Andrew Martin, destroyer of worlds. (Photos by JohnsPhotos.net)
One giant walking, talking bruise with an undying love for IHop pancakes.
Some football players try and do things with finesse, try and run away from their rivals, try to keep their uniforms clean.
Andrew Martin was never, ever one of those players.
“Hambone” is what you get if you build a time machine, go back to the ’50s, grab the guy who’s covered in mud and grass chunks, the guy everyone else is trying not to be hit by, then bring that dude back to modern times.
In other words, a new-school player with an old-school mind set.
Martin rarely dodged, always choosing to run right through fools instead, whether he was playing offense or defense for the Coupeville High School football team.
Hand him the ball, and the human battering ram often ran over the top of his own blockers, surging into the crowd, tearing off chunks of yardage (and sometimes ripping off opponent’s arms and legs in the process).
Martin bulldozes a would-be tackler.
Even in the open field, with no one in front of him, Martin sometimes pivoted backwards, seemingly just so he could feel the thwack one more time as he obliterated a would-be tackler.
He got in the end zone a fair amount of times, especially in big games, but all his best runs, all the plays which linger after his prep career has ended, involved slo-mo destruction.
The same was true on the defensive side of the ball, where Martin recorded tackles at a much more impressive pace than stat guys often recorded.
Rumbling from his linebacker position, or anywhere Wolf coaches plugged him into to as they employed various schemes, he was a wall of bricks.
Few got past him, no one got through him, and virtually everyone who wandered through Martin’s air space paid for it with a deep, aching burn down in their nether regions the next day.
He was a wrecker, a rumbler, a glorious throwback to a time when football players knew only one way to play the game — all-out, aggressive, and loaded for bear on every play.
Martin rose to the occasion, never more than on the night last fall when CHS football sealed the deal on its first winning season in 13 years.
Playing against 2A Anacortes, the Wolf senior rumbled for all three Coupeville touchdowns during a 27-carry, 137-yard swan song in front of his home fans.
Want to marinate in the moment one more time? Pop over to:
https://coupevillesports.com/2019/10/25/long-time-coming/
During Martin’s final season, I travelled to the team’s road games with Andy’s parents, and saw a different side to him than I might otherwise have.
After the Friday Night Lights had dimmed, after the roar of the crowd had receded, Andy would hobble back to the car, the effects of his playing style evident in how he moved, and in his good-natured description of all his various aches, pains, and injuries.
Yet, he never stopped moving forward. On the field, and in life.
Whether he was arguing for why he deserved post-game KFC, even if the nearest chicken outlet was way off the highway, breaking down every play from the game just ended, or trash-talking (in private) an opposing team player who tried (and failed) to intimidate him, Andy was a quality traveling companion.
I respect his game, appreciate the passion and grit he played with, and always found him to be quietly hilarious.
“Rest easy, little guy. Daddy will get you to the end zone and won’t let those bad men touch you.”
Off the field, the youngest member of the Martin clan was a strong student, and a talented member of the CHS band.
He also had some quality moments for the Wolf track and field squad, and could have been a beast on the basketball court like dad Jonathan, if he hadn’t needed downtime to heal his myriad football injuries.
But Andy made his mark on the gridiron, and jammed into the back of a car on the way home from games in some far-flung outpost, and that’s more than enough.
Today, his exploits, his fire, the way he lived, breathed, and (sometimes) suffered for football carry him into the Coupeville Sports Hall o’ Fame.
After this, you’ll find him, along with older brother Jacob, hanging out at the top of the blog, up under the Legends tab.
Bring him some KFC, sit back, and let him tell you in vivid detail what REALLY happened down there on the field, under the dog pile, away from the eyes of the ref.
Can’t write about it all, maybe, but it still makes for a heck of a story.
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