Bucky F. Dent: The biggest homer of all

           It is Oct. 2, a national holiday -- for New York Yankees fans.
           Yes, our team is involved in quite a race for the American League East championship. Just as it was 34 years ago today.

What a moment: Bucky Dent connects.

            What happened on Oct. 2, 1978, stands as the No. 1 highlight among many, many, many in my 56 years as a Yankees fan. That day, at historic and overrated Fenway Park in Boston, Bucky Dent hit the greatest home run in Yankees history.
            OK, I'm a little biased about this. I think the Yankees-Red Sox playoff game for the AL East title that day -- a one-game playoff -- is the greatest game in baseball history. There you have it.
          (And the second greatest, if you ask me, is a game the Yankees lost: The seventh game of the 1960 World Series, 10-9, Pirates, Bill Mazeroski's Series-winning home run. If I were a Pirates fan, that would be greatest home run of all time.)
          That 1978 season, that Yankees' World Series championship team, is one of the top ones for what I like to call the premier franchise in American sports (yes, it's arrogance personified). I put that season right with 1927, 1961 and 1998.
          What made it so special is that the playoff game (1) was against the biggest rival, on that team's field and (2) completed the biggest comeback in baseball history.
           On July 19 that year, Boston had a 14-game lead on the Yankees.
           No one gave the Yankees -- who had won the World Series the year before and two AL pennants in a row -- a chance. I sure as heck didn't think they had a chance.
           The Yankees were in disarray; Billy Martin had been fired as manager (for the first of five times) after referring to Reggie Jackson and George Steinbrenner with the classic line: "One's a born liar; the other is convicted."
---
         No team has ever wiped out a bigger deficit. (And as I'm writing this, the Yankees have blown a 10-game lead this summer and are battling the surprising and determined Baltimore Orioles for the AL East title. No Yankees team has ever blown a lead that big, or even close.)
         Once Martin was fired, the Yankees got straightened out under a stoic new manager, Bob Lemon; the Red Sox, bothered by injuries, began losing. The lead began shrinking. When the Yankees went into Fenway on Sept. 7-10 and pulverized the Red Sox in four games, 15-3, 13-2, 7-0 and 7-4 -- forever known as baseball's "Boston Massacre" -- the race was tied.
         On Sept. 14, the Yankees took the lead, and held it the rest of the way. But Boston, one game back, wouldn't lose. The Red Sox won their last seven regular-season games; when the Yankees, with a chance to clinch, were blown out in Cleveland on Sunday, Oct. 1, both were teams 99-63.
 ---
         I was the sports information director at Centenary College. There was no way I was going to work on that Monday. My joke about that day, and that game, is that I was more nervous than on the day Bea gave birth to Rachel (some 6 1/2 months later). It's a joke, OK.
         So much is memorable about the game. The Yankees' starting pitcher was Louisiana's own Ron "Gator" Guidry, who that year was practically unbeateable (24-3 record when he took the mound that day). The Red Sox pitcher -- and this was delicious irony -- was Mike Torrez, the winning pitcher in the World Series clincher for the Yankees the year before who had left for Boston as a free agent.
         Carl Yastrzemski, who had said early in the season it was the best Red Sox team he'd played on, hit a home run in the first inning. Jim Rice, who had had a fabulous season and would be voted AL MVP, drove in a run in the sixth -- his 139th RBI of the year. For six innings, the Yankees hardly touched Torrez.
         And then the top of the seventh. With one out, Chris Chambliss singled, then Roy White singled. Suddenly, we had a chance. Problem was, Bucky Dent was coming to the plate. He had hit .243 that season, and had been awful for the past month. He had little power (four home runs), but because of injuries, Lemon had no extra infielders. A pinch-hitter was out of the question.

Coming home: Roy White (6) and Chris Chambliss (10)
scored ahead of Bucky Dent on Oct. 2, 1978

         After Bucky fouled a pitch off his ankle, hobbled around a while, and was given a new bat by on-deck batter Mickey Rivers, he caught a hanging slider from Torrez and sent it, as Bill White said on the Yankees' radio play-by-play, "Deep to left. Yastrzemski will not get it. It's a home run! A three-run homer by Bucky Dent. And the Yankees now lead by a score of 3-2!"
         I was watching the game at home. When that ball landed in the net behind the Green Monster, my reaction was the same as it had been after Billy Cannon's Halloween punt return for LSU in 1959 against Ole Miss. Charged out the front door, into the street,  screaming with joy.
---
          So much more happened in the game. The Yankees scored two more runs -- including a Reggie home run -- Boston kept coming back. Rich "Goose" Gossage relieved Guidry and had to pitch out of trouble three times.
          It was 5-4 in the bottom of the ninth, and if Lou Piniella, playing right field and looking into the sun, saved the game when he reached out and luckily kept a single from getting past him. That kept a runner from going to third base.
          With one out, Rice came to the plate. I'm thinking he's had this great year and now he can win the game with a home run. Yikes. I couldn't watch. Talk about nervous.
          When I heard the announcer say, he had flied out deep to right (with the runner now going to third, instead of it being a sacrifice fly), it was a relief. But here came Yaz -- the great Yaz, the hero of the Red Sox's "Mission Impossible" 1967 AL pennant winner. If Boston was going to win, who better to be the star than Yaz? Even Yankees had to like him.
          When Gossage's first pitch overpowered Yaz, and he popped out foul to Graig Nettles at third base, it touched off one of my greatest victory celebrations ever.
          I have watched a tape of that game a hundred times. It's exciting every time.
          The Yankees had more adventures in beating Kansas City in the ALCS and the Dodgers in the Series. But that day in Boston topped it all.
---
          A few years ago, Bea was recovering in the hospital after surgery. A woman came to the room delivering flowers; she was a volunteer worker at the hospital. She saw I was wearing a Yankees' shirt, and she laughed.
          "Are you a Yankees fan?" she asked. "My son-in-law played for them."
          Of course, I asked his name.
          "Bucky Dent," she answered. You know what's coming, right?
          "BUCKY DENT!"
          I then grabbed for my phone, and played my ringtone for her: "Deep to left. Yastrzemski will not get it. It's a home run! A three-run homer by Bucky Dent. And the Yankees now lead by a score of 3-2!" 
          She was impressed, I think.
          I asked if she knew Bucky's nickname in Boston: Bucky "F..." Dent. Yes, she knew. We talked a while, and she said, her daughter had been an airline attendant when she met Bucky, and that they now live in Florida.
          As she was leaving, I told her to tell Bucky about the ringtone and that I knew all the details of the game on Oct. 2, 1978, then added, "Tell him I will love him forever." 

