My other personal story occured during a very important Sunday scrimmage we had shortly before the season started. We were all very tired and ornery after several weeks of camp, and I -- like everyone else -- was in no mood for anyone to be hassling me. I was a 6'3", 240-pound rookie tight end, so I had about 20 pounds on Lambert. The particular play called for me to release inside and block down hard on Lambert to set up a sweep around the right side. Lambert didn't see me coming until the last instant. He tried to square up but couldn't, and I drilled him -- just floored him. The play went for a score, and he got up cussing and yelling with the wildest eyes I've ever seen! I was fairly certain that Mr. Lambert did not appreciate being decked, especially by a rookie like me. Making sure that everyone (especially Lambert) could hear him, Coach Noll runs over to me and yells "Great block, Mark! Super hit! You knocked Jack flat on his ###! That's what I wanna see from every tight end in camp! Now let's go, line it up again right now, same play!" Oh ####, Coach! You gotta be kiddin' me! Run it again? Oh, ####! I glanced over at Lambert, who was now clearly cranked up a couple of notches beyond ferocious. Had he any teeth, he would have been spitting through them. As we broke the huddle, Noll brushed by me with a thin-lipped grin and half-whispered in my ear-hole, "Let's see what happens this time, rookie." So we line it up again, and by this time Lambert is practically jumping out of his skin. I feel a virtual hug of kinship and understanding from a number of my offensive teammates, some of whom lowered their heads (perhaps in a brief silent prayer for me). On defense, they were all smiles... they knew what was coming. So Bradshaw takes the snap and L.C. Greenwood (nicknamed "Hollywood Bags") mysteriously allows me to slip past him without a touch (wow, I'm pretty quick, huh?) and before I could go more than about three steps, WHAM! Lambert hits me at full speed and flattens me like I'm a 3rd string punter! Not to be cliche, but I suspect my momma felt that hit... it left me a bit dazed. Lambert then steps on me and catapults over my body to make a vicious hit on Thunder Thornton (our 2nd-year running back), who was trailing me on the play. Needless to say, Jack stopped Thornton cold, then proceeded to stand over me, screaming and hollering and calling me some very bad names. In the heat of the moment, I lost my head. As Lambert turned to walk away, I dug my way out from under Thornton (who was still draped across my legs, perhaps shaking out the cobwebs), angrily scrambled to me feet and took a swing at Lambert, catching him flush across the earhole. In retrospect, that was not a very smart thing for a rookie tight end to do to an already angry Jack Lambert. I thought he was mad before... but he wasn't. Now he was mad. We exchanged some wild punches -- and what can only be described as "colorful" language -- before the coaches and some teammates pulled us apart. I was never so relieved in my life! I didn't sense that relief from him, however.