I was ten years old and playing pee wee football. The coach, in my memory, was about thirty-something. We had a huge game coming up. In order to get the defense ready for this super fast kid we were playing on Saturday, the coach assumed the fast kid's position at quarterback. We ran down the adult coach all week preparing for the big game. And then on Friday it happened. It started out innocently enough. The coach ran a few plays at quarterback. He felt we weren't getting to the fast kid fast enough. He urged us to do so. As the next play unfolded, we crushed the coach as he ran a sweep. As we, a host of ten year old boys, unpiled, we noticed the coach's shirt had been pulled up, his shorts a little down. And there it was... the coach was wearing a pair of silky lacy pink underware. I remember thinking they reminded me of my mom's. WHAT THE ...? Look, I got no problem with some dude wanting to wear panties. I free ball. To each his own. But getting kids to tackle you while you're wearing women's underware? I don't know about that one, dude. Whatever. Take care. Later, Butch