Pseudo-grandson is growing into quite the young man, he's polite (though his mama worries incessantly that he's not), smart, spiritual, and athletic. No, he's not perfect. He has his moments, as do all thirteen year olds. You know that age, full of awkwardness, at a crossroad of being not quite a child any more but not quite yet a teen. Thirteen means you're in seventh grade. Being a boy and in seventh grade means you get to play football. And, as you know, football in Texas is everything.
P.G. played offense, defense, and special teams...as did most of the seventh grade players. On offense, he was the quarterback. A darn good one too; nope, no pride here.
He also got to run the ball, pretty good here, too.
On special teams, he got to kick the ball...not quite so good here but he did get the job done.
I'm actually quite surprised that he likes playing football. P.G. has been playing baseball since he was nine months old. His baseball teams have consistently been in some play-off game or another and won some championship or another every year. But, this is Texas. It's in the DNA to play football.
Well done P.G., well done.