Swifty

By Irv Burnett

This is a story about a young man who people say was the greatest defensive back in the history of football whom no one really ever knew. He had the love and compassion and all the physical tools accompanied with a tremendous amount of courage of any man who ever played the game. Unfortunately, though, like so many others in life, circumstances out of his control (and some in his control) caused him to detour from his dreams and lifetime goals. But he was one hell of a football player who could do anything on the field as a defensive back. Some say that he could almost fly! He even developed technical skills that some coaches use today. Through all his ups and downs, he never lost his values or morality. He just played the game that he loved dearly. Some people say there was no one better at the cornerback position than Swifty. Some women say there was no one better at other things. I highly recommend the reading of this truly great (and true) story to any young man who thinks he has what it takes to play the corner back position at the high school or college level. I also suggest that after reading this book, he takes a long hard look in a mirror and ask himself, "do I really have what it takes to play the corner back position?".

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781640827509

Book preview

DB, defensive back, or deep back—this is a term given to a young man who plays either safety or cornerback on a defensive football team. Some argue, but a lot of football purists agree that this is the most demanding position on the defensive football team. Some say most defensive backs are really receivers who can’t catch the football very well. Most DBs are usually the best athletes on the field. The big disadvantage they have is usually size, strength, and often speed. They are frequently asked to make open-field tackles on opponents who outweigh them by as much as one hundred pounds or more, when the ball carrier has built up a full head of steam. They are responsible for defending against pass completions involving receivers who are sometimes much faster and taller than they are, plus the receiver knows where he’s going and what he’s going to do.

This is the story of a young man who was born across the tracks. He is from a white lower middle class family of four (single mom, son, and two younger daughters). Some say he could have been one of the greatest defensive backs of all time, with a break or two. He had a burning desire to play professional football; his name was Hubert Swift and this is his story. (The time was 1962.)

We begin on a broken-down, weed-covered lot full of glass and rocks. This field had been converted to the neighborhood football field. This is where Swift and his friends often engaged in pickup football games, sometimes two-hand touch, but usually tackle football. Most of the players wore very few pads but usually found a cheap helmet and a kneepad or two.

Swift was a small kid; tall but thin, he weighed only 150 pounds or so but was almost six feet tall. Even at his present age of fourteen, he was a very gifted athlete. He ate, drank, and slept football. He was from an era (the ’60s) where the athletes spent more time on technique and basic fundamentals rather than showmanship. Although small and very young, Swift had developed into an outstanding pass defender and a very sure tackler, although he had never played on an organized football team. He had excellent foot speed and was extremely quick.

Swift and ten of his football friends had been challenged by a local neighborhood team to a tackle football game. All of Swift’s teammates were about his age. The oldest being maybe fifteen, there were rumors that the opposing team not only had a couple of guys who were older, but three or four actually were starters on a local varsity high school football team. Swift and his teammates weren’t worried; they often looked for a chance to compete against the best, and sometimes they actually won, even against the older players.

As the opposing team lined up to receive the kickoff, Swift and his teammates eyed the challenge that they were about to face. One of Swift’s teammates noticed that the young man who was about to receive the kickoff was one of the city’s top junior college freshman running backs. He stood 6′1″ and weighed about 195 pounds. He and his lead blocker were clad from head to toe in their full practice uniforms. He and his teammates were, without a doubt, older and much more experienced than Swift’s team by far. But Swift and his teammates matched them man for man in courage and determination.

Although the game was outside, there was an eerie silence throughout the entire playing field. You could almost hear the heartbeat of some of Swift’s teammates. This wasn’t fear; it was anticipation of the enormous physical challenge that they were about to face. Swift and his teammates were at an obvious weight and size disadvantage. They were outweighed by at least 15 pounds per player. But they had played bigger and older opponents in the past, so they were up for the challenge.

The ball was kicked directly to the junior college player who took it on the run and, with a fake to go outside, decided to run straight up the middle. He was met with an unbelievable collision by Swift. Swift was known for his tackling ability and picture-perfect technique. But unfortunately, Swift made two crucial mistakes. One was he was too high when he made contact, and two, he had no angle. He was completely run over, and the ball carrier never even broke stride. Swift immediately jumped to his feet because he was taught that you never show your opponent that you’ve been injured or even shaken up. The truth was Swift was in bad shape after the violent collision. Swift was wearing a department store helmet that he paid $17 for and a very small pair of shoulder pads that were usually meant to be worn by quarterbacks. Two of his teammates had no helmets at all.