Sunset Acres was home

      Back to our early days in the United States and in Shreveport ...
      We left off a couple of months ago with our move to the Sunset Acres neighborhood on the Fourth of July, 1957. After 1 1/2 years in the Line Avenue area, one of the oldest parts in town, we were going to the suburbs, in southwest Shreveport.
        It was, other than the move to the U.S. from Holland as 1955 turned to '56, the most significant move of my early life. I never regretted it. I was unsure of it then, but not for long. I'm certainly not now.
       I loved that neighborhood.
       I'm not alone. If you look on Facebook, and see the "Sunset Acres Elementary Alumni" and "Sunset Acres Neighborhood" pages, you'll see I have lots of company.
       Ask me where I'm from, and I could answer Holland, or Amsterdam, or Shreveport, or some of the other places we've lived, and right now I will say Fort Worth. But what I really like to say is, I'm from Sunset Acres. I was a Sunset Acres kid. Proud of it.
        It is what I consider "home."
---
       It is probably going to take me several blog pieces to write all I want about Sunset Acres. Might be more than you want. Bear with me.
       We lived there a little more than 10 years, 1957 to 1967, ages 10 to 20 for me. Formative years. Fun years. Great fun.
        That house, painted green on the outside, at 2921 Amhurst (later changed to Amherst), was the first house my parents owned, which was remarkable because we'd only been in the U.S. for a short time.
       Obviously, the price wasn't too high -- my dad was not one to live above his means -- and I suspect the Gilbert family and Mrs. Cahn -- whom I've written about previously -- helped us afford it.
       In my life -- 65 years -- I've never lived in one house longer than those 10 years.
      The house wasn't much -- living room, kitchen, one not-so-large bathroom, parents' bedroom, two smaller kids bedrooms, narrow hallway, no central air/heating -- two space heaters, two window air conditioning units. It was a big help when my dad, through work contacts, got a den/television room added on behind the carport and kitchen a couple of years later.
        An air conditioning repairman as one next-door neighbor, the fabulous C.J. Hamaker, and his new wife, the mother of two kids about my age, Glen and Nancy Gordon). Soon, Randy Hamaker was born.
          On the other side, the Gwins -- railroad engineer Howard, Lou and the girls, Sherry and Debbie, both just younger than my sister Elsa. For the next 50 years, Lou Gwin would be as close a friend as my mother would ever have.


This is not our Snowball, but you get
 the idea of what he looked like
when we got him as a puppy.

           For the first time ever, we had a yard -- and a dog. Two yards, front and back. Unfenced in the back at first. But as soon as we added Snowball, the feisty Spitz who would generate great adventures and great love for the next 14 years or so, a fence went up in the back. Occasionally, it would keep Snowball lock
ed in.
           He was a helluva digger and hell-raiser. Got his tail run over and broke a back leg the first month we had him. Lost his tail, but the leg -- put in a cast -- mended. He didn't lose any speed. When he got out, it was work to catch him and haul him back. Only happened hundreds of times.
---
           When we came to Sunset Acres, it was almost new. The trees were young and small; urban sprawl hadn't really hit. There weren't many strip malls, if any. A few stores here and there. A new Pak-A-Sak close by (it would become 7-11).
           We were the second family to live in our house, but most people living in Sunset Acres homes were the original occupants.
            It was a distinctly middle-class, working-class neighborhood. Few families with a lot of money here; not a great deal of poverty, either. Not many lawyers or doctors or city leaders; those were across town. Conservative, Democractic and, yes, even redneck. Some folks were still fighting the Civil War.
           My great friend, Casey Baker, says the neighborhood was developed starting in about 1950-51, mostly for GIs, the returning World War II veterans who could afford to buy the homes under the GI Bill. The Bakers were among the first families in Sunset Acres, on Bowie Street, one block from Mansfield Road.
            The heart of the community was Sunset Acres Elementary School, located almost in the center of the neighborhood, at the corner of West Canal and Sunnybrook. The school year we arrived was the school's fourth. Casey and his buddies were there when it opened, our second-grade year (1954-55).
            When I first got to know the Bakers, they lived on "the other side of the canal." The canal. Other than the school -- and later the brand-new Oak Terrace Junior High just a few blocks away -- nothing was more distinctive than the canal which ran north-south right through the middle of Sunset Acres.
            You either lived "on this side of the canal" or "the other side of the canal." And, believe me, you knew where most of the kids in Sunset Acres lived, if not the exact house, at least the vicinity. You knew all the streets; you traveled those streets by bike or on foot. Many, many times.              
         The canal ran parallel to and between -- surprise -- West Canal Street, where the elementary school was located, and Canal Street. It was really a concrete ditch and, while we called it a canal, it never had much water in it. What water it had was great breeding grounds for mosquitoes.
          It was tough to get into the canal because the banks were steep, and the area between it and the backyard fences was overgrown with bushes and brambles. You could get quite scratched up playing around it.
         But you'd see kids playing in there. I didn't have much desire -- or the guts -- to do that. (However, there's a story there. I'll get to it soon.)
         The canal, though, split the neighborhood only geographically. Not in spirit. You made friends, no matter where they lived. And the friendships lasted; looking at my Facebook friends today, I counted 26 with Sunset Acres ties (and there's probably more). I like that.

These kids are grand




Josie announcing  that she is going
to be a cat for Halloween.

     We are driving out of Little Rock headed toward Memphis when we reach the I-30/I-40 split. Of course, I'm in the wrong lane, too far left when I should be going to I-40 on the right. Cars are flying by, and I'm having trouble getting to where I want to be.  
     Have to pull up in the median at the split and wait for space to open. Finally, it's calm and I scoot the car to the right, then pick up speed.

       Josie, 4 1/2, has been watching from her seat in the back, not saying anything. Once we get going again, she blurts out, "That was awful, Opa."

---

      Jacob is 3 1/2, and averse to taking naps these days. He's told that when he comes to Granny Bea and Opa Nico's house, he will be taking a nap. "I don't want to go night-night," he says. It turns into a crying, screaming fit -- the kind I never saw his daddy do some 30-plus years ago (Aunt Rachel, yes; Josie, yes).

       Finally, I get him quiet and on the bed. He's calm, and we're talking. He's stalling -- asking for something to eat or drink or to read another book or put on a different type of music. But Opa insists he's going to go to sleep.

