First Down Syndrome

Sep 16th, 2010 | By | Category: Prose

Football (REAL football, not this soccer nonsense), a sport enjoyed by Americans the world over. A game where it’s not only allowed, but encouraged to knock the crap out of people much smaller than you. A sport that has a holiday dedicated to it, where the main course consists of various meats covered with various melted cheeses, and a chip or cracker is used in lieu of a fork. It’s a sport that fosters Neanderthal-like behavior in its fan base (I’m looking at you Philadelphia)–probably because massive amounts of alcohol are consumed before, during, and after the game. It’s a sport some of us dreamed to play in our younger years, but didn’t have the skill or heart (see: too lazy) to follow through–but that’s not the case for one courageous individual, not one Chad Jordan.

Chad was your average, all around American youth; he went to school, he hung out with friends, and he even played football in a Pee-Wee league for middle school-aged kids like him. This kid had dreams, and, once he felt he had refined his craft in the Pee-Wee leagues of Florida, he wanted to do his middle school proud, and bring what he learned on the outside to the team. The kid became a football protégé in the face of overwhelming adversity. His young life took a downturn when both of his parents were killed in a car accident years prior, forcing his brother (and only family left) to raise him.

Now, at the tender age of 21, Chad Jordan is ready to….wait…21? That has to be a typo, as there’s no possible way that a 21 year old man is playing against 14-year-olds. Gimme a quick second to fact check, may have had a brain fart…sit tight folks. Hmmm…well…guess I wasn’t incorrect. Chad Jordan (real name Julious Threatts) really was a 21-year-old playing football against 14-year-olds? Seriously? Some 21-year-old dude was playing football against 14-year-olds?

Okay, I’m not one to question any organization’s administration process, but if you’re an organization that deals with 14-year-old children, wouldn’t the first clue have come when Mr. Threatts drove his grown-ass to the building, and casually stepped out of the driver’s side? Or, how about the fact that he had a tattoo on his forearm? What about paperwork? Some sort of a permission slip must be presented for all applicants. Now, we can safely assume that the permission slip was forged, but if he presented valid physical documentation, there’s a doctor in the Tampa Bay area who should have his practitioners license revoked.

Thankfully, the coach had the same feeling of “This Guy Has Got To Be S***tin’ Me” attitude, and went on his own investigation, Columbo style. He hit the streets of the young lad’s neighborhood and started asking around. He found what we in the business like to refer to as a “snitch,” and, as some of you know, “snitches get stitches.” So this tattle-tale essentially tells the coach, “Yep, he’s totally f***ing with you. I can’t believe you actually believed him.” Not thoroughly convinced, but now armed with a name, the coach proceeds to do what any right-thinking person would: look him up on Facebook. (If you answered “went to the police” we have a lovely consolation prize for you!)

Don't F with this!

So, the coach proceeded to Facebook stalk Threatts as if he were an obsessed admirer who wanted to learn every intricate detail of Threatts life so he could “accidentally” bump into him at a local sock-hop. In diving through the information available to him, the coach did indeed discover that Threatts not only had a mother, but graduated from high school. So, as most of you would do in this situation, you would immediately blow the whistle, inform everyone involved that “Hey, we’ve got some adult with a growth defect playing Pee-Wee football,” and have Threatts taken care of.

Again, sorry to inform you that this is the incorrect answer; the correct answer is to continue being fooled.

I almost have a level of respect for this man for the mere fact he was able to fool everyone involved into believing he was a 14-year-old kid, he almost pulled it over on the middle school if not for fact they spoke with his Mommy. When Threatts met with the school board, they were still having a hard time deciding if Threatts was really 14, and, as they deliberated, sent him off to the cafeteria to sample the fine, middle school cuisine. Once he had finished a meal that more than likely consisted of tater tots and chicken fingers, he was called back into the office.

There, as the questions boiled down to “You’re f***king with us right?” the modern day Oliver’s cell phone started to ring. Finding it odd that such a poor and underprivileged child could afford both a cell phone and the corresponding plan, the officials took a gander at the phone, answered, and asked who was calling. Shocked, the person responded by saying she was the young boy’s mother. If this had been a Looney Tunes short, as soon as the officials looked up, they’d have seen a spinning chair, with paper fluttering around as Threatts would’ve booked. Obviously, Mr. Threatts was denied enrollment into the middle school, and robbed of the chance to experience our wonderful public school system a second time, and is in double-dutch with his mom for claiming she was dead.

Due to the extent that Mr. Threatts went to ensure his dream of knocking middle schoolers around remained intact, I’m going to have to award him the “Douchebag of the Time Period Between him and Someone Else Doing Something Douchebaggey” award. May he serve as an inspiration to anyone who dreams of playing against people who are physically weaker than they are.


 Chris believes that football is the greatest game on earth. However, he does enjoy the occasional game of badminton. Monocle, optional.

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