“That’s the pits.”
          A short visit to Dictionary.com defines this commonly-used expression:
“Slang. An extremely unpleasant, boring, or depressing place, condition, person, etc.; the absolute worst.”
           I thought a lot about this phrase this past week while returning to the classroom and listening to Scripture reflections on my forty-five-minute drive to school.  On Friday morning, on my way in, the topic of study was an Old Testament favorite, the story of Joseph in Genesis. First betrayed by his envious brothers, thrown into an actual pit, and sold off to Egypt as a slave, Joseph ~ for all he had going for him otherwise (good looks, intelligence, over-achieving tendencies) ~couldn’t seem to catch a break.  Even when he seemed to catch one once the high Egyptian official Potiphar gave him charge of his entire household, he was falsely accused by the boss’s wife, slandered, and thrown into prison.
          If anyone had a right to be bitter, hopeless, and defeated, it was Joseph.
          Instead, he knew something that served him well. He knew that God was with him at all times.
         It was clear to even Potiphar, in seeing Joseph prosper though a slave, that “the Lord was with him and that the Lord gave him success in everything he did.”  One has to think, when his wife accused Joseph of assault, that death would be his logical punishment. Potiphar, however, put Joseph in prison, as opposed to a fatal sentence, for a reason. He believed him.
        At this point, to most, Joseph’s life, now likely to be spent in prison until his death, would appear to be an absolute failure. Imprisoned, no family, no spouse, no children, and, apparently, no real indication that anything would change his circumstances. Life was “the pits”.
          But Joseph knew the thing that mattered: 

         “But while Joseph was in the prison, the Lord was with him.” (Genesis 39:20-21)

         Even in the pit, Joseph knew God was with him, and, while there, used his God-given ability to interpret dreams for those around him. He refused to stop believing, stop hoping, or stop grinding, and, in one day, he was lifted from the pit to the palace of the Pharoah. 
     In the classroom of sports, “the pit” can be any number of things. A poor performance. A heartbreaking loss. A loss of a starting position. A season-ending defeat. A season-ending injury. If an athlete (and a coach) can learn anything from the Scriptural account of Joseph, it is to remember that God is with him or her in these times, and can bring us to the palace. The “palace” may be earning a starting position, winning a big game, coming back from behind, recovering from an injury, or becoming champions. Like Joseph, the key is to keep believing, hoping, and grinding.  
          When we practice all the skills of the game ~ passing, blocking, receiving, tackling ~ we become better players. When we practice recognizing that God is with us in the “pits” as athletes, we become better at seeing Him in these times through all of the losses, failures, and challenges of life. Unfortunately, they will be there, but ~ more importantly ~ so will He.
          As Joseph says over ten chapters later after having been thrown into a pit:
   
               “What was intended for harm, God intended for good.”     

     Never forget, whether on the field or anywhere in life, that He is with us “in the pits.”

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M. Bridget Algeo is a mother, teacher, and sports enthusiast. A member of the 1989 National Division III Lacrosse Team and a former writer for www.phillylacrosse.com, her upcoming book, Football Family, chronicles the journey of the Rare Breed of Lansdale, where her father coached the Faith, Family, Football tradition for forty-four years. Football Family will be released this fall.

