Andress Football

I worked as an equipment manager for the football team at Andress High School my sophomore and junior years.

My good friend David had already signed up, and one day while we played basketball at the park, he asked if I wanted to join him. It sounded like fun, and also like something that was out of reach. I’d gone to the games since that time in 2nd grade when we got discounted tickets at Newman Elementary next door. That was against El Paso High, and we lost huge that year if I remember correctly. I recall wind and rain that night, so it was pretty crappy in more ways than one. Anyhow, it seemed like a good time and a chance to be around Andress football.

But it came about. There were four of us my first year—two seniors, David (a junior) and me. I might have been 135 pounds soaking wet, and maybe 5’8” or so. I just remember lugging sled dummies back into the garage from wherever the linemen pushed the sled, which typically was as far away as possible. The fire hoses which marked the lines of scrimmage weren’t too bad, just unwieldy. David could carry one on his shoulder and another one in his hand and not appear to have too much trouble. I just tried to time it to where I didn’t have to lug another one.

As for gamedays, things started the day before when we organized the jerseys by tens to give to the players. At the stadium, our job involved many elements. Place the footballs for warm-ups, have the toolbox ready in case a face mask, cheek pad or chin strap needed work; making sure the kicking tees got to the kicker punctually, as well as dashing out for the orange tee once the kickoff team took care of business. Postgame, we’d get the jerseys back and all our equipment back in the ‘cage,’ and things like that. The stadium was darkened and the crowd long gone by the time we went home.

I don’t remember much about our preparation or work, but I do recall some great games, since AHS was in the middle of what became a 38-game winning streak in district play. These days, the Golden Eagles still make the playoffs pretty regularly, but these were special times. Beating Carlsbad at home after being down by two scores in a driving rainstorm/lightning storm/power outage.

I remember being on the field my junior year at the Sun Bowl for the first-round playoff game against Hanks. We didn’t lose bi-district games in those days, and we beat the Knights pretty soundly. It was the next week we were excited about—a trip to Odessa to play the Permian Panthers. The following year would be the year Buzz Bissinger chronicled a year of PHS football. Permian came to the Sun Bowl the next year and beat us 41-13, so we made the book, albeit inauspiciously.

But my junior year, we headed east for Ratliff Stadium, knowing full well the task before us. These were the days of the Midland, Odessa, San Angelo and Abilene teams comprising the “Little Southwest Conference,” as it was called. The football in this neighborhood was outstanding in these days, and our excellent 1988 district championship team lost 34-0. One factoid I remember (it’s funny what sticks sometimes) is that team gave up three points in the third quarter. All season. Twelve games, and only Carlsbad could kick a field goal on opening night. I also remember getting lit up by Coach Culberson (defensive coordinator and a big man) for not running our football out to the game officials that day. I threw them out there, and he made sure I heard about it. I understand why he was upset, given how the game went.

There were lots of great memories over those two seasons, but truth be told, that job was probably bigger than me. I was OK with it as long as I was an underling, which was the case my junior year too. I’d have been the head manager as a senior, but I got into a bit of a snit when I didn’t get a letterman’s jacket after we won district, so I quit and didn’t tell anyone on the football staff. It’s a regret, and something I wish I had to do over.

Every Day You See One More Card

A round number birthday is approaching the week, roughly marking the halfway point as a space traveler. I feel like I should be a little more contemplative—thinking about where I am, what I’m doing, where I should be, etc. But I want storytelling to be the point of this here blog, so I think those things are being accomplished, in a way.

Occupying my mind the most has been a job interview I had last Tuesday, for a position that would open a lot of doors. I interviewed first, and I think it went really well. I truly believe nothing more can be done from my end—I have a lot of things in my favor here. A few other folks have interviewed, and the waiting, as Tom Petty would say, is the hardest part. We should know something this week sometime.

This past Saturday, the First Lady and I went into Birmingham with our church friends, as a batch of deacons, including two women from our own parish, were ordained and sent into the world. I’ve spent time here saying how much we love our church, and we were not disappointed. The music on that enormous pipe organ, in that church which began its history in 1871 and has sent men off to several wars, was incredible. The liturgy I’ve known since I was a boy was uplifting and soothing all at the same time. Truly a special event for us.

So maybe I’ll get a little more reflective as this birthday approaches. Right now, it’s a day this week much like any other day; a birthday that for now feels like any other.

9/11

So today marks the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks in New York, Washington, DC and Pennsylvania. I've spent time reflecting on what I felt then and what we now know about the attacks.

First, a little background. I'd accepted a radio job in Woodward, Oklahoma a month before, and my folks had come up from El Paso to see me. They spent some time knocking around the area, since Dad has family whose roots are more toward Enid. Saturday, September 9, we'd gone to the Oklahoma State/Louisiana Tech football game at (then) Lewis Field on the OSU campus. Turned out to be a close game, won by OSU late. I well remember Dad laughing and waving in time to the Waving Song, which the OSU band plays when the team scores. He seemed to be a little kid, and it made me happy to watch him.

