Once upon a time (mid sixties) there was this football player with big muscles and matching surgical shoulder smiles, big guy -- really BIG -- about 6'2", 260 and no fat. He liked to pump up, see how wide he could make the scars. No kidding! His first game, the very first play, well he sorta launched himself at the opposing line and squashed four Kentucky players about as flat as a turtle on State Road 37. After all the bodies were sorted out, limbs re-attached and stretchers carried off, he was tossed from the game.
From that time on, he was known as "Chicken Hawk", or "Hawk" for short.
Trust me, you never saw anything scarier than Chicken Hawk when was riled. During four years at IU, there were numerous fights, often with opposing teams' players who'd heard of Hawk and wanted to try their luck at a party after the game; or occasionally some moron would get drunk and say the wrong thing. To my knowledge, nobody ever made that mistake twice. These were all one punch knockouts.
See, Chicken Hawk was also a Golden Gloves champ and pretty quick with his hands. And he was fearless.
Once, at a street party after the Oaken Bucket, which we'd lost as usual, a PUke lineman was mocking The Hawk, who was in a full leg cast after having torn out his knee somehow. This PUke bully thought he was safe. Hah! As if a full leg cast would stop the Hawk. Bang, the guy was OUT! One punch, as usual.
Well, after a few games it was decided Hawk couldn't play the line any more. We couldn't afford the penalties and the other teams' trainers were tiring of having to re-inflate their squashed linemen, so Hawk was relegated to kicking field goals and extra points. Everybody knows kickers are crazy, afterall. And what do you know, by the time Hawk graduated, he was the all time IU scoring champion.
This is no lie.
But the best is yet to come. One day, we were all outside our fraternity house, playing touch football, and some dweebs at the house across the street threw out some taunts. You know, stuff like, "Yoo Hoo, burly boys, playing with your little balls?"
Big mistake! That certain look came into Hawk's eyes, you know, like they were spinning or something, and off he went like he was after the Kentucky line. My brother in law, who was a member of that house remembers the day well. Hawk tore through their front door and called everybody out. Not a sound could be heard in response. Hawk stood there for a full fifteen minutes, breaking stuff, yelling, and NOBODY showed his ugly mug. My brother in law says everybody was in their closets or under their beds.
I've often wondered how I survived. You see, Hawk's senior year, I had custody of the fraternity kitchen. I had the keys and only I could enter when meals were finished and everything was locked up. Well, Hawk had an amazing appetite. He once ate a 32 OZ steak at a local restaurant on a dare. The promotion was that anybody who could eat the steak and the watermelon-like baked potato that came with it in one sitting without throwing up, would eat for free. Hawk took that challenge and not only ate the steak, he wanted dessert. On most nights, Hawk would rush to the team dinner after practice, then race back to the House for another course. Well, one night he was late and I'd already closed down the kitchen and locked up. He found me on the third floor and asked me to open the kitchen for a snack. Quivering in my Weejuns, I said no. Hawk got more insistent, and I dug in. Finally, I said, "F#$k you, Hawk, rules are rules."
His face scrunched up, his eyes glazed over and his fists curled into anvils. Then he started shaking -- yes, shaking -- I kid you not. As my life was passing before my eyes and I was wondering how high I would bounce from three stories up, Hawk turned and just walked away. Fifteen minutes later, he was back and in a soft voice he said, "Don't ever say that to me again."
As you might imagine, I was only too happy to accomodate him.
Don't get me wrong, Chicken Hawk was a nice guy, someone you'd want to be around, well, when he wasn't pissed. And he was a loyal friend. Hawk was never arrested, never in trouble. But you just didn't mess with him.
An example why it was good to have Hawk around. One time, I got on the wrong side of a linebacker from Notre Dame, something about a girl, his sister in fact, who I'd... um... enjoyed... and not called back. Well, she told her brother, and he wanted to correct my attitude and readjust the placement of some of my bones. So he calls me, tells me he's coming down to Indy for some NFL workouts -- he had a long career in the NFL -- and that he's gonna drop down to Bloomington later to pay me something of a painful visit. While my roommate and I were discussing what city I should visit for the evening and how quickly I could get there, my other roommate went to fetch Chicken Hawk. Before I could pack my bag, Hawk was at my door, asking what was happening. I told him about my little conversation with the Incredible Hulk and about my plans for a tour of Terre Haute, and Hawk started laughing. He said, "Don't worry, Pencil-Neck" -- that's what he always called me -- "I'll take care of this."
About six hours later, big brother actually came calling. Hawk had thought it was a bluff, but said to call him when and if Bluto appeared. Well, I tried and couldn't find him; his roommate didn't know where the hell he was. I considered running but feared Beefcake could outrun me, and I thought that might cause even more disfigurement. Besides, I had a gift for gab; maybe I could talk myself out of trouble.
I went downstairs and then outside, so I wouldn't ruin the entry carpet with pools of sticky red stains. And no sooner was Beefo explaining what he was gonna do to me, and that it was too late to make things right by his sister, when out walked Hawk, shirt off, muscles bulging -- he'd been doing his neck raises with his usual 360 pounds or so of weights (No BS, I swear!). Turns out, he and Beasto knew each other. So, they spent about ten minutes getting re-aquainted, probably sharing steroid dosage data, then they clapped each other on the back playfully, and The Hulk climbed back into his car. Hawk smiled and walked me -- or maybe carried me cause I was a little shaky -- back inside. As I started to stumble upstairs, Hawk whispered, "Maybe you'd better call her and apologize. Send some flowers too."
Needless to say, two dozen yellow roses were sent the very next day. And I called too. It musta given her great pleasure to hang up on me, maybe not as much as a picture of me in pieces, but I'm glad I was able to give her... um... a little more satisfaction.
True story.
So what happened to Hawk? What jail is he currently ruling? How many years is his sentence?
He's Senior VP of Sales for a major pharmaceutical corporation.
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