        A quiet half-minute. And then Jacob says, "You are not my friend, Nico."

        And he grins, that grin just like his daddy's.
        Opa is laughing so hard he's crying.
 ---
        Kaden is 1 1/2, doesn't have words yet, but he can babble -- a lot. He has straight hair -- blond like his brother, but nothing like Jacob's curly mop. He loves balls, any kind, and there are plenty of them at Granny and Opa's apartment.
        Kaden can pitch those balls. He winds up, he's got perfect form and he sends the balls flying. Then he poses, foot forward, determined look on his puckered-up face. He's a pitcher.
         Then he's laughing.
---
        Oh, the grandkids. They're better than any ballgame. They are the joys of our lives. Can't say that anything I've ever done, any role I've ever played, is more enjoyable than being Opa. Granny Bea will agree.

Kaden and Jacob sharing a shaved ice.

         Nothing better than hearing their laughter, or receiving their hugs and kisses. It's not even so bad changing their diapers. Fortunately, Kaden is the only one remaining in that category; the battles with Jacob finally having taken hold.
         The kids come quickly in a marriage; in fact, Jason was almost 3 when Bea and I got married in 1977. Rachel came along two years later. You're young and you're working, and you feel pressure, and perhaps you're uncertain that what you're doing with your kids is the correct thing to do.
         Maybe I didn't enjoy our kids as much as I could have; I was too harsh with them, too demanding. Too much turmoil at home. Lots of regret there, although they came through it all, and they're young adults now, settled with their own families and their own lives.
         The grandkids are the reward for those 30-something years of marriage. You wait so long for them. When the kids are expecting, it's a time of anxiety. But those three days when they arrived -- Oct. 23, 2007 (Josie), Feb. 8, 2009 (Jacob) and March 1, 2011 (Kaden) -- are three of the greatest days of our lives.
         What a joy. We love taking care of them -- and we get the boys quite often because Jay and Ann are busy with their Cajun food truck business. We had Josie for a week in May; her first stay with us without her mother.
        But it's not that easy; we're not as young as we used to be. They demand attention; they need some oversight. The boys are into everything and Jacob, who loves his little brother, does not always love sharing his toys. At times, he'll hide them under a pile of stuffed animals so Kaden can't get to them.
        I can see a lot of possession battles in the future, and we are the referees.
---
        Josie reminds us so much of the young Rachel -- she looks like her, and she's bright and curious, creative, talkative, dramatic, has loved her videos and books since she was tiny, memorizes the scripts and the words and recites them to you, can draw and paint, and does so with great intensity.
        She behaved admirably in the week she was with us, only one meltdown for about 10 seconds. She was a delight. She only asked about her parents -- and going home -- a couple of times. But she was obviously happy to get back to Knoxville.
       After her first day back at her daycare, we went to pick her up. As we pulled away, she timidly asked, "Are we going back to Texas?" She was quite relieved to learn we were going to her house.
---

         Looking at Jacob is like looking at the young Jason. He's built like him; he sounds like him, but his face is Ann's face and his hair -- the curly hair -- is Ann's hair. It is Jacob's trademark now; everywhere we go, any pictures we show of him, that's what people comment on.

        He's as busy as Jay was back then, and he's just as bright. Doesn't forget much. He has his routines around our apartment, and he sticks to them ... too many to list. He can sing the LSU fight song, too. Not that I ever encourage him to do that.

        Kaden can say "cat" and "light" and "Ja-cob," and he's getting too big to stay in his pack-and-play; he's on the verge of being able to climb out. He can climb on the fold-out chair Jacob has been using, and he can let you know that he wants a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich just like Jacob has.

       Soon enough for Kaden: Hey Fightin' Tigers.

---

        When they came to the apartment last Saturday, I was wearing my purple LSU jersey.

        "Why you wearing LSU?" Jacob asked. I told him because it was gameday. Did he want to watch football with Opa? "No, I want to watch cartoons," he answered. So it was Team Umizoomi and  Wonder Pets before Arkansas-Alabama.

          It reminded me, though, of last fall when, on a Friday, we were at Jason and Ann's house babysitting and I had to change Jacob's clothes. Pulled out an LSU shirt and he said, "No, Opa, it's not gameday."

         Of course, in Knoxville, I'm trying to get my granddaughter to say, "Go Tigers." Invariably, she will answer, "Go Vols."

        Now that's awful.

               

       

                 

         

Making the writer look good

        Editing sports stories for newspapers -- and these days for the Internet and Internet blogs -- can be tricky. Not difficult (unless you're on deadline), just tricky.
         The sports copy editor's job is to make the writer look good. Many writers are outstanding, and don't need much editing or any help looking good. But most copy needs a second (and third) look. Some stories need an overhaul.
         Mike Richey, my old buddy from Monroe, La., and the first sports editor I worked with at the Florida Times-Union, used to remind me that if the writers were all that good, we (sports copy editors) wouldn't be necessary.
          In newspapers, I was a sports editor, assistant sports editor, high school editor (making assignments, editing copy), writer/sometimes columnist and -- mostly for the past 25 years -- sports copy editor.
          In editing copy, your objective is to give the story clarity, to eliminate the clutter and  repetitiveness, to make it flow and easy to read, to give it the proper grammar and punctuation, but mostly -- in my view -- to be sure it's accurate. Correct facts and names are top priorities.
          Opinions should be left alone ... unless the facts are just wrong. Then you need to check with the writer.
           And that's the tricky part. Some writers don't want to be corrected, don't want you messing with their stories, don't want you -- as I heard so often at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram -- "taking their voice."
            It can be an adversarial situation -- the writer and the copy editor. It doesn't have to be, but if egos become involved, and they often do, there can be problems.
            I've found plenty of writers with plenty of ego. Didn't like them complaining, especially to the higher-ups. I always found that unbecoming. If they had a problem with something I changed, I could explain it to them.
            So you do have to be careful making changes. I've had my share of screwups, believe me, and I know what it's like to have changes made to things I've written -- changes I didn't like. What I learned to do years ago was not go back and see what was done to my stories, and -- because I've been a copy editor -- not to complain about those changes. What's done is done.
---
            Never considered myself a "wordsmith," whatever that is, or an expert on grammar or punctuation. I've worked with many copy editors with more ability and knowledge than I had.
            But I did try to edit with sensitivity and integrity. I saw some editors rewrite people's stories completely, without feedback from the writer. That wasn't cool, in my opinion. Sure, I've rewritten stories -- especially ones by young writers -- but I tried to explain to those writers what I was doing, and what they could do to improve.
              Some listened and learned; some ignored everything you pointed out, and never or seldom got better.
             One example of improvement: Matt Hayes came to us at the Florida Times-Union right out of the University of Florida. He was just learning as a writer and not many days went by that I didn't go over his stories with him, pointing out what he could do better, take a better angle, improve his grammar, whatever. 

