An epic game of tag

(CBS News) "TAG . . . YOU'RE IT!" is right up there with "Trick Or Treat!" as a jubilant cry of childhood. And for at least one persistent band of friends, it's a cry that has persisted well into adulthood. Our Cover Story is reported by Lee Cowan:

In the Idaho panhandle, along the shores of Lake Coeur d'Alene, the perfect approach on the golf course is followed by a not-so-perfect putt. But golf's warm good will, will be replaced by another game come winter -- and THAT spells trouble for this group of life-long friends.

Because all 10 of them have a mortal fear of February.

"Nothing can be trusted the last four or five days of February," said Bill Akers.

"I would let my dog out every morning, out the front door, and let him check out the front yard to make sure nobody was out there," said Chris Ammann.

Mark Mengert said, "It's hectic. Very hectic. It's, like, it starts immediately, and it's just a sprint 'til the end. You can't wait 'til the 28th!"

If it all sounds positively devilish, it is. Just ask their friend, a priest.

"You really are looking over your shoulder," said Father Sean Raftis.

What haunts them is very real, even if it makes them looks just plain creepy to outsiders -- looking under cars, sprinting through parking lots.

There's stalking, there's intrigue -- and a whole lot of paranoia.

But if you look closely . . . it's all very recognizable as a very elaborate, very adult game of tag.

"TAG! You're 'It'!

They call themselves the Tag Brothers, and every February -- for the last 23 years -- they spend lying in wait.

Joe Tombari (or Joey T., as he's known) even hid in the trunk of Patrick Schulteis' car, "coiled like a rattlesnake ready to fire out at him as soon as that trunk opens," he said.

Cowan joined Rick Bruya, who was hiding in a Seattle parking garage waiting to ambush his buddy Chris. "He's got to go by this area here to get to his car, so I think we should be in a prime location here," Mike said.

The wait was worth it: Chris was "tagged." "I figured it was my turn," he laughed.

The goal of the game is simple -- to get rid of the tag before the end of the month, or live with the shame of being "It" all year long.

No one knows the "it" feeling better than Konesky, who's currently "It" -- for the second year in a row.

"Yeah, thanks. Second year in a row. You don't have to keep rubbing it in!" he laughed.

He was tagged just hours before midnight on the very last day of February this year -- with no time to tag anyone back.

The Tag Brothers' friendship started some 30 years ago at their Catholic high school, Gonzaga Prep in Spokane, Wash.

They were a pack, a group of friends who had everything, and yet nothing in common, says Brian Dennehy.

"We weren't jocks. We weren't the smart guys," he said.

"You weren't in a clique?" asked Cowan.

"Not really. We were probably the refugees from all the other cliques. They didn't accept us."

"So you found each other."

"Yeah, we made our own gang!"

During a free period between classes, they were encouraged to either study or go to mass.

Joe Tombari says they opted to play tag instead. "We would scatter like mice, this way, take off running that way," he said.

Joey Caferro -- whose nickname is "Beef" -- says the stakes were always high: "It became like, oh, just chaos for five minutes. You know, you could just chase people all through the halls. There was people knocked down, there was mayhem. It was fun!"

But when high school ended, so did the game -- much to Joey T's dismay. Because he -- at the tender age of 17 -- was the last man standing. "Yeah, I was 'It' for life! That was no good!"

Then came college, weddings, kids and careers -- and the Tag Brothers scattered to the winds, some to Seattle, some to San Francisco, even Boston.

Reunions were rare, and missed. So over a few beers one night, they figured, why not get everyone back in touch -- literally.

Resurrecting their game of tag seemed pretty fitting to Father Sean Raftis: "The tag game is, I think, symbolic of the beauty and the depth of our friendship -- even though it's a pretty juvenile game to play!"

Patrick Schulteis, who grew up to be a lawyer, drew up three simple rules: "February only. No touch-backs. And the rule of honesty," he said. "So if I ask you, 'Are you 'It'?' you've gotta answer truthfully and reasonably promptly, and if you don't, you can't tag me."

So is anything off-limits, or anywhere?

"No, I don't think so," said Schulteis. "I mean, I got tagged at my dad's funeral. I was in the front row, and so the guys were going up to communion, and patted me on the shoulder. And Beef (a.k.a. Joey) comes up and patted me on the shoulder and mouthed to me, 'You're 'It.' I kind of looked at him and I said, 'Are you kidding?' And he said, 'Uh-uh, you're 'It'!' So I was It at my dad's funeral. Which was fitting. My dad would have thought that was funny."

Even Father Raftis is fair game.

"Does it make it harder, though, to tag him, because of what he does for a living?" asked Cowan.

"No, no," replied Joey. " 'Cause he's still down with all our humor, you know? He probably wouldn't want us to just disrupt his mass and run up and tag him on the altar."

"Would you?"

"I would!" Joey laughed.

The key is the element of surprise, hence the disguises. Fake mustaches are a favorite. They're above nothing: Chris played a vagrant panhandler, a getup that had Joey totally off-guard, when Chris tagged him outside a bar.

"You're a combination of scared and humiliated," said Joey.

"Yeah, you've been had, you've been found! You got nailed!" laughed Chris.

Not to be outdone, the very next day Beef went dressed as a "hot granny" with the "hag tag" (as it's come to be known), to pass the tag on to another brother, Rick.

"There really isn't a lot of dignity left at the end of the month, is there?" asked Cowan.

"No, none at all," replied Joey.

While waiting in a nearby park, he stayed in character -- even to passers-by. And when the moment arrived, "Granny" leapt into action.

"Ah ah!! You! Are! It!"

He left victorious -- with a thrust of his cane.

It may be tempting to pass the Tag Brothers off as childish, even crazy. But, Cowan says he's never met a funnier, friendlier group of guys. Their camaraderie is infectious -- and, frankly, enviable.

"I'm pretty proud of the fact that I still keep in touch with ten really good guys," said Brian. "And if that's not the definition of maturity and loyalty, I'm not sure what is."

Joe Tombari returned to his roots. He now teaches math at the gang's old high school in Spokane. He's convinced the tag game -- played in these very halls all those years ago -- has a lesson to offer the next generation.

"Be friends," he said. "Care for each other. Don't be afraid to push yourself to go out and connect with somebody. Tell 'em you care about 'em."

For more info:

• tagbrothers.com
• Tag Brothers on Facebook
• Gonzaga Preparatory School, Spokane, Wash.