~ Malden Musings ~ Dave O’Brien Thanksgiving Day 1977 Revisited

By Peter Levine

It’s never too early to start getting hyped for Malden vs. Medford on Thanksgiving Day! This isn’t just any high school rivalry, it’s one of the oldest in the country, going strong since 1889. That’s the same year Malden’s own Erle Stanley Gardner, famed author of the Perry Mason series, was born. Gardner’s roots run deep here: He even took inspiration from Malden for his character Della Street, named after Malden’s own Dell Street by Roosevelt Park. A piece of Malden is immortalized every time Perry Mason airs on MeTV, but this football game brings it all to life.

If you’re from Malden – or even if you’ve just arrived – you’ve probably experienced the electric Thanksgiving tradition: cheering on friends, neighbors and family from the stands. And while today’s crowds may not hit the epic 18,500 who turned out in 1929, the passion is as fierce as ever. This game is about so much more than a score; it’s a yearly chapter in a living legacy.

No one captured that spirit better than Matthew Washington Bullock, Malden High School’s first African American head coach and a Harvard Law School graduate. Bullock, who left the South in 1889 with his family – formerly enslaved parents and seven siblings with only $10 between them – understood the gravity of this tradition. He once said, “The season does not begin until Thanksgiving Day, and should we lose that game, my work for the season will be a rank failure.” His words capture what this game has always meant to Malden: heart, grit and an unwavering sense of pride.

Thanksgiving Day isn’t just a game; it’s a celebration of Malden’s resilience, history and community. So, whether you’re a longtime fan or gearing up for your first match, get ready to be part of something historic.

Here is Malden High School Class of 1977 Dave O’Brien relating his football/Thanksgiving Day experience as only Obie can:

“We tend to focus on, and recall more often, the endings of our experiences. Journeys find their meaning in the outcome. It’s called The Grand Finale for a reason.

“Perhaps unsurprisingly, it turns out that seniors who lose more than half of their games but win the Thanksgiving Game often report higher levels of satisfaction with their final season in particular and better memories of their entire boyhood football experience in general than seniors who win more than half of their games but lose the Thanksgiving Game.

“Endings are more eventful. But beginnings are where we start.

“Before I even hear of Pop Warner, I play one-on-one tackle with Anthony Pasquale on the lawn of the haunted house on Auburn Street. He is younger, but bigger. He moves to Medford.

“1970. I am eleven. And I’m a troubled kid. My brother Danny has died that summer after getting hit by a car. I don’t cry at the memorial service. Not even when they play Bridge Over Troubled Water. But stay tuned.

“Coach Marsinelli makes me a captain of Malden’s first C-Squad. We lose every game and have fun doing it. I am thrown out of four games for fighting. But Mars gets me. And he doesn’t give up on me. And he goes to bat for me when a referee tries to ban me from playing.

“At the banquet he gives me a trophy and tells everyone I play the game the way it is meant to be played.

“1971. I move up to A-Squad and start at left guard. I don’t wash my practice uniform. I mean, ever. I have to leave it on the back porch. It turns from white to brown and smells like a Roosevelt Park puddle. I am one with my environment. I block for Stanasek and Russell and Jesi and Langston and Roach. I find out what it feels like to win the G.B.L.

“1972. Thirteen years old and a captain of the A-Squad. This year, I wash my uniform, and we don’t win the G.B.L. We come close. But we lose to Chelsea in the final game. Billy Swanson, who will choose not to play organized football after this season, is our best player on offense and defense.

“1973. Ninth grade, now. Beebe. Gene Revelas is the fullback, and I am tailback. We give each other concussions every Tuesday at one-on-one head-slamming drills. I see stars explode in the sky above and feel an electric shock go through exactly one side of my body. We surprise everyone by losing our first two games. But we finish the season 5-2.

“1974. My first year at Malden High. I can’t imagine any team, ever, having three better varsity captains than Jack and Jeff and Bunza. Our sophomore team goes undefeated. Shawn and I are on the varsity kickoff team. And this feels like a privilege because Malden wins the G.B.L.

“1975. A junior in high school. I have my best season. And my favorite season. I’m starting at left guard. My best friend, Louis Femino, is right guard. Malden wins another G.B.L. I could have climbed to the top of the gas tank next to the field and yelled, ‘Look at me, Ma. I’m on top of the world.’

“But that world of ours keeps on turning. And there is a reason why Greek tragedies are timeless. The season of 1976 rolls around. Senior year. Along with Louie and Richard Angelo, I’m a team captain. Much is expected of us. Lou Racca tells me that he wants an undefeated season. ‘And no ties.’