After the junior college player continued his run to the end zone for the team’s first touchdown, he was joined by one of his teammates. The opponent’s comment cut deeply into Swift like a hot knife into soft butter. The two opposing players jogged past a dazed Swift. The comment was Man, that was some kind of run. You almost killed that kid who tried to tackle you.

Tackle me? Man you must be joking. Ain’t no skinny-ass white boy named Hubert Swift gonna even slow me down, much less tackle me.

These words cut deeply, but Swift and his teammates knew that they had bigger problems to deal with. They had to quickly regroup and deal with this powerful bunch of young men who had invaded their neighborhood with a fury.

They knew they were outmuscled, but they were determined not to be embarrassed. So they quickly called a time-out to come up with some kind of strategy. The touchdown had been much too easy. They also wanted to see how badly Swift had been injured in the violent collision of which he had been a part.

As Swift cleared his head after the violent collision, one of his teammates commented, Well, fellas, I think they came to play.

Another teammate added, So did we.

Swift and his team didn’t have a coach or even a captain. It was just eleven young guys who loved football. Some were white, some were black, and some were Puerto Rican. That was the type of neighborhood in which they lived. They got along together because they had the one thing in common. That was the love and dedication for the game of football. These guys played football all the time. They patterned themselves after the pros and the major college teams. They would get together in each other’s apartments to watch the games. They would always pay very close attention to detail. None of them had ever played on an organized team at any level, but they all knew football. When other players from any neighborhood wanted a game, they would only have to call Swift or one of his friends, and within an hour, they would be on the football field, ready to play. There were a total of thirteen because Swift did not play offense.

He was the neighborhood defensive specialist. He’d done a lot of work to establish this fact, and in his neighborhood, he was known for his pass-defending ability, and no one was better. Swift would be able to rest because now it was time for his team to receive the kickoff and attempt to tie the game. (There were no extra points or field goals because there were no goal posts.) They marked out of bounds with coats and jackets of the two teams. They used an extra player from each team to referee, and they only made the very obvious calls, like off sides or pass interference, which was seen by most players from both teams.

Swift was suffering from a bloody nose, a loose tooth, a cut on the bridge of his nose, and a scraped knee. Basically, he would be OK. The game was played for about an hour, no half-time, no break, just a time-out every now and then when each team asked for one. Basically, it was a pretty clean game. Swift’s team never played dirty, and the visiting team didn’t have to because they were so much better. The final score was 36–12, with Swift’s team losing. Although Swift’s team lost, Swift’s team played very well under the circumstances. Swift even intercepted a pass and ran it for about thirty-five yards. This eventually led to Swift’s team’s first touchdown.

After the game, Swift and his friends exchanged goodbyes with the visiting team. The older visitors complimented Swift and his teammates for giving them such a competitive game. Luckily, there were no injuries on either team, and everyone went on about their business. Even Swift was physically OK, but his pride had been bruised by the comment he overheard by the opposing player.

As Swift lay on his bed, resting, he gave himself his usual self-evaluation of his personal performance. As usual, he was his own worst critic; he thought he could have been a little more aggressive on a couple of running plays, but as usual, his pass defense was outstanding.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and before he could respond, there was his very favorite person in the world other than his mom—his favorite uncle, Uncle Buddy, whom he idolized. Uncle Buddy was his role model, his mentor, and most important of all things, he was Swift’s own personal football tutor. Swift tried to hide his face from his uncle, but he knew sooner or later Uncle B would see him.

Uncle B quickly stated, Had a game today, huh?

Swift replied, Yeah, I guess.

Jokingly, Uncle B said, You guess? He then asked, How bad did they beat you guys?

Swift replied, Oh, we played OK. Then he burst into tears and angrily asked, Why did I have to be named Hubert? Why couldn’t I have a cool football name like Brock, Joe, or anything other than Hubert?

Uncle B then replied, Well, you were named by your mom, and if I remember correctly, she named you after a politician named Hubert Humphrey from Minn. Now don’t ask me why, but that’s the story.

He then sat on the bed next to his nephew and said, It’s a funny thing about life. Sometimes you have to play the game with the hand you’re dealt, and a person can’t spend time worrying about something he has no chance of doing much about, but instead, with a little adjustment and imagination, a fella can do anything.

Swift basically understood what his uncle was saying, but he was a little confused. He then, with a puzzled look on his face, asked his uncle what exactly was he talking about.

Uncle B just smiled and said, Think about it. How does Bert Swift sound?

Swift’s eyes opened wide, and he jumped straight up in the bed and replied, Yeeeah, that’s it. From now on that’s my name, Bert Swift. He then said (in his adult football-sportscaster voice), Now starting at the left corner back position, Bert Swift. Wow, that’s great. He then asked his uncle if he had brought him any more football posters.

Uncle Buddy replied, lf I did, where you gonna put them? Swift’s room was covered with pro-football posters of star defensive backs; he had at least fifteen. He then told Swift that he had to be leaving, and The next time you try and make a tackle on a ball carrier, especially if he outweighs you by 50 or 60 pounds, get lower and try to get a better angle. Swift just smiled and Uncle B left.

Three Years Later

Mr. Swift was still thin in physical stature but very skillful in his technique as a defensive cornerback and safety, and his reputation in the neighborhood as a football player has grown also. He was now preparing to enter his freshman year in high school. He was preparing to enter a very large high school with a student population of about 600 students, but his chosen high school had a problem; there had been a recent addition to the neighborhood, inner-city housing projects, and believe it or not, the city planners didn’t anticipate the hundreds of high school–aged kids that would be preparing for or continuing high school, so they all had to attend the one local high school that was built for 700 to 800 students max. So when Mr. Swift entered high school, he was happily joined with about 2,100 other young people. This made things quite crowded, to say the least; as a matter of fact, things were so bad that the school system was forced to turn away another 1,000 or so, and the 2,100 they accepted were put in three shifts. Each shift had a total of 700 students; the first shift began at 7:00 a.m. and lasted until 10:00 am. The second shift began at 10:00 a.m. and ended at 1:00 p.m., and the final shift was from 1:00 to 4:00 p.m. This didn’t bother Mr. Swift too much because his only thought was on football tryouts that were about to kick off.

August

The Physical Education Department

In the Office of the Head Varsity Football Coach

He was a small man, about five feet and nine inches, 160 pounds, decent looking, and very, very hard and physical. He had a deep, raspy voice and was very mean and believed in kicking a little ass if necessary. It was just about time for the upcoming football season to begin, which could have been a very positive situation for the football program, but the coach chose to take the opposite approach and look at it as a problem. The situation was that it was almost time for football tryouts, which was normally done by a bulletin sent to all the classes, letting the young people know about the upcoming event. The coach anticipated a turnout of about 150–200 young people coming to the gym for this annual event. So the coach called all his varsity players, which was about eighteen or so, and had a closed-door meeting in his office. He explained the situation and that there would be a big problem with the numbers, so he instructed his varsity players to use the process of elimination. It was to have the heat turned up in the gym, lock all the doors from witnesses, and be very brutal to the 150–200 who came for football tryouts. The day finally arrived, and Mr. Swift and all the 175 or so young men eagerly jammed in the gym to show their skills and attempt to solidify a spot on the team. Nobody anticipated what would take place.

Tryout Day

The coach personally turned up the heat in the gymnasium to about ninety degrees. It being the dog days of August, the outside temperature was about eighty-eight degrees and extremely humid, and the body heat of about 175 young men was, shall we say, extremely uncomfortable.

The gym was divided into two halves, the linemen and heavyset guys were at one end, and the skill players (wide receivers, offensive and defensive backs, and potential QBs) at the other end. Among the football hopefuls were the veterans with blood in their eyes. On the lineman’s side of the gym, the veteran linemen were clad in helmets, shoulder pads, forearm pads, and shorts and T-shirts. On the skilled-position side, the veterans except the QBs wore the same.

They formed four lines for a passing drill. The potential backs and receivers lined up in front of last year’s varsity linebackers and defensive backs. As the receivers ran their pass routes, the QBs would fire at one hundred miles an hour or faster a pass to the new guys, and the pass would blast the hell out of him (head, face, chest, etc.), and the veteran defensive players would immediately drill the potential receiver into the ground or the bleachers if he happened to be near them. It was a very brutal and bloody sight. Every now and then, one of the new guys would show a little resentment for this harsh and violent treatment, and he was then ganged up on by 6 or 7 guys and beat up pretty badly and then dragged out of the gym. Not wanting this additional punishment, most guys just tried to deal with it and hope that it would soon end.

On the linemen’s end of the gym, the linemen had their own problems. They were put into about four to five lines, got into a three-point stance and on the whistle, they attempted to block a double team of two charging helmet- and shoulder pad–clad experienced ballplayers. Every fifteen minutes it was reversed, where the new guy would have to turn defensive lineman and pass rush two helmeted and shoulder padded offensive linemen. After receiving numerous smashes in the head, face, and body from forearms, helmets, and shoulder pads, the whistle would blow and another tryout would be asked to attempt this brutal activity.

There was one very quick and equally hard-hitting new guy who made the big mistake of actually getting past two veteran offensive linemen, for his effort, he was also stomped, beaten bloody, and dragged out of the gym by about 6 to 7 of the veteran linemen, never to return.

Now among the eighteen or so veteran ballplayers, there was a fullback who was recuperating from knee surgery. He was about 75 percent but carried a cane on which he limped around and usually put the finishing touch across the head, back, or shoulders of the young men who were ganged up and beaten by the veteran ballplayers for one reason or another. This slaughter on both ends of the gym lasted for about an hour, eliminating about 50 or so young football hopefuls.

Next a whistle was blown, and it was time for calisthenics. The remaining 100 frightened, hot, tired young men were then put into about six lines with 1 or 2 vets in front to lead the masses in exercise. The first was jumping jacks, and I mean serious jumping jacks that lasted for at least forty-five minutes. In the August heat, plus the enclosed heated gym, it was somewhat unbearable, especially for the overweight and heavier potential linemen. They didn’t have the stamina to do more than ten to fifteen minutes under those grueling conditions. The veterans had an advantage; they would switch exercise leaders every five or so minutes to keep from getting tired. And as usual, those who couldn’t cut it were jumped on by 6 to 7 vets, beaten badly and dragged out of the gym, screaming and yelling for mercy. The jumping jack session lasted for about forty-five to fifty minutes straight without a break, losing another 35 or so potential ballplayers.

Now it was time for the final elimination process, and that was running around the gym in a full circle, with the veterans pouncing mercifully on the slower and tired who could not keep up after what they had already encountered. Most just couldn’t keep up the pace. In a few cases, some couldn’t even walk. Those were eliminated by the usual method. Finally, the brutal ordeal had ended for the day after the grueling hour run that knocked off 40 more football hopefuls.

During this ordeal our star managed to hang in and survive the day, being extremely tough and very determined to make the squad. At this point, B. Swift had mixed emotions about the cruel process of elimination his football team had used, because out of the 175 new ballplayers who had tried out, there were only 57 left, and 8 of the ones who were eliminated were close friends with whom he’d played ball all his life. He was also worried about his chances of actually getting to play. He had two things working against him; one was his size, although he was an outstanding athlete and one of the most polished technicians on the team, including the lettermen.

He was very thin, and his height of about six feet and one inch only made his 155 pounds look that much frailer. The second thing working against him was the team was really one big clique; this season’s team was loaded with seniors. With the offensive line averaging 220 pounds, the team was predicted to possibly go undefeated. The QB was more than adequate at 6′2″, 210 pounds, and a decent passer. His backfield consisted of a huge fullback who stood 6′1″, 255 pounds, and very, very, fast. His tailback was 5′10″ and 180 pounds, probably the fastest man on the team. Remember, this was a high school team. That’s why the coach allowed his veterans to eliminate all the new guys. He thought since he had his team basically intact, he just didn’t want to waste time with 175 unproven new guys who may not be physically capable of helping his team anyway. He just didn’t have the wisdom to see that out of 175 young men, there may have been some serious talent among the group; believe me, there was. At least three of Swift’s buddies were top-quality athletes and football players; one went on to be the starting tailback at a major university and