We drove back to Woodward the next day, since the boss called a Sunday afternoon meeting. The folks drove home and I went in to the station.

The morning of the attacks started the same way as many others did-- out of bed about 7:30 for a shower and into the kitchen for breakfast as I listened to the station. The news we carried at 7:57 am talked about a plane crashing into the World Trade Center. I didn't think a whole lot about it, since there had been an incident involving a kid flying a small plane into a building in Tampa a month earlier. Now when the news finished, our morning guys (station owner and one other) typically started talking about whatever. Not this time. This was my first indication that something was not right. They were watching the TVs in the studio and were speechless.

Arriving at the station close to 9:00, I recall splitting my time between checking the news wire and watching the screen in the studio. I was a news and sports guy at the time, and I spent some time getting MOS (man on the street) interviews, eventually riding out to Woodward Regional Airport and spending a few hours covering a bomb threat. It turned out to be false, but you have to follow up on it, since we really didn't know the scope of things quite yet. It's about 2 pm and I hit the drive through for a quick bite to eat.

This part of the afternoon is a bit sketchy in the memory banks-- I guess I went back to the station to edit sound bites for our local newscasts. I believe it was this afternoon, maybe four or five pm when I went to St. John's Episcopal Church (my church, for the time being) for a healing/reflective service. More audio editing followed back at base camp.

I made it home about 9:00 that night, and finally sat on my couch, watched some news reports and tried to process what happened this day. I was in full work mode and adrenaline was racing, so I'd not followed the news reports very closely and hadn't done any emotional searching yet. I think I went to bed about 11, since the next day figured to be as full as this one, as we started to make sense of what happened.

Our station stayed with the network news coverage instead of normal programming that day, and went with more somber music to fit what became a time of national mourning. I think some parts of Oklahoma didn't play football that Friday (I know I didn't want to cover or watch any), but the Woodward Boomers played Saturday evening against Great Bend (my first Kansas high school game) and won. There was also a city-wide service at the First Baptist Church Friday night, in place of football.

Pictures!

I've finally figured out how to add pictures from my phone! So far, I've added visual aids to some of the Tampa Trip and Pinstripe Bowl posts, so enjoy. More will follow.

Otherwise, the game goes on pretty much as before. Seven-plus inches of rain Sunday night into Labor Day Monday, meaning my front lawn got a good drink. Friday will be a rake and mow day. We camped out most of the day, watching The Right Stuff in all its three-plus hour entirety.

And football season is here in Alabama. The First Lady and I are newly-minted season ticket holders, section NN (upper deck, north end zone), row 15. This means we're roughly in Azerbaijan as we watch the game.

But we're there, and we stayed for the first three quarters of a season-opening win over Kent State. We had to leave early due to my work, but we saw what we needed to see. And let's just say Parking Services did us no favors that day, and let it go at that.

After my shift, I got home in time to see Kansas State score a TD and win (thankfully, I missed five purple turnovers), and to read about (no TV) a UTEP rally from two scores down to win in overtime.

House Blessing

The First Lady and I have been in our new home for a little over three months and pretty much have the kinks out, and have things where we want them. We knew we wanted to have a house blessing, it was just a matter of getting back to town and finding a day where our priest was available. Saturday, August 20 turned out to be that day.

The day started early, with a 5K road race I ran as a member of a local race team. 5:45 wake up for a 7 am start. I was home by 9:30, and after an apple fritter and a Bavarian crème-filled long john, I cleaned up and got about the business of being a host. We had the munchies and antifreeze already, so some light cleanup work was all that we needed.

We invited friends from all our different circles, and they started to arrive about 3:10. We had a full house about a half hour later. We were absolutely thrilled that so many people (41 by our count) wanted to share in our joy—we love our house, our friends and our church, so this was a great chance to put it all together. Father Marc started by blessing the water and praying over each room, sprinkling the water throughout the room at the end. Entryway, kitchen, living room, dining room, bedroom and even the master bathroom were covered. Not covered in the prayer book were storm cellars, of which we have one, so that was the last room to be blessed prior to coming back upstairs for closing prayers and dismissal. I’m on record here as truly loving our church and its priest and people, so it was really special for Ann and me.

We’d timed the event for 3-6 and the actual blessing at 4, since we knew folks had plans. But our trivia friends hung around and helped us get rid of some of the beer in the fridge. Much food, music, fun, libation and laughter were had by all. The conversation had found a dull point at one juncture, and the music from my Ipod got a razzing. The Wayman Tisdale albums had run their course, so I continued with more jazz from my Weather Channel collection. I like the stuff, but it was kind of like bad wallpaper. So out came the rap. I have no idea who most of the artists were, but I did learn that I have friends who know their rhymes.

The whole day turned out to be something really special for Ann and me—a home we love, surrounded by friends we love. I know it sounds corny, but it really was a day we’ll both remember for a long, long time.

EAOS +18

August 9, 1993 was a great day in world history. It was the day that marked the end of my active obligatory service in the U.S. Navy, closing the first four-year chapter of my post-high school life. I marked the occasion back then on my brother’s couch in San Diego, on my way back from Honolulu. It’s where I came to love that town. Great climate and lots to do. Went to a few Padres games, even an Angels game as Robert picked me up at LAX early one morning.

