Benefield: A New Year's Day tradition that can't be beaten (w/video)

The Reynolds brothers were bleeding, Matt Bullington was sweating and covered in flecks of artificial turf and poor Ric Rascoe’s face was getting pummeled by a stick.

Happy New Year!

For nearly four decades, through rain and mud, hangovers, relocations and surgeries, even death, five Montgomery High School buddies have played football. Every New Year’s Day. Without fail.

“The holidays were always the time to get together,” said Mike Nyholm, a 1976 graduate of Montgomery High and one of the original group that stared the annual New Year’s Day game. “This game was just as strong a magnet as family and Christmas to a lot of us.”

The tradition became a tradition so fast that in its earliest years, it was clear that no invitations need be mailed, no phone calls made, no reminders sent. 10 a.m. Jan. 1. Montgomery. Be there.

And they always came.

“There is no need to for a call up, or venue alert. We are like lemmings really,” Nyholm said.

In the early days, there was a bit of cat and mouse involved. The guys would play on Montgomery’s junior varsity football field, no matter the conditions, which were often muddy and awful. The guys left looking terrible and the field looking no better. There was a time or two they were angrily shoo’d off the grounds by school officials.

The introduction of synthetic turf at Montgomery made the game a little more civilized. So too did the addition of young children to the mix and the passage of time that turned the game of tackle into a more gentle two-hand touch version.

The halves got shorter and the halftime breaks got longer. But still they play. And after the game they all head to the pizza parlor where losers buy winners beer, or maybe it’s the other way around.

I asked Nyholm how long the game usually lasts. That depends, he said.

“We are counting the clock waiting for Round Table to open up, wondering how much longer we can play until someone pulls a hamstring,” he said.

But nobody wants to be the one to call in sick or not show. Ric Rascoe decided to spend time with his granddaughter in southern California this year and miss his first game in eons. His punishment? A picture of his face was mounted on a stick and mocked mercilessly. The stick (and Rascoe’s face) were later pummeled in a modified baseball game.

It doesn’t behoove a buddy to miss this game.

But the players acknowledge that football is not for the faint of heart. Even two-hand touch can make itself known days later in the form of pulled muscles, skinned knees and all-over aches.

On Thursday blood dripped from Bob Reynolds’s knee. Others were covered in green flecks of synthetic turf. Jeff zJaehnig played the first half in a neck brace - a joking reminder of the year he played the game just after having neck surgery.

“I think all of us are afraid to be the first, but it’s in the back of our mind,” Reynolds said of when they will no longer be willing or able to suit up. “It takes a greater and greater toll on you. We have had a couple of torn hamstrings and one of them was mine.”

But for now, the smack talk is as bold as ever, even if the play is a step slow backing it up. On Thursday, there was dispute about how long the quarterback rush count should be. Barbs flew, joking accusations of cheating ensued and play resumed.

“It’s a great tradition,” said Jay Smith. Smith quarterbacked for the Vikings back in the day and on Thursday ran for the winning touchdown.

Playing, sweating, jawing with multiple generations - it’s all part of the joy. It wouldn’t be the same dynamic if it were over dinner or a game of golf. And doing it the morning after New Year’s Eve adds to the challenge.

“I’ve been here in all sorts of shape, that’s for sure,” Jay Smith’s son, Jared, said with a chuckle.

Jared, now 25, has been playing for 15 years and now travels up from his home in Oakland to play.

“You get a true showcase of athleticism - whether it’s good or whether it’s deteriorating,” he said.

While the core group is five guys, it’s grown to include their children, some in-laws, some friends of their kids. At one time, the core group was six strong.

Gary “Bull” Bullington was one of the original gang who played every year, even after he was diagnosed with cancer. He died two decades ago, when his son, Matt was two.

Matt plays every New Years day now, too.

“It was really hard for me to absorb the loss of my dad,” he said. “The great thing, from all these guys, I got to know him.”

“I can really feel him, the way he touched all of them,” he said.

The game is just one way Matt Bullington is reminded of his dad - by seeing the way his dad’s best friends have stayed best friends for decades. The game is simple but the meaning is much deeper.

So the buddies keep playing. And they will until they can’t play anymore and maybe even after that.

You can reach Staff Columnist Kerry Benefield at 526-8671 or kerry.benefield@pressdemocrat.com and on Twitter @benefield.