Matt Hayes

      Encouraged him -- as I would encourage any young writer -- to read good writers, see what they did. And he did. He improved, kept improving, to the point that he now is one of the national college football writers for Sporting News, and -- if you don't see his stuff -- he is a bigtime writer.
---
            One of my problems reading the papers these days, and the Internet, and even Sports Illustrated or Sporting News, is that I read it like a copy editor. I still see plenty I could change.
            From reading copy at our local newspaper, I know we have writers/columnists who don't punctuate well -- don't know what takes a possessive and what doesn't and wouldn't know where a comma belongs if it lands in their laps. One writes run-on sentence tacked onto run-on sentence, with no commas in sight.
             (Reminds me of the time at the Times-Union when I inserted several commas into a guy's story. He was a very good writer, but his sentences that day needed some stops. Offended by my editing, the next story he turned in had NO punctuation at all. That petulant act cost him a suspension and a week's pay.)
          Just as I wrote about my cliche' quirks, I have my editing quirks. I share them with some fellow sports copy editors; we discussed these things, and I tried to listen.
          Here are a few items for Copy Editing 102:
          Why -- and I see this almost every day in the paper are there references to runs scored, or touchdowns scored, or innings pitched? What else are you going to do with runs, touchdowns or innings? Just writing runs, touchdowns or innings will work.
           Why write the pitcher allowed so many runs and/or hits? That sounds like permission. The pitcher gave us those runs and hits. Same with the usage of may instead of might ... may connotes permission.
           My friend Ken -- who I mentioned in the previous blog -- never liked the use of straight ... as in nine straight victories (rather than wins) or nine straight seasons. It's used every day, but his point is that it is used incorrectly. So we always tried to change it to consecutive victories or, say, nine victories in a row.
           He also felt that teams don't have their winning streaks snapped (again, that connotes permission). The Nationals' winning streak was snapped.
           We can write that a team won its third game in a row. No, actually it might be, say, its 122nd game in a row, but it was its third victory in a row. See the difference?
            Again, some people -- some copy editors -- would say these are needless changes, nitpicking, personal preferences. All true.
            What I'm seeing often now: A sentence that starts in one direction then twists in another direction. BUT there's no comma before "then." It's a run-on sentence. In my world, if the thought changes, if the sentence needs a pause, always use the comma.
             Here is the error that I find most common in today's sports stories: the use of it and they. I see this from the very best writers to those who don't have a clue (and possibly never will). I learned the correct usage as a kid because Jim McLain at The Shreveport Times corrected me on it a dozen times before I caught on.
              The rule is this: Common name -- Dallas, New York, LSU -- is followed by it. Team nickname -- Cowboys, Yankees, Tigers -- is followed by they or them.
             Correct: Dallas won its season opener. (NOT Dallas won their season opener.) The Cowboys won their season opener.
             Correct: New York has blown its 10-game lead in the AL East. (NOT New York still thinks they are the team to beat.) The Yankees still think they are the team to beat.
             Correct: LSU has as good a defense as it had last year. (NOT LSU likes their chances for a national championship.) LSU likes its chances.)
             OK, got it? I can find incorrect usages of it/they a half dozen times a day in the newspaper, maybe even a dozen times.
            A week ago Thursday, on Page 2 of my paper in the "High School Huddle," there were 23 incorrect usages -- mostly "they" instead of "it" when referring to teams. Yes, 23 ... I am not making that up.
           My opinion: shameful. If the writers got it wrong, they should be told. And a copy editor should correct it. No one looks good here. 
             This old-school sports copy editor has a tough time with that kind of journalism. But maybe it doesn't matter these days.

If it's a cliche, get rid of it

   Cliche': (1) a trite phrase of expression; also: the idea expressed by it; (2) a hackneyed theme, characterization, or situation; (3) something that has become overly familiar or commonplace.

 

     My friend Ken wrote on Facebook that he had his "first week of work under my belt."

    My friend Gil wrote in the newspaper that "the visiting Tigers ... already had a game ... under their belts."
     Why, I ask, under their belts? Are they hiding something?
     I'm picking on my friends because I can. One is one of the best sports copy editors I've worked with in a long career. The other is one of my favorite columnists, a guy who requires very little editing.
      Cliches, my daughter reminds me, are a part of everyday speech. Unfortunately -- in my opinion -- they are a part of everyday newspaper/Internet stories and blogs.
      One of my goals as a sports copy editor for 40-something years was to eliminate cliches. OK, it was more than a goal. It was part of my curmudgeonly, obsessive side.
      So I don't want to see "under by belt," or someone being "given the nod," or someone being inked"(signed will do every time). Pitchers don't toss games; they're throwing the ball. You don't nab a victory; you nab criminals or animals. Just take a victory, or claim it, or earn it. Same for captured a win or a title (captured is one of the most overused verbs in sports journalism). Again, save it for criminals or animals.
        Teams aren't involved in contests; they are games. They don't trek places; they take trips. It's not intermission in football or basketball; it's halftime. Save intermission for the theater. Pitchers don't pitch frames; they pitch innings. They don't have three innings of work; three innings will do.
         Don't want people doing most of the heavy lifting. You can write they did most of the work, and that's no cliche'. 
         Those aren't buckets; it's not bucketball. It's not treys; it's 3-pointers. I know everyone camps out in the paint now; they used to be in the lane.
         I'm really tired, too, of reading about people stepping up.
         Birdies (in golf) aren't bagged; they're made. Saved the bagged for hunting.
         Don't want to see gridiron, or hardcourt, or diamond, or on the links, or references to gridders, cagers, flannel-clads, thinclads. Don't really need a biscuit in the basket (that's the old hockey cliche' for a goal).
         Quarterbacks, if you want the cliche', are signal-callers.
          This is '30s, '40s, '50s and '60s-type sportswriting. Still, I see many of these cliches in today's local newspaper and on the Internet and -- unbelievably -- in Sports Illustrated or Sporting News.
         I've got hundreds of them. Writers easily fall back on them. Even if you make note of it, it requires some discipline -- or maybe in my case, obsessiveness -- to avoid them.
          I think it clutters writing; it makes me want to stop reading. Frankly, it irritates me. My wife thinks it doesn't matter to the reader, who simply wants information or to be entertained or to read someone's opinion on a subject. 
          And here's one of my least favorite ones: Never looked back. I used to tell the young people I "coached" in sports journalism that if they wrote that phrase, they were not going to write for us again (I was kidding, but hopefully they got the point.)
          LSU took the lead and never looked back. The Yankees took the lead and never looked back. Does that mean the team never gave up the lead, never gave up the momentum, never ran into any trouble? Then write it that way, without the cliche'.
          If you're reading the game story, or you're thinking back on the game, you are looking back.
          But if you read this blog regularly, you'll know that looking back is one of the things I do best. 
           So, there you have my distaste for cliches. I delete them out of copy or change them because I think it improves the writing. It doesn't hurt the copy. Or maybe I do it because of personal preference. 
          Next time I will write about copy editing in sports in general. But for now, I'm happy to have gotten this view of cliches out from under my belt.           