One thing disappointed me on that trip—my good friend John, with whom I grew up swimming and playing games with, was on the USS Constellation, which had just pulled in to town after dry dock in Philadelphia. I left a message onboard, but got his last name wrong, since his mother had remarried before he was born. We could’ve touched base back then and been better friends, instead of seeing him for the first time since high school in Harrison, Arkansas, stopping for lunch on our way to Alabama. We were virtually strangers, but I was happy to reconnect.

By now, August 9 is just another day, and I spent it at the running store. It was a very busy weekend there, with Alabama’s statewide tax-free weekend in full effect. Our store isn’t very big to begin with, and it was pretty crowded most of the time. Our new manager has taken over, and he seems like a nice guy. There’s another new guy there also—someone looking for a few extra bucks. He was in the store all the time anyway—I used to joke that we should put him on the payroll, but I didn’t think he’d take me seriously! But he’s a nice man, and will be fun to work with.

Yesterday I had to change a tire on the SUV for the first time in two years. I was on my way to the bank and took a corner too tight (a sewer drain corner, btw) and blew the right rear tire. You know how it is, when you hear rattling—you hope it goes away. But then that old familiar sound that reminds of a helicopter swooping down kicks in, and suddenly, plans change.

Now it’s 9:15 am in Tuscaloosa, but it’s still steaming hot. I was on the shady side of the car as I got down to business, but it was a small comfort, as sweat just poured off me and onto the pavement. It reminded me of the time I changed a tire in the parking lot at KCI after our house-hunting trip in July 2009. That was midnight, midsummer in the Midwest, and it was way worse then as compared to Wednesday.

Things worked out well enough—I got chores done and got back in time to open the store at 10, but I was an absolute mess. Thankfully, it was the first day of school in Tuscaloosa County, so business was slow enough to where my condition wasn’t an issue.

Tampa Trip, Vol. II

We’re back to the grind in Tuscaloosa, some time after returning from vacation in Tampa. Boy, was it a helluva time. Most of the trip has already been documented, but I thought I’d take a minute or two to talk about the experiences that didn’t involve food or running.

First off, church. Ann and I absolutely love going to church together. We go for pretty much the same reasons, and we take great joy in worshiping together. We went to St. Mary’s Episcopal Church, which is just down the street from our cousin’s home. It was the final sermon for their rector (priest in charge) before retirement, so he spent time hitting some of the highlights of our prayer book—things he thought were most important, since it would be his last time in the pulpit. We’ve always found Episcopal hospitality to be some of the finest around, and this was no exception.

The same can be said for the following Sunday, as we traveled downtown for a trip to St. Andrew’s. The building is a Spanish mission-style building, built around 1904, according to their web site. The parish itself formed in 1874. It’s also on the National Register of Historic Places. We thoroughly enjoyed the worship experience. We noted a plaque in the sanctuary after the service, and an usher, likely noting that we weren’t regulars, told us the story of a gentleman whose name was on the plaque. Apparently there was a storm many moons ago, and he, I believe a vestryman, was on a ship at the time, and apparently is still on patrol.

Tuesday was tour day, as Ann and I toured Raymond James Stadium, where the Tampa Bay Buccaneers play. Six bucks per person, but truly a bargain.

There were about 75-100 people there, basically with the intent of taking pictures, ourselves included. Locker rooms, on the field, near the famous pirate ship, skyboxes, etc. It’s quite the excellent facility.

The Tampa Yankees were also at home, playing the Palm Beach Cardinals, in minor-league baseball.

We sat six rows behind home plate for six bucks a ticket for a thirsty Thursday game. It was pretty steamy outside, and I had my polyester Cloud County baseball jersey on, so it was a little rough. The stadium is pretty good-sized, so as to handle large spring training crowds, so it kind of looked like nobody was there. Decent crowd, just spread out all over the park. The rugrats in the stands didn’t have much competition as they chased the foul balls.

Wednesday afternoon was soccer day, as the U.S. Women’s National Team played France in the World Cup semifinals. As I drove to the waterfront for my runs, I noticed a bar that would show the match, set for a noon kickoff on the east coast. . I’m a soccer watcher and follower, but I’m not hard core. I watched Abby Wambach head the ball in late against Brazil Sunday, so I was already invested, and ready for some ball. An early goal meant free beer as long as the gals were ahead. France tied the game, but our side scored again, so more beverage, followed by a victory.

The finals were Sunday against Japan, which made it interesting, logistically, since it was getaway day. Saw our first goal at the house, heard about the second one on gametracker on my phone, heard the US take the lead as I was going through security, and the rest on an airport TV. We were pretty bummed, but I saw an Asian (presumably Japanese)walking in the terminal and smiling from ear to ear.

I also hit the local running store, and was pretty jealous of how much space there was there, as compared to my store. I’d forgotten my body glide, so we had to pick some up.

Sadly, I had to leave Florida and Ann behind, but lots of great memories remain.