Richard Holstad's story about Mr. Albertson reminded me of another football story. One night at practice Albertson and I had a a run-in over something, he made a playful move towards me like "straighten it up, Leidal" so I feinted like I was going to run to avoid it. Then he feinted towards me like he was going to chase me, and that was all it took for Coach Mounts to jump all over this.
"Get him!" he yelled, and Albertson started after me. So I ran, thinking we were playing around, and after a dozen steps we'd stop. But we didn't. He kept right after me, and I kept ahead of him.
This went on for quite a while until I began to realize "He's not going to quit!" So now my choice is to keep running, which would embarrass him, probably anger him, and get Mounts going even more, or slow down so he could catch me. I chose the latter, and it was a mistake.
He threw me to the ground and laid across me like a pro wrestler pinning his prey, belly to belly. If you recall, he was not real tall but he had adequate girth, and at this point in time I was fully aware of just how adequate it was, because my belly was pretty well compressed. Then, in his wisdom, Coach Mounts called for a monkey pile, and it got worse. I swear most of the team jumped on, and I was sure I would never breathe again until fortunately the novelty wore off and I was released.
I showed him mercy - and regretted it, because he indeed showed me none, like Richard encouraged.