Knowlesy
I was on the left, Pat Daxon on the right, Andy Daxon stopping and Jimmy Knowles sweeping. The best back line I’ve ever played with, bar none. The four of us were an impenetrable shield in front of the goal. Billy Patides was usually keeping, though Justin Throneburg or Mark Dillman could be back there on any given Sunday. All three of those goalkeepers were amazing athletes.
Pat and Andy were brothers, but nothing like each other. Pat was big, strapping 6-footer, a granite chin, solid as a wrecking ball. Players would litterally bounce off his considerable chest. He never did anything fancy, just played the right pass time and time again, like clockwork. I never saw a guy beat him, he was too strong, too fast, too smart.
Andy was sinewy: A wireframe version of his brother, probably just as strong, though he didn’t look it. He had great leaping ability and would win anything everything in the air. A 70 yard punt would come in and he would pluck it out of the sky before guys 6 inches taller had a chance. Andy’s timing was impeccable. He consistently frustrated other team’s best players rendering them helpless, useless, tired.
Knowlesy, though, was my man back there. If all the coaches I’ve had, nobody taught me more than Jimmy Knowles. His most important lesson, love the game. He taught me how to have fun, and appreciate the time I had out there. That alone elevated my level of play to the point where I surprised myself on the field.
Jimmy was a little Scottish guy who had questionable skill and wasn’t particularly fast. He was 36 when I first met him, too old to be playing against guys half his age. Didn’t matter. His heart made all the difference. It was as big as the penalty box.
He couldn’t have been taller than 5’ 7’ and weighed no more than a buck 40, but I saw him deliver hits on 200 pounders that would make you whince. Absolutely fearless. The fiercest, nastiest defender I’ve ever seen.
He would jaw and crack jokes the entire game. He loved being out there. He called opponents “sunshine” just to wind em up a bit. After tackling the ball away from an opponent, you’d hear, “Next time, sunshine”—his evil grin behind his bushy blonde moustache.
Jimmy never literally told me to love the game. He didn’t pull me aside, arm around my soulder and say, “Greg, just have fun, go out there and enjoy yourself.” He just played with unbridled joy. That said enough. I wanted to share in it.
His lessons stay with me today.
Thanks, Knowlesy.
Pat and Andy were brothers, but nothing like each other. Pat was big, strapping 6-footer, a granite chin, solid as a wrecking ball. Players would litterally bounce off his considerable chest. He never did anything fancy, just played the right pass time and time again, like clockwork. I never saw a guy beat him, he was too strong, too fast, too smart.
Andy was sinewy: A wireframe version of his brother, probably just as strong, though he didn’t look it. He had great leaping ability and would win anything everything in the air. A 70 yard punt would come in and he would pluck it out of the sky before guys 6 inches taller had a chance. Andy’s timing was impeccable. He consistently frustrated other team’s best players rendering them helpless, useless, tired.
Knowlesy, though, was my man back there. If all the coaches I’ve had, nobody taught me more than Jimmy Knowles. His most important lesson, love the game. He taught me how to have fun, and appreciate the time I had out there. That alone elevated my level of play to the point where I surprised myself on the field.
Jimmy was a little Scottish guy who had questionable skill and wasn’t particularly fast. He was 36 when I first met him, too old to be playing against guys half his age. Didn’t matter. His heart made all the difference. It was as big as the penalty box.
He couldn’t have been taller than 5’ 7’ and weighed no more than a buck 40, but I saw him deliver hits on 200 pounders that would make you whince. Absolutely fearless. The fiercest, nastiest defender I’ve ever seen.
He would jaw and crack jokes the entire game. He loved being out there. He called opponents “sunshine” just to wind em up a bit. After tackling the ball away from an opponent, you’d hear, “Next time, sunshine”—his evil grin behind his bushy blonde moustache.
Jimmy never literally told me to love the game. He didn’t pull me aside, arm around my soulder and say, “Greg, just have fun, go out there and enjoy yourself.” He just played with unbridled joy. That said enough. I wanted to share in it.
His lessons stay with me today.
Thanks, Knowlesy.
posted by Greg Monaco at 11:57 AM
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