“They have me starting both ways. I’m a 160-pound nose tackle. I beat everyone on the bench press. But I have the legs of a distance runner. I’m an improper fraction. Designed for wrestling.

“I get off to a pretty good start. In our first game against Melrose, I get slugged. But I have matured. (Or so I believe at the time.) I don’t punch back. I waive bye-bye to the kicked-out-of-the-game Melrose player. We take the fifteen yards and win the game on a double pass.

“The season goes on. I wear down. There is inner-turmoil and what I think is called ‘adolescent angst.’ I’m seventeen and a mess. I have issues. And that all sounds like excuses.

“But, whatever. I am not getting the job done on defense and it is hurting the team, and I know it and it frustrates me, and I take those frustrations out on Mathew because he is the biggest kid on the team and I don’t have that size and maybe we should have two-platooned and blah, blah, blah.

“The Thanksgiving Day Game arrives. We are at Pearl Street on a perfect-weather day in front of six thousand people. I come out of the huddle for the first play of the game, and there, waiting for me, lined up at defensive tackle, is Anthony Pasquale.

“Malden is behind but we have the ball at the end of the game on what feels like the final drive. Malden fumbles. Medford recovers. And then something strange happens. A Medford player, who hadn’t yet been in the game, comes in for just one play. And when the play is over, he walks up to me and punches me in the helmet. Might as well have been a flea. But the old me resurfaces. And, without thinking, I punch him back. We are both kicked out. I have fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

“And if it was a designed set-up, it’s still my fault. I had to play my part for it to work.

“I walk to the sideline and sit on the bench. It’s sinking in. I’m done. It’s over and I’m out. I can’t undo it. Time’s arrow is unforgiving. I’m stunned. I feel empty.

“Medford wins.

“I walk down the hall of the clubhouse into the Medford locker room. Bennie Talbot thinks I am going there to fight. He follows me to back me up. But I just shake Anthony’s hand and say, ‘good game.’

“And then I’m back in the Malden room. With the kids I grew up with. Where there are so many memories. And there, it all catches up to me. My whole life to that point gathers like a storm cloud.

“Now cue the tears.

“Quiet on the set. And… action.

“Coach Finn’s voice, addressing the team: It’s over. Go on with life.

“And that’s a wrap. And it’s how my seven-year football journey ends.

“By way of a riddle and a plot twist and a slightly bizarre epilogue, at the end-of-season banquet, Coach Cullen gives me a trophy for…wait for it…Unsung Hero of the Medford Game.

“I never did figure that out. But that’s okay. Not all mysteries need to be solved.

“Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.”

As Peter Falk’s iconic TV character Columbo would say, “Just one more thing, sir” – here’s a little something, something stolen from the inner sanctum on my distraction box aka Facebook with permission from its originator, somebody named Tim Mills. He’s able capture the essence of “Malden Life” in a couple hundred words, something I have been trying to accomplish for the past 100,000 or so words. Bravo, Mr. Mills. I’ve tried contacting Timmy to flesh out his Malden life story or background to give him his just due. To no avail. Timmy is a man of mystery. Thank you anyway for this, sir, whether you are a real person or not:

“In Malden’s arms, where memories reside, Where the streets whispered secrets, side by side, The echoes of childhood still softly ring, in every corner, where the heart takes wing. The Granada’s glow on a Saturday night, Films flickering dreams in the silver light, Nelson’s sweet aroma filling the air, A bakery’s warmth, a city’s tender care. Ferryway Green, where laughter would play, Chasing the dusk as it faded away, And Suffolk Square, a bustling heart, where every small shop had its own part. Nedlam’s pride in blue and gold, Stories of youth, forever told, Stuart’s chatter, Riley’s Roast Beef, these were the days that felt too brief. The scent of coffee, warm and deep, In New England mornings, memories keep, Sparks and tees, the latest trend, worn by us all, friend to friend. The Rez, where winter’s grace was found, Skates on ice, a joyful sound, And Big A’s subs, after a snow-filled day, The taste of warmth in every way. Converse steps on every street, Where the rhythm of life was sweet, the rubber soles of dreams and hope, Guiding us on this lifelong slope. Devir’s sky on July’s bright night, Fireworks dancing, a dazzling sight, Tricca’s, Gloria’s, places we knew, each one a thread in the fabric we grew. Malden, you’re the song we hum, the gentle beat of a childhood drum, In every stone, in every tree, You hold our past, our memory. For in your streets, our hearts remain, In sun and snow, in joy and rain, Malden, our home, our guiding star, No matter the distance, we’re never far.”

—Peter is a longtime Malden resident and a regular contributor to The Malden Advocate. He can be reached at PeteL39@aol.com for comments, compliments or criticisms.