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​     One day, I may sit down and count all the high school football games I have been to in my lifetime ~ although many of them I was so young I wouldn’t remember. I was just six months old when I went to my first ever high school football contest at Penncrest High School in Media, Pennsylvania.
     At 38 years old, I was bringing my own son to a PIAA state playoff game at Plymouth Whitemarsh High School on a bitterly cold evening in late November where Dad was head coach, my youngest brother was quarterback, my nephew was one of his wide receivers, and my two-year-old toddler was stuffed in a snowsuit.
     My entire family traveled from as far as Maryland to attend the Friday night clash. Our brother was a senior, and, at this stage of the season, a lost game would mean his last.  The opponent in front of the Rare Breed that night were the Bucks of Dunmore.
    I knew nothing of the Bucks except that they had won their District crown, as we did, and that, under longtime Coach Jack Henzes, their football program was becoming one of the most reputable in the state. The playoff system in Pennsylvania high school was just eight years old at the time, yet both the Rare Breed of Lansdale and the Bucks of Dunmore had established themselves as formidable forces since their teams of the late sixties and early seventies vied for their own league championships. Tonight would be the first time they ever met.
     At first, I kept my little Dodge Omni positioned where I could see the field. It was small but toasty, and we shuffled the young ones there that night in and out as the first three quarters were played.  By the fourth quarter, we were nowhere near that car. Instead, we had forgotten about the freezing temperatures and were on the sidelines engrossed in a high school football battle that went down to the wire. On this night, Lansdale Catholic’s Rare Breed would prevail, 18 to 14, and move on to the state semi-final.
     Fast forward twelve years later to Scranton Memorial Stadium in Northeastern Pennsylvania. Dad, like Henzes, is still head coach, both my brother and nephew are his assistants, and my son is now a fourteen-year-old who has far outgrown his snowsuit. It is a painfully cold Friday night on the last day of November, and, for only the second time in the history of their programs, Lansdale Catholic and Dunmore meet in a playoff encounter which will end one team’s season. That night, again, the game went down to the wire. This time, the Dunmore Bucks would emerge the victors, 21 to 14. They would make their way all the way to the PIAA State Championship in Hershey, where they would find themselves two more times in Coach Henzes' overwhelmingly successful career.
     On both nights, it was cold. On both nights, it was close. Perhaps, more than any other similarity, however, on both nights, two Pennsylvania high school football teams exemplified everything that young student-athletes can be as they demonstrated fight, fire, and a fierce respect for their opponent.
    The Rare Breed would never play Dunmore more than twice in its forty-four years, and, yet, those two contests are among the most memorable we ever played.  
     And I suspect that the greatest likeness between the two programs was not in the coaching styles or the types of players or a common playbook.  Like Lansdale Catholic, where, on its three green fields, the mantra of “Faith, Family, Football” was planted and nourished for over a generation, the forty-seven teams of Coach Jack Henzes learned that football is more than a game. And as exciting and dramatic as high school football can be in the life of a young man, his family, and a community of loud and supportive and fervent fans, it does not last forever.  
     What does last forever are not just the memories, but the moments, both in loss and victory, that forge the men, the workers, the husbands, the fathers that those young boys become.  Whether on the field, in the weight room, or within the walls of the locker room, the ironclad truths, values, and lessons hammered at for nearly fifty years will survive any and every opposing force for several lifetimes to come. To, Coach Jack Henzes, who with 444 career victories is second in the state only to the late and great George Curry of Berwick, much respect and more.
     Here’s to “God. Family. Dunmore Bucks.”  

When I was approaching my teenage years, I have a distinct memory of my parents telling me that they hoped I would play basketball for the many things it offered just by nature of being a team sport.

I heard their words: Goal setting. Seeking a mission. Team work.

I heard their words, but I am not so sure how much I appreciated them even as my high school and collegiate careers were dominated by team sports participation. At the time, I did fully grasp working hard, getting better, improving my strength and skills, understanding the game, and going after championships alongside my teammates. Ten years of my life were immersed in a life of team sports ~ basketball, field hockey, and, my favorite, lacrosse.

Even as my teams worked together and achieved our goals, I am sure I did not completely comprehend just how important being part of those groups was to my adult life as wisely as my parents did. Not until years after my lacrosse stick was hung up and my cleats put away forever, did I begin to realize how learning to be part of team is so crucial in life.

Whether it is a partnership, a marriage, a company, a staff, an orchestra, a club, an organization, a family, or any the groups that make society run successfully and smoothly, I understand greater than ever how individual mindset about team matters.

When everyone is doing their part, working hard, being positive, supporting each other, the most unbelievable and incredible things are possible. Any group of people can overcome great obstacles when each team player resists the temptation to do the things that distract, detour, and even derail them from their purpose, and instead, becomes dedicated to something bigger than ourselves.

Unfortunately, as preached in the passage above, it only takes one individual who does not have team spirit, to completely begin the its destruction, creating discord and division in direct conflict with the mission of the group.

Any coach or player, at some point in his or her career, will be most likely have experienced what is often referred to as a “team cancer”. It is that person or group that actively undermines what the team is hoping to achieve. It is insidious in that is often not open behavior, but done secretly in whispers and in corners. It can be complaining about the coach, bad mouthing other players, not following team rules or expectations, and disrupting any attempt at harmony among its members.

I am fortunate as a player to not have had to witness too many team cancers in my decade as an athlete ... but saw just enough to know that, not only is it very hard to win this way, it also robs even a team that has a losing or difficult season of a once-in-lifetime opportunity to face and overcome challenges as part of pack banding together through rough times.

Believe it or not, even without the wins and championships, beating adverse circumstances aligned toward a common good is a worthwhile mentality and endeavor that has lifelong implications.

In my life, I see more clearly as an adult why my parents, partners who are going on almost 60 years of marriage having raised nine children, desired that I embrace being part of a team. The joy of winning was awesome and has given me great pride and wonderful memories. But living and lasting is the understanding of how important it is to work together and devote only words and deeds that will drive any “team’s” mission to success, be it at work, home, play, or any area of our lives.