      

 

Not a black-and-white world

Clifford Pennywell

     The death of Coach Clifford Pennywell at age 80 last week in Shreveport brought to the forefront a blog piece I've planned to write for some time.
      When I saw that Clifford had passed away, I had a feeling of regret. He was an interesting guy, a guy I wish I had gone back and visited, just to touch base and rehash the years. Because, even though our relationship was fine, I always felt I hadn't know him well enough.
      How many times do we wish for that one more conversation? I could give you a quick list of a hundred people that would fit that category? Anyway, more about Pennywell in a moment.
      The integration of schools in Caddo and Bossier Parishes -- court-ordered, of course -- in January 1970 was a difficult time for everyone -- administration, faculties, students, the public, even the media.
       It began with the shifting of administrators and faculty members, including coaching staffs. Whites were sent to all-black schools; blacks were sent to all-white (with a few exceptions) schools.
       Longtime coaching staffs were broken up. No one was very happy. The ones sent to other schools didn't want to be there; the people remaining at those schools didn't want them there.
       And that was only the preliminary steps. Beginning with the next school year in the fall, students were shifted. Previous all-black high schools -- such as Union, Valencia, Eden Gardens, Walnut Hill, Charlotte Mitchell (Bossier) -- were closed; those students were integrated into previous all-white schools such as Woodlawn, Southwood, Captain Shreve, Byrd, Fair Park and Northwood.
          Some all-black high schools -- Booker T. Washington, Bethune and Linear -- remained open. But the LIALO, the athletics association for blacks, folded into the LHSAA.
          Schools in Shreveport-Bossier -- and other places -- changed for good; so did athletics. For the better? In some ways, yes; in some ways, probably not. It's an individual judgment. Certainly, I'd say the quality of athletes was as good as it'd ever been. Attendance and public interest weren't.
           In Caddo Parish, and Bossier, head coaches in football and basketball remained intact wherever possible. But the men who had been head coaches at the all-black schools that closed were forced to move, most of them to assistant-coach positions, with the promise of first shots at head coaching jobs that came open.
           Which brings me back to Clifford Pennywell, who of all the coaches forced to move might've gotten the most unfortunate deal for one major reason.
           Pennywell was Robert Parish's first high school basketball coach. But not his last.
           In Parish's freshman and sophomore years, the still raw but already 7-foot center led Union High -- with Pennywell as coach -- to the LIALO state semifinals. But when Parish and the rest of the Union students were sent to all-white schools -- most of them to nearby Woodlawn -- Pennywell didn't go with them.
             Woodlawn already had a very successful coach, Ken Ivy, who had taken his 1968-69 team to the Class AAA state championship (a team that included one black starter, an All-State point guard named Melvin Russell, who had come to Woodlawn from Union on a "freedom of choice," or minority-to-majority, transfer allowable at that time.)
           Pennywell, meanwhile, was able to continue as a head coach when there was an opening at Booker T. Washington, and he was also the athletic director there. And for the next decade, BTW was usually one tough basketball team to face. Pennywell knew what he was doing.
 ---
           That first school year of integration, 1969-70, was also my first year as a fulltime sportswriter at The Shreveport Times. We had an all-white sports staff and we rarely, if ever, covered the LIALO school games.
          We left that to a correspondent named Andrew Harris, sports editor of the Shreveport Sun, which served the black public. He was a decent writer and reliable, friendly guy who, if things had been different, could have been on our sports staff.
           The next school year, when the all-black schools merged into the LHSAA and our realm, I was beginning to take over direction of the prep coverage. I went to each Caddo-Bossier school -- more than a dozen -- before that football season for a preview and to meet the coaching staffs, to let them know we were interested.
           Here's what I found: Coaches were coaches, people were people.
           Many of the black coaches whom I hadn't met before were classy and capable and friendly. Some proved not to be as capable, and left the feeling they didn't trust you. Some were easily accessible; some were extremely difficult to reach, even by phone.
             Some consistently had winning teams and lasted a long time in the job. Some did not win, and left coaching in a short time. Some did not win, but were great with the kids, dealt well with people, and lasted a long time because the Caddo Parish School Board did not emphasize winning.
            Some were bitter about their schools being closed and their positions taken away, and that was understandable.
          Some appreciated what was written about them and their teams; most did not say much in that regard. (Same as white coaches, I must add).
            One coach, a year or two after leaving coaching, was flat-out ugly to me verbally one day, accusing me of racism.
           Another, a successful basketball coach, screamed at me one day in his team's locker room after a game, telling me to "get out and leave my kids alone." The story was this: A couple of times driving away from the school, I had seen three of his top players walking home after a game, asked if they needed a ride, and gave it to them. I'm not sure what he thought I was doing other than trying to be helpful.
            Another basketball coach, a popular guy I really liked, ordered me out of his gym during practice one day because he was mad that his team had dropped in The Times' area poll. He blamed me for that; actually, I was only one of about 10 voters in the poll.
            A baseball coach, on the phone calling in statistics, point-blank accused me of being prejudiced against his team one day.
            But mostly there were friendships made and a mutual respect, and I found so many good guys who wanted to coach, who loved the kids, and who wanted to win.
---
        Clifford Pennywell was an "old-school" guy. He had grown up in Shreveport when being a black person meant tough times. He had attended the Colored Central school which preceded BTW's opening on Milam Street in 1949. He began coaching in 1956 and was comfortable in his setting at Union.
          So moving to BTW in 1970, staying in an all-black setting, was probably OK with him. Still, it had to be bittersweet for him to see Parish and some of the other kids he had coached at Union go to Woodlawn and have back-to-back seasons of 35-2 and 36-2, state runner-up and state championship teams. And to have his BTW teams play against Parish and Woodlawn.
         Clifford was, I know, tough on his players, worked them hard. A friend told me he stressed being at practice and being on time and, if the kids were late or misbehaving, "he'd lay the wood on them" (paddled them).
          He was one of the great whistlers I've seen in coaching (Louisiana Tech football assistant/baseball coach Pat "Gravy" Patterson was the other). When Pennywell whistled in the cozy BTW gym, you could hear it on nearby Milam Street. It caught everyone's attention, but especially his players.
           BTW had some very competitive teams that made the playoffs and one wonderful guard named Billy Burton, who was our Times co-Player of the Year with Airline's Mike McConathy in 1973 because I didn't want to pick one over the other.
         But Clifford was a hard guy to figure. Many people felt he was arrogant, or haughty -- and I could see why. He was sure of himself, but also pretty guarded. To me, he was like the Wizard of Oz; there was something behind the Pennywell curtain you weren't going to see.
         He wasn't expansive with answers to questions, but he didn't make excuses for his team, wasn't all that critical of referees (but there would be veiled hints) and when he was done with an interview or a conversation, he sometimes just turned and walked off without a good-bye. He had, as a friend noted, "an attitude."
        I know, though, that he liked me because he would joke with people he liked, and he'd often have a wisecrack for me when I'd cover a game involving BTW  (I did more than a couple of "Soul Bowl" BTW-Green Oaks football games.) 
        I do remember he never complained about coverage, and that extended to the coverage of his son, Carlos, who -- because the Pennywells lived across town from BTW -- played for Captain Shreve.
         Carlos was one of the great all-around athletes in Shreveport-Bossier history -- a football/basketball/baseball star, the best player (an explosive wide receiver) on Shreve's 1973 state football championship team, and also a sometimes demonstrative talent not well-liked by opponents. (He went on to star in football at Grambling, then spent four seasons -- 1978-81 -- with the New England Patriots, and probably should have been in the NFL longer than that.)
          Again, as with Parish, it must've been tough for Coach Pennywell to see his own son play (and beat) the teams he coached.
          One of his coaching contemporaries talked about how organized he was, how -- as a P.E. teacher and coach -- he held to the values he had learned at Grambling under Prez Jones and Eddie Robinson, and how much of a role model he was for younger black coaches, how he worked to get his players college opportunities. And, yes, he didn't socialize or mix much with other coaches; thus, the reputation for being his own man.
           I learned this week that Clifford had been in a nursing home for some eight years, and I'm so sorry to hear that. He was, above all, a good family man. And to me, he was a symbol of a difficult but important transition in Shreveport-Bossier athletics.               
                   
