DanMargarita.com

I've decided that it's time for a career change. I'm going to try out for the Chicago Bears. This idea was inspired by John Henry Williams, the son of Red Sox great Ted Williams, who at 33 years of age has asked for and received a try out with the BoSox.

Since being the progeny of a talented athlete seems to be a sufficient qualification to be given a try out by a professional team, I figure that I fall into that category.

You see, my father, Bob Margarita, played for the Chicago bears from 1944-46, and was pretty darn good. Normally a guy like me wouldn't even get a phone call returned from a professional team. I'm small, slow and old (by professional sports standards).

Those physical limitations are generally considered a drawback in pro football.

I could do what many pro football players do, take steroids and then I'd be a little bigger, but still too small, a littler faster, but still too slow, and still just as old.

Many athletes, particularly in baseball, have followed their father to the big leagues. Bobby and Barry Bonds, Ken Griffey Sr. & Jr., and we are now on our third generation of the Boone family. In fact, when Griffey Jr. came to the majors, he was his father's teammate.

Considering the wonders of modern medicine, perhaps my father could make a come back. At 81 he might need double knee replacements, a hip replacement, a lung transplant and a few cortisone shots to once again be one of the most elusive halfbacks in the NFL. Granted, at this point in his career he'd probably have to become a blocking back or at the very least be relegated to special teams.

Going to training camp with my dad would be loads of fun as my veteran father would make me, the rookie, sing my college fight song for the rest of the team, although I don't know if Bunker Hill Community College actually has a fight song. Frankly, I always thought of that school as being more like "Benny Hill" Community College (which I guess would make Yakkity Sax the school fight song).

In my father's day, football players played on both sides of the ball, my father being a halfback on offense and a defensive back as well. I would expect to do no less, which would make scrimmaging against him very interesting. As he came through the line it would be my responsibility to rush up and put a shoulder into his ribs. This would also get out any lingering grudges that I've built up since childhood.

Wham!

"Now can I have a pony!?"

Last night one of the local TV stations showed videotape of John Henry Williams at the plate, and honestly, I've seen Little Leaguers with better swings. Perhaps someone should buy him a copy of his father's book The Science of Hitting.

Good luck to John Henry at attempting to do what his father and many others (including me) think is the hardest thing to do in sports---hit a baseball traveling anywhere between 80 and 100 m.p.h., and moving in any number of directions.

Next thing you know some joker will think that just because his dad was President of the United States that he could.....oh.