Collegiate Times

This past Saturday I did something over 99 percent of Tech students will never do.

No, I did not drink two rails at TOTS and survive. Instead, I woke up at 9 a.m. on my Saturday morning, got dressed in athletic gear and took a walk.

On my walk, I ended up on the Virginia Tech Hokies football team practice fields, and started lacing up my cleats, because for the next 46 minutes and 38 seconds I would be under the watchful and professional eye of head coach Frank Beamer.

"Check out these little guys," I heard one particularly gruff player murmur to a teammate as they jogged onto the squishy dew-softened sod.

I tied my Nikes extra tight, and stepped onto hallowed Hokie ground. With each indentation of my studs into the turf, I shared for a moment the same landscape of such legends as Michael Vick and Lee Suggs. I was in the realm, in the element, of Tech's pride and joy. Where the lunch pail and a blue-collar attitude are carried on the shoulders of giants. And really I mean giants.

This 5 foot 8 inch 170 lbs Hokie could have been bench pressed by each and every single player on that field, except for me. (For the record, returning senior Jared Develli, No. 98 for the Hokies, weighing in at 230 pounds with thighs as big as telephone poles is not a middle linebacker, he is actually the starting kicker.)

So what could this sports reporter possibly be on the field for? In my better athletic days, I kicked for a small private high school, and faired decently there. I was reliable, with pretty good leg strength, and in my three years kicking was consistently one of the highest scoring players on my team.

So after a yearlong hiatus from the uprights, I decided to try my foot again to see if perhaps I might throw on a Tech helmet come this fall.

Intermittently this semester I would bike to the Blacksburg municipal rugby field to kick on the dirt down there (no grass, at all), or across Southgate to another field up by the tennis facility to get some reps in.

After as much practice as a full load of classes could allow, finally my chance at the big time had arrived. As I stretched my hammies and flexed my quads, I prepared to see if this kicker's NCAA dream was about to commence on my quest to replace the "Pace."

Seven of us kickers waited in the wings as the entire football team stretched and warmed up. We looked like tomatoes misplaced in the orange produce bin at Kroger. After another 15 minutes of drills, a booming voice beckoned us towards him, and like sheep, we flocked around Coach Beamer.

He placed a ball on the ten yard line for a practice extra point. I was third in line to go.

The first kicker plunked his in effortlessly without even looking. The second almost hit the scoreboard 50 yards away, but wide left.

I walked up to the holder and told him to place the ball straight up for me, and took my steps. Three back, two over and a nod. He placed the ball down in simulated snap fashion. One stride; another; I placed my plant foot solid into the grass, and like a golf swing, brought my leg down to make contact.

At this point, I'm pretty sure I closed my eyes, but when finally I opened them, I saw the ball land lightly on the opposite side of the uprights, (off to a good start) and an easy 20 yards past them, right down the middle. I had made it.

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