Love of the Game

I love to play football.  From the very first time I played on the school playground I was hooked.  I had thrown the football in the yard with dad, but never really played the game until physical education at Jemison elementary.

It was fourth grade recess, and two teams were playing.  I didn’t know anything about the game and had never watched one on television of been to one at school.  On one particular play a new kid had transferred from Calera Elementary and seemed to know about the game.  His name was Tony and he was quarterback.  I didn’t really know what a quarterback did, but he was the one throwing the ball.

As he dropped back to pass it, I realized he was throwing it toward me.  In yard football we played more running than throwing.  I was more Rugby than football.  I reached up and caught the ball.  The guys around me hollered “interception” and the new kid that threw the ball asked, “Whose side you on?” Not really knowing, I yelled, “Yours.”  He yelled, “Touchdown!”   That was the beginning of many passes that my future brother-in-law would toss me.  I would play many PE games before I actually witnessed a real game. 

 My best friend during my school years was Ricky.  He was a small boy and an avid University of Alabama football fan.  Tony my other new friend was an Auburn University football fan.  Being an ignorant poor boy from across the tracks, I was clueless about college football.  I had no idea about national championships.  As I said, never watched one and had no idea that a Bear was coach at Alabama or that a guy named Shug was coach at Auburn.

 One day in the lunchroom Tony and Ricky were arguing, as most Alabama and Auburn fans do, about who was better.  They would almost fight over it.  Finally, they asked me who I was for, Alabama or Auburn.  Now I was clueless about who or what an Auburn fan was, but I knew I lived in Alabama and said, “Alabama of course.”  Ricky and Tony would be bitter rivals until the die-hard Alabama fan went the Auburn University for an engineering degree. 

In the spring of the seventh grade, Ricky talked me into going out for football.  Spring training was much harder than PE football.  On the first scrimmage coaches lined up across from a junior named Tracy.  He was a monster.  I found out that he was a very good tackle.  He made All Conference the previous season.

I had never played organized football, so I asked the coach what I was supposed to do.  It sounded simple.  He said, “Tackle the man with the football.”  I had done a little of that at PE with my peers from fourth through seventh grade.  They were nowhere near the size of Tracy. 

Suddenly the center snapped the ball, and I disappeared in a cloud of dust and under a mass of humanity.  It hurt really badly, but I was determined.  Same thing happened over and over.  The best thing about the spring practice was I got to watch my first real live football game from the sidelines.

In the ninth grade I had the privilege and honor to be one of the practice dummies for the first every state championship playoff in Alabama and for Jemison.  We ended second in the State of Alabama Two A playoff.  In the off I have the privilege of seeing my first T-bone steak.   I couldn’t eat so I gave it to one of our running backs.   I got to go to a football banquet and received my first football letter.  They gave away trophies and I determined to win one the next year.

God blessed my football training by chasing hogs and I found that catching football players were much easier.  I played defensive end and offensive tackle/end.  I remembered what they told me at my first ever practice, “tackle the man with the ball.”  So, I did.  They added a bonus.  They said hit the quarterback every play.  So, I did when there was no one else to tackle. 

I earned two trophies for best defensive player for my junior and senior years.  Made all conference and had scholarships offers.  I received one from Dartmouth College and another from a junior college.  Alabama and Auburn said I was too small.

 I loved to hit quarterbacks.  I love the game.  I loved it enough that I received a cussing every day when I got home from walking six miles to house and feeding hogs and getting in firewood.  I loved it enough that we played most every Saturday and Sundays between morning and night services.

My dad worked evening shift.  One night my sophomore year, I went to the sideline for a breather.  Someone said your dad is here.  I looked and there stood dad in the tunnel leading to the field.  He was in his work clothes, covered in grease, and wearing a hardhat.  I was proud and happy.

My junior year he sacrificed and took off work to travel to Selma, Alabama to watch me.  That night I had hit the quarter back most of the night forcing him to pitch the football.  The coach changed the scheme and had me take the running back.  When the Selma quarterback ran the option, he looked to see where I was.  When he saw me, he pitched to the running back whom I hit immediately forcing a fumble.  The football shot high in the air and hit in the end zone spinning like a top.  I jumped on it scoring a touchdown.  Dad was there.

The new Name Image Likeness (NIL) rule breaks my heart.  Going to the highest bidder replaces team loyalty.  Love of money has replaced love for the game.

 

 For the love of money is the root of all evil (I Timothy 6:10)

This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased (Matthew 3:17)

Bumps Ahead

 

The other day I was spending some time alone by riding in West Alabama and East Mississippi.  I did not have any particular place to go or to be.  I wanted to meditate as I drove.  Each time I came to an intersection I would think a minute then turn.

I was traveling in places I had never been before.

Most of the traveling was smooth for my little Honda.  I like driving my old truck, but it takes too much expensive gas to joy ride in it, but it is more comfortable.  I drove without the radio or CD playing.  I just wanted to watch, observe, and listen to God.

Not knowing where I was or where I was going was uncannily soothing.  I was not lost because I knew that if I went north, I would intersect at I 59.  If I continued west, I would be in Meridian.  If I traveled south, I would intersect US Hwy 84.  If I went back east, there would be Alabama Highway 17.

Somewhere in East Mississippi, I was reminded of home.  The roads were deplorable.  They were worst than anything we had up home including red dirt roads and converted pig trails, but it was east Mississippi.  There were no signs to let you know where you were.  I thought I might have changed commissioner districts.  Used to be up home, commissioners responsible for our “red” neck of the woods could care less if we had good roads.  The commissioners claimed lack of money.  When they did get money, they would spray tar and cover it with crushed limestone that was excellent sand blasting material for pulverizing windshields, stripping chrome bumpers, and removing paint.

The poor commissioners did not repair potholes or ditches in the road when putting in drainpipes.   I hit a pothole in the town of Thorsby one time that caused my tire to go flat.  I thought I ruined the tire only to find I ruined a tire and the rim.  This highway was worse than Chilton County.

The landscape was very familiar until I saw something redneck that we do not have up home.  There was a fencerow that baseball caps adorned the top of the fence posts.  I noticed that the caps were Alabama and Auburn caps.  That is not unusual for East Mississippi, but it got me to thinking about the change in the road a couple miles back.  I paid attention to the car tags of the next house and discovered I was in Choctaw County Alabama.  I asked the Lord to forgive me for thinking bad thoughts about the poor poverty, last in everything, State of Mississippi.  I thought about it a moment and realized that the County tag for Chilton is 14 and the one for Choctaw is 15 and suddenly everything in the world made sense even the identical highway connecting Magnolia to Lamison.  I am getting scared to make a church visit to Lamison in my small Honda.  I am afraid if I don’t disappear in a hole, the potholes are going to destroy my front end.  But I get the same sensation when travel State Highway 183 from Union Town to Marion only poor Perry County has paved that highway three or four times in the past sixteen years.

I continued on the road, it carried me to South Choctaw Academy in Toxey, then Gilbertown where I crossed the railroad tracks and started back on my journey into uncharted territory in search of peace, meditation, and dinner.

I saw a sign with Welcome to Mississippi. Other signs warned of road closure, lane closure, flagman ahead, slower traffic keep right, and detours, low shoulder, and bump ahead.  I can testify that there was a bump, but it was a long way from the sigh. On my journey to “find myself”, I found that there were very few places that were different from where I have been.  I found myself at a catfish restaurant in Stateline, Mississippi. I found the people nice, the patrons friendly, and the catfish delicious.  In Stateline, I thought about the gecko in the GIECO commercial where he is jumping from Tennessee to Virginia.  When I turned left, the highway changed tunes and I saw the Sweet Home Alabama sign.

I drove slowly and thought about the things I saw.  I crossed over rivers and creeks that continue their journey endlessly flowing since the Lord created them.  I saw empty towns, houses, and land that were once productive now sitting idle and forgotten.  I saw large homes, small homes, new homes, rundown homes, mobile homes, and nursing homes. 

I saw a wreck or two and people helping.  I saw people in a hurry and some like me that were poking along.  There were the courteous drivers and the road rage maniacs.  There were safe drivers and the idiots that pass on hills and on double yellow lines.  There were new things and plenty of the same. 

In my time alone, God was showing that life is a journey and the road will have its challenges.  As we journey into a new year, we can expect the unexpected.   Every year I pray the New Year will be better than the last.  In some ways, it is, but there are ways that are as my journey. 

I pray that we travel the road God gives us with confidence and it will be a great journey regardless of the bumps.  I remind myself to thank God for roads, which remind of life.

 

The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.  Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain:  And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it (Isaiah 40:3-5 KJV).