wrote on a pad with a pen to communicate because he was too weak from treatment to talk out loud. But he always kept an eye on the field when George was playing.
After the younger George recovered a fumble, he got up with the ball and looked over the sideline. There was his father, giving him a thumbs-up.
It was the same story after every good play from George IV, four tackles and an eight-yard run. But even the mediocre and downright bad plays elicited a smile from him.
After the game, the son took his pads and jersey over to the storage shack. He walked slowly out on the field afterward and saw his family. He approached the group. The dad put his hand on his shoulder, and showed him the writing pad.
It was only four words.But it was enough: “I’m proud of you.”
After the game, the son took his pads and jersey over to the storage shack. He walked slowly out on the field afterward and saw his family. He approached the group. The dad put his hand on his shoulder, and showed him the writing pad.
It was only four words.But it was enough: “I’m proud of you.”