Anyone or anything that damages the team, the marriage, the organization, the family, or any group seeking something good and noble in this world ….anyone or anything that creates discord, divides, derails,ultimately destroys...cannot have a place on our court if we want to experience the joys, blessings, and wins of a life that inevitably involves struggle.

We need to learn and teach the value of team, and, as indicated in Romans, be mindful that not everyone will always be on board. It is best keep away from those intent on threatening the success of the group by undermining its members and its mission.

They will likely never know something my parents did years ago.

There is joy in taking one for the team:)

In our Football Family, Sunday mornings were set aside for Mass. You could go at the crack of dawn or wait until noon, but it was a sure thing that ~ no matter which time Mass you attended ~ you were going. In a family of eleven, you were also sure to catch a "shuttle" with one of the house drivers license owners to Saint Stanislaus Church in Lansdale, Pennsylvania, at some point Sunday morning.

If you waited til the final Mass during football season, you would find your morning routine altered somewhat. I recall many times being on the second floor in front of the hallway mirror with a curling iron and lip gloss in hand, readying for the last chance to gather to worshilp that morning, hearing the bustle of my mom preparing the living room for the afternoon's event: the coaches' meeting.

She would go to a mid-morning Mass, then hit the grocery store on the way home. I could hear her fixing the coffee, setting up the TV trays, and prepping the spread of bagels, cream cheese, fruit, and pastries as the front door swung open a handful of times as she did so.  In they came, one at a time, the indispensable and anything-but-uniform medley of men, greeting my mom with a kiss and taking their place around the living room, where the television displayed the previous day's game.

Over the next few hours, that game would be reviewed, dissected, replayed, re-lived, and scrutinized by these gentlemen. Their names and faces may have changed over the years, but their immeasurable value did not as each brought his own personality, his own character to the table as they forged ahead in their brainstorming mission to arm their young team with every weapon possible, every chance possible to win that next game.

As I would make my way down the stairs to make the noon Mass, I had a big decision ahead: should I use the front door or should I go out the back? If the atmosphere was light and jovial, I would spend a minute or two to say a hello before crossing the living room floor to exit the front door. However, if the climate was tense or even loud, I would slip through the kitchen and disappear out the back.

Like most families, the back-and-forths, the go-rounds, the rows were just as crucial as the laughter, the consensus, the togetherness.  These men, who might just as well have been sitting in peace in their own living rooms watching the NFL with their feet up and a beer in hand, were family, and, in their unstoppable mission to work together for a common goal, they gave their time, their talents, their energy, their enthusiasm, themselves to the Rare Breed.

Some were emotionally intense, others cerebral yet driven, and still others could be a combination of both. But they were each unique, and whatever style of coaching they delivered week in and week out through the preseason, season, and off-season, the assistants were a rare group of men whose significance to a head coach and his program was overwhelmingly beyond words.

The assistants. They were priceless, they were rare, and, to us, they were family.

​And I am as sure of that as Sunday Mass.

The first professional preseason game. The NFL Hall of Fame. The fresh and green local fields where the smell of camp gently blows in the August air... sure signs that football is upon us.

One of my favorite & easy appetizers for Game Day are these healthy appetizers made from just a few simple ingredients: Healthy Honey Chicken Fingers. Warning: Recipe may need to be doubled ~ maybe tripled:)

Here. We. Go:

     Large Chicken Breast ~ 1
     Honey Bunches of Oats cereal~1.5 cups
     Sea Salt~ season to taste
     Pepper ~ season to taste
     Eggs ~ 2
     Honey ~ or dip of choice

     While oven is preheating at 450 degrees, break the eggs into a container, cut the chicken breast into 3 by 3/4 inch strips, mix together well, and set in freezer while you prep the coating.
     I use a sealed plastic baggie to crush the Honey Bunches cereal for several minutes. It is helpful to double bag if necessary to prevent leaks from tears.  Once finished, I add sea salt and pepper to my liking ( 3/4 tsp and 1/4 tsp, respectively), but any spice of choice can be mixed in.
     Remove the chicken-in-egg mixture and roll each strip individually in a container holding coating mixture and arrange on an ungreased cookie sheet.  Bake for approximately 12 minutes (outside golden and inside not pink) and serve with honey, ranch, barbecue sauce, or any dip you are a fan of:) 
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      Game time ~ Go Feast!

    I can say it, yell it, write a thousand times...but I will let today's blog be Dave Wottle's own words and performance. It says it all: Never Give Up.
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​    Did you ever notice how many times meals, food, feasts, and coming to the table to eat are not merely mentioned,  but actually celebrated in Scriptures?
     For mine and many families, football is just one occasion that brings us together with our best dishes, crocks, and desserts in hand.
     And so, in honor of the 82nd NFL draft taking place in Philly starting tomorrow, the first of the Football & Football recipe blogs begins. Today is a Game Dip that honors the beautiful combination of steak, cheese, onion, sauce, and fresh bread that guests of Philadelphia have come to know and love. Here. We. Go.

     Frozen Sandwich Steaks ~ 6
     Onion ~ 1 Medium
     Cream Cheese ~ 16 ounces
     Pizza Sauce ~ 14 ounces
     Mozzarella Cheese ~ 2 cups, shredded
     Italian Bread ~ 2 loaves

     While oven is preheating at 350 degrees, brown the steaks in a large skillet on medium heat, breaking them into chipped pieces as you go. When done, drain them in a colander, and set aside.  
     Chop the onion, and cook in the skillet on low for 15 minutes.
Add the steak and the cream cheese and mix until cheese is melted.
     Spread the mixture on the bottom of a 9 by 13 glass pan, or a large square Corningware-style dish.  Pour the pizza sauce evenly over the mixture, and sprinkle the shredded cheese on top.
      As it bakes for 25 minutes (or until hot and bubbly), slice the loaves of bread and arrange pieces in a fitting serving tray.  I like to set out ketchup, hot sauce, or whatever you got for guests to spread over bread before topping with the cheesesteak dip when ready to go.
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      Now let's get ready for some football!
      Go feast!

     We often hear patience is a virtue. Sports, however, taught me that patience is a necessity.
    Whether it was perfecting a skill, cracking the starting lineup, or finally winning a championship title, a patient and progressive persistence is required on the field, the court, and, ultimately, life.  In this culture that increasingly expects instant gratification and automatic results, it is more important than ever to remember that many things take time, and, as Joel Embiid would say, we need to "Trust the Process."
     Jacob waited 7 years for Rachel because he loved her, and she ~ like many women I know ~ was worth it.  And with the immediacy that we almost demand and feel entitled to these days, so many things truly still are worth the wait.  Practicing patience until those things are delivered can keep us from ever giving up so that we experience them at the right moment in time.
     Some of the most successful people found that moment late in life. Vera Wang didn't embark on her design career until she was 40. Rodney Dangerfield didn't earn respect as a comedian until he was 46. Betty White didn't become the beloved icon that she is until she joined the cast of Mary Tyler Moore when she was 51. Laura Ingalls Wilder didn't publish the classic Little House series until she was 62.
     All my dad ever wanted was to be a high school teacher and head football coach. Even though he left the priesthood pursuit as a teenager, one of his former players described his 50-plus year career as a "lifelong sermon to young men."  But I remember my father telling me that, when he was serving as an assistant coach year after year as a young man, he came to believe he would never be given a head coaching position.
    In 1968, at the age of 32, he came home to my mom holding a classified section of the newspaper with a tiny ad for the head coaching position at a small Catholic school in a place called Lansdale circled.  He called, interviewed, got the job, and truly lived his dream coaching the Rare Breed for 44 years.
    His career, because it was a lifelong message of Faith, Family, Football embodied in a journey of excellence, was an immeasurable success even without a title or trophy ~ though his team had many.  But year after year, season after season, little by little, the moment every high school football coach imagines came to be.  And, after 37 years of wins, losses, ties, comebacks, heartbreaks, and championships, the Rare Breed won the Pennsylvania State Crown.
     Without a respect for patience, persistence, and "the process", it is likely this moment would have gone unknown. But at the right moment, at the right time, it happened. He was 68. And it was well worth the wait.
     
​Photo Credit: Rob Eberle
     

I was a kindergarten student when I questioned my dad...
Why is our family doing this week after week? 
His answer: "So young men get better everyday."
When I interview my father, a truly awesome coach and gamechanger to so many young men, there are many great names who flash across the 2,000 - strong Rare Breed memory: The O'Haras, Ritinis, Chip, The Collins, Wagners, Walshes, Definises...Roddys, Trotters, Algeos, Benders, Greers...Kraynaks, Lagaromisnos... more than I know. I cannot possibly list them all.
While I seek them out, these are so many men my father encourages me to interview. He loves the greats & truly talented that established the Rare Breed Tradition.
But they did not exist without the unsung, hardworking bulldogs. He gives me so many names that did not make the headlines. The ones that also clanged the weights through the coldest months of winter to be better and stronger come the hot and humid dog days of August camp.
And that is the beauty of the Rare Breed. It wasn't just built for the athletic finest.
It was built for the best of men.
Men who established goals and got after it. 
And after Football, now they have Family...and hopefully Faith.
May they continue to "Get After It!"










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