                                   
             

Ready to geaux ... Tigers

       It must be gameday for LSU football. That nervous feeling I've had all week tells me so.
       Yes, nervous, even though the opponent -- North Texas -- isn't quite Alabama or Arkansas or Florida or Auburn or Ole Miss. Doesn't matter. Don't know about the Tigers, but I don't take any opponent lightly. As I tell my buddies at the newspaper, they can all beat you.
        That's why they play the games.

Here we geaux down Victory Hill.

        Yeah, nervous. When my thoughts all week keep coming back to the game -- like every minute or so -- I know I'm nervous.
        It's always been that way -- whether it was Oak Terrace or Woodlawn athletics in the '60s, the Yankees since 1956, the Cowboys from the mid-1960s through the next three decades (not any more, though) and Dutch soccer since forever. I'm not a relaxed fan.
          But LSU football is what really gets to me these days. I've been back on the bandwagon ever since my son, Jason, started school there in the fall of '92 (he graduated five years later, but he's still like a student there when it comes to being a football fan).
           Of course, as a kid, listening to LSU games on the radio was an every Saturday happening in the fall from 1958 until I went to college. Oh, I loved those elongated "Go Tigers" and "Tiger Bait" chants and listening to the band, to the alma mater, to John Ferguson saying, "He's got 3 yards, 4, 5" or "Pat Screen rolls out ... shoots a pass upfield ..."
           In a different era of rock-hard defensive, run-oriented football, the game was almost always low-scoring, tight, tense.  And I was as nervous then, listening to my little transitor radio, as I am now watching almost every LSU game on TV.
           The greatest play in LSU football history -- Billy Cannon's punt return against Ole Miss, Halloween night, 1959 -- sent me running out of the house into the street, screaming. Not kidding. (So did Chris Chambliss' pennant-winning home run for the Yankees in '76 and the Bucky Dent home run vs. the Red Sox in '78.)
            I'm a bit calmer now -- most of the time. But you can ask the guys at the Star-Telegram what happened the night Ole Miss blocked LSU's extra-point kick that would have won the game with seconds left. Chairs went flying, and not figuratively. Luckily, the Tigers won in overtime.
          Jason, my son, was at that game. When I talked to him a few minutes after it was over, he said, "Dad, I wasn't worried. I knew we'd win in overtime. We had all the momentum." Great, Jay. Glad you were so confident.
           I've got a lot of LSU's football history stored away, but I'm not as versed on it as my friends who covered the Tigers for years -- Bob Tompkins, Scooter Hobbs, Marty Mule', Gil LeBreton, Glenn Guilbeau, Jim Kleinpeter, John Adams, among many others. Not as sure about past players and games on LSU as I am about the Yankees, Cowboys or Dutch soccer.
           What I am sure of is that all of those sports entities have tremendous fans. Heck, yeah, I'm prejudiced. But none of them have an atmosphere like LSU football has.
           In sports, there's not much that's quite as good as gameday on the LSU campus. It's a wonderful atmosphere and we -- Jay and his buddies -- like following the band on its march to the stadium, the stop at the top of Victory Hill, the traditional "four corners" salute, and then the run down the hill.
           Love all the LSU traditions and numbers the band plays.
           I've been to gamedays at Florida, Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, Arkansas, Ole Miss, Kentucky, and La. Tech, and they're all good.  Everyone is excited; everyone is happy, and looking forward to the game. Drinks flow freely.
           The difference at most places now from the "old days" is the all-day tailgating, and here is why LSU tops them all: The food -- the Cajun food -- is the best. And LSU fans, mostly, don't mind sharing. Most seem to be sober, at least until sundown.
            I love to listen to those people from South Louisiana, with their Cajun lilt, trade views on what's happening with the Tigers and what's going to happen.
            Wish I could be there every home game. But I can't; in fact, I seldom go these days. It's a tough trip from Fort Worth. Haven't seen a game at Tiger Stadium since 2007 -- the fabulous Florida game -- but I've seen at least one game almost every season (home or away) since 2001.
              Love the sight of that purple, gold and white crowd of 92,000-93,000 at Tiger Stadium; it's quite a view from our seats high in the south end zone, upper deck, right under the scoreboard. It's quite a sight from the press box, too.
              Love the LSU uniforms, always have. When I was a kid and newspaper photos were black-and-white, I would color the uniforms for both teams. Of course, I was always partial to red-and-blue (Woodlawn and La. Tech), and purple-and-gold was Byrd High School, so that didn't add up. It didn't help that Ole Miss -- damn Ole Miss -- was red-and-blue, and it was LSU's toughest (and most hated) opponent.
              Honestly, I still have a lot of love for Louisiana Tech -- and the traditions and the fight songs -- and I think its football uniforms are among the best in the nation. Hate it when Tech plays LSU.
                But, of course, LSU has among the best programs in the nation. Had the best last year (until the final game) and, well, the Tigers did beat every team they played. Won the "game of the year" on the opponents' field. I'm bitter about this, but I felt -- and will always feel -- that it should not have been forced to play that opponent again in the BCS title game.
                Can't imagine this LSU team being more dominant than last year's team. It would be nice, but every season requires some luck. Good as the Tigers were last season, they were some fortunate moments, some game-turning plays -- the good bounces vs. Oregon, Morris Claiborne's kickoff return vs. West Virginia, Tyrone Mathieu's punt returns vs. Arkansas and Georgia.
                It might feel good to have a quarterback who can throw the ball up the field with authority. But it's solid to have a ball-control running offense and a defense that can shut down the run and pressure the QB.
                The schedule is tough -- a four-game stretch that will test our resolve (at Florida, South Carolina home, at Texas A&M, Ala-bucking-bama home). But, first, North Texas, the Mean Green. Tonight.
                 And I'm nervous about it.
          

