IT was a perfect pass. I can’t believe
I dropped that perfect passI lined up on the left side and plodded straight ahead through the half-frozen mud and swirling snow for 20 yards before cutting back across the middle. After skidding to a stop, I gave a short wave to signal that I was open, but it wasn't necessary.
The pass was already on the way. It was late in the game, our final drive. We trailed by a touchdown, but at least we had a chance to finally beat the older guys in our annual Turkey Bowl game back in Chicago.
The football hit me squarely in the chest and bounced to the ground. It was 20 years ago and I still can't believe that I dropped that pass.
Tom McGuire is my favorite quarterback of all time.
We go way back, to fourth grade or so, when life was simple, revolving around baseball and bicycles and banana splits.
Long before Dennis Rodman showed up, Tom was "The Worm" in Chicago. It was one of those nicknames that didn't necessarily make much sense, but it was given to him by one of his older brothers at an early age and it stuck. Hardly anyone went by their first names back then.
Worm was an exceptional athlete and a truly gifted quarterback - from grammar school through high school and even at tiny Illinois Benedictine College. He broke records at all levels and even led the nation in small-college passing as a junior.
Despite his size, about 6-foot and a skinny 170 pounds or so, he came close to making the St. Louis Cardinals football roster and was among the final cuts.
After that, he was one of the most highly sought touch football quarterbacks in the city, along with being a great 16-inch softball player. When I played second base and he was the center fielder, I could set both hands on the bag and his overhand throw would put the ball right there every time.
He finally retired from football at the age of 43, but still plays some basketball and softball.
WORM never left the city except to go on vacation. He married a wonderful woman from South America and they have three beautiful children.
For the past years that have zipped by so fast, he has been one of the top firemen in the city, one of the toughest jobs that Chicago has to offer.
He has risked his life for others many, many times, using his superior athletic skill and instinct to save total strangers.
Last summer, we all gathered on a downtown peninsula next to the aquarium and planetarium, on the shore of Lake Michigan. The breathtaking Chicago skyline reflected in the shimmering water and a soft breeze drifted in from the lake.
Worm and Sully and Avo were there. So was Dollar Bill and Doc and Fenwick. Big Dave Gillott was one of the organizers, especially since it was part of the beat he covered as a Chicago cop. He picked me up from the commuter train in a squad car.
Dave set up a big barbecue grill and cooked Italian sausage that smelled and tasted so good.
WE all laughed and drank beer and relived for one night the days that were so much fun. Since we were on park district property, we weren't supposed to be barbecuing or drinking there, but it didn't matter - just like so many past summer nights - since we are all true sons of Chicago.
"We own this city!" shouted Dollar Bill and we toasted to it.
Then we laughed some more about the big wins and tough losses and all of the partying in between.
As usual, Worm was one of the last ones there and we finally said goodbye. We would keep in touch and I would try to get back home again next summer.
It was 20 years ago and I still can't believe I dropped that football, when it was the final drive and we had a chance to beat the older guys.
It was a perfect pass.
It was a beautiful pass from my best friend, the quarterback who now saves lives.