The Team Named Desire

       The first high school football game I saw, 51 years ago, began with a 90-minute delay because the lights wouldn't come on at Shreveport's State Fair Stadium.
       It ended with a touchdown pass on the game's final play. Not only a touchdown, but a spectacular one, and with our team -- the Woodlawn Knights -- winning the first district game they ever played.

Brenda, Brad and Billy Laird

       Wayne Davis was falling and then juggled Billy Laird's pass, finally grabbing the ball -- after a defensive player batted it -- while he was flat on his back in the southwest corner of the end zone, on our side of the stadium.
       The scoreboard clocks read: 0:00. The score read: Woodlawn 12, Fair Park 6.
       For those of us who remember, it was magic. It was a magical season. It was Woodlawn's "Team Named Desire," as it would soon be called by Shreveport sportswriting legend Jerry Byrd and others.
        No question, the 1961 Woodlawn Knights are among my favorite teams. They are why I fell in love with high school football. I'm sure many of the people in my age range from the Woodlawn area (and era) feel the same way.
         I wasn't even in high school yet; I was a ninth-grader at Oak Terrace. But that night, that year, I knew I was going to love being a Woodlawn Knight.
---
        Woodlawn opened in the fall of 1960, the third all-white public high school in Shreveport, and the first to open since Fair Park (1932). Byrd (1926, the successor to Shreveport High) and Fair Park had been the all-consuming rivalry in town.
       Bossier High, across the Red River, had been the third party in the mix. St. John's, which by 1960 became Jesuit, was the private school in Shreveport but never much of a factor in athletics other than baseball.    
         In 1960, Woodlawn had mostly sophomores and juniors. Seniors could choose to stay at the schools they had been (mostly Byrd and Fair Park), except for those from Greenwood High, which closed as Woodlawn opened.
           So the 1960 Woodlawn football team -- with a new coaching staff headed by Lee Hedges and without practice fields at the school the first few weeks -- was young and green (many kids had never played before) ... and terrible. It wasn't eligible to play in District 1-AAA, but it had to play a varsity schedule. The 0-9 record, with no points the first five weeks, included only one close game.
           But almost all the players -- including a few promising prospects -- were back for '61, including the senior quarterback, Billy Laird, who missed the '60 season with a broken ankle. And Wayne Davis, for some reason, hadn't come out for the team in '60.
             This would be a very small team, physically, by high school standards, even then. Now, it would be laughable. One regular player, tackle Claude Carrigan, weighed more than 180 pounds. Most of the linemen were between 170 and 145. Most weeks they were outweighed 15-20 pounds up front.
              The best running back, Tommy Linder, was about 5-foot-8, 170, but as tough as any player Woodlawn ever had. He teamed at linebacker (and running back) with Paul Clark, bigger and solidly built, a terrific athlete.
              (Getting ahead of the story here, all five of the guys named above would play college ball at Louisiana Tech, all of them regulars, some of them stars.)
             This small Woodlawn team -- seemingly dressed each week in blue jerseys, blue pants and blue helmets -- didn't have much depth, so many players played offense and defense. But this team was so well-disciplined, so well-conditioned, so quick, so determined, so well-coached ... such winners.
              The Team Named Desire just kept winning games, almost every time pulling heroics in the last quarter.
             It set the tone for everything that would happen at Woodlawn the rest of the decade, a decade in which Woodlawn was the winningest big-class school in Louisiana.
 ---
            Victory No. 1 in school history came in the season opener at North Caddo, 13-6, on a final drive and a last-minute touchdown. That game ball went in the trophy case.
             Week two was the District 1-AAA opener with Fair Park, where three of the coaching staff (Hedges, A.L. Williams, W.B. Calvert) had been star players a decade or so earlier. And again, a final drive (75 yards, seven Laird completions in a row, including the last-play touchdown pass described above).
              The next three weeks -- Bastrop, Ouachita and Springhill -- were victories, the first two district games in which Woodlawn again made the big plays in the final 12 minutes. Springhill, a tough opponent always, was a 20-0 rout.
             Then came a game at West Monroe, the same place where the first Woodlawn game a year earlier had been a 44-0 loss. This was a 7-0 victory -- preserved by four separate goal-line stands (yes, four). The Knights were 6-0, and 4-0 in the district.
            Byrd, which would become the arch-rival, broke the magic spell the next week with a 26-0 whipping before the first of what would be crowds of 20,000-plus for this rivalry through the rest of the '60s. But Woodlawn bounced back for two more wins before another loss, 19-13 to the first of coach C.O. Brocato's great teams at Jesuit.
             The regular season came down to one final District 1-AAA game -- with the championship at stake -- against a very good Bossier team that had beaten Byrd 21-20 to open the door to the district title. Again, it was at State Fair Stadium; again, it was magic -- a 12-7 victory.           
              The rag-tag team of 1960 had become district champions of 1961. Cinderella story.
              The little Knights were no match for Sulphur in a playoff game, but the Woodlawn tradition had been established.
---
              Wayne Davis, already a man in '61 and an outstanding pass-catcher and blocker and strong defensive end, was Woodlawn's first All-State player. Billy Laird, mostly a rollout passer in the Wing-T offense but later an accurate, bullet pocket passer in coach Joe Aillet's pro-style offense at Tech, was second-team All-State.
              Both of them would be all-conference players at Tech and be drafted by pro teams.  

Coach Billy Laird

               Billy Laird is now the athletic director/head football coach at Ruston High School. On  Friday night, he begins his 37th year coaching football, his 21st year as a high school head coach. He had several college assistant coaching jobs -- coaching quarterbacks --  and success everywhere; he's also been on some staffs that were let go.
              He got out of coaching a couple of times -- once when his son Brad quarterbacked Ruston High to a couple of state championships (including the 1990 team many consider Louisiana's best ever). But Billy took another coaching opportunity in Nashville, Ark., and was there for 12 years, one team winning a state title and another finishing runner-up once.
               He's had one losing season, his first at Ruston, and while his Ruston teams haven't had the success of two of his predecessors there (L.J. "Hoss" Garrett and Jimmy "Chick" Childress, each with multiple state titles), no one plays Ruston without a battle.
             Coach Laird, as always, loves the passing game. He once told me, jokingly I think, that he dreamed of a game in which his team passed the ball on every play. Maybe that's why he's still coaching at age 68. Really, it's because he loves being around the kids, and loves the game, loves the competition.
          The Laird I know is one of the great competitors -- a fiery one at times, too. He was the hero, I guarantee you, to the great Woodlawn QBs that followed in the '60s -- Trey Prather, Terry Bradshaw, Joe Ferguson, Johnny Booty. He was a hero to everyone who was a Woodlawn fan.
           And, of course, he got the girl -- the beautiful blonde cheerleader/homecoming queen, Brenda Boyette, the Sunset Acres girl from our Woodlawn Class of '65. Although Billy graduated before we got to Woodlawn, he would often show up at the school the next three years, purportedly to see the coaching staff and help counsel quarterbacks. I think he just might've been there to see Brenda, too.
           They married soon after she graduated from WHS. They have this beautiful family.
           Football is still a big part of the Lairds' life. Brad also became a college coach and just left coaching for an administrative job at Northwestern State. Billy intends to coach a couple more seasons.
            I suspect through all that's happened in his football life, though, that Woodlawn's Team Named Desire has a special place in Billy Laird's heart. He would not be alone feeling that way.
          
                    
                  

Turn on the lights

    No one knows better than LSU and New Orleans Saints fans how hurricanes can mess with football season.
     With that in mind as I write this piece -- and Hurricane Isaac bears down on the state we love (and other Gulf regions -- it is time to turn on the lights for football. At least it is in Louisiana and in Texas (Tennessee, for instance, is already in its third week of high school play).
     Now it's for real, not scrimmages or jamborees. It is the highly anticipated, always exciting time for season openers ... in high school and in colleges.
       It's a neat feeling to arrive at the stadium where people are excited to be there. Good as it is in the bigger cities, it's even better in one-high school towns.
       In my sportswriting career, covering football games -- especially high school football -- has been about as much fun as anything. So my season, my final season, begins Friday night at Wilemon Field in Arlington, Texas. 

Mansfield (Texas) High will be one of the teams in
 the game at Wilemon Field in Arlington on
 Friday night (Fort Worth Star-Telegram photo).

       The Mansfield High-Arlington Bowie game should be one of the top games in this area, and -- as Coach Jerry Adams used to say so often -- if the Lord is willing and the creeks don't rise -- I'll be there to cover it for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram.
        I have been working parttime for the Star-Telegram this year, covering some high school events last winter and spring, with this football season in mind. After my layoff as a fulltime employee last year, I did want to cover football last fall -- first chance I'd had to do that in a dozen years -- and did so for The Dallas Morning News, where I also worked parttime in the office.
         So that put me at games in Weatherford, The Colony, Dallas' John E. Kincaide Stadium, Wilemon Field, Azle, Keller, Justin Northwest and Fort Worth Christian.
         It was my first time to cover high school games in Texas. Having covered games for much of my career in Louisiana, plus games in Florida and Tennessee, and having seen games in Hawaii and Georgia, I can tell you this: The enthusiasm for high school football is great in every state I've been.
         But Texas indeed does it bigger and better than anyone. Many of the stadiums I've seen -- up close or from passing by -- are larger and more comfortable than anywhere else. The press boxes (and that's a priority for me) are roomier and more comfortable. I haven't covered football at Southlake Carroll, but I did cover a soccer game there, and that's a facility on par with many small colleges, or better.  But the new stadiums at Weatherford and Northwest, just to use two examples, are very nice.
        And I haven't seen the new standard -- Eagle Stadium in Allen (close to Plano and Frisco),  which will seat 18,000 and cost some $60 million to build.  But I have seen Allen play, with its dressout squad that numbered more than 100 and its 700-member band.  Yes, you read that correctly -- 700.
        Bigger and better. 
        That's the point here. In Texas, everyone gets deeply involved. There is great emphasis not only on the football team, but the cheerleaders, dance lines, bands, booster clubs, concession workers, whatever.
           The closest I've seen to matching Texas was in South Georgia, especially at Valdosta High, which had one of the great high school traditions in the country. Talent-wise on the football field, Florida could match Texas, but from my experience in northeast Florida, the facilities and involvement weren't anywhere close.  
          And, of course, I spent a little more than 25 years (through the 1960s, '70 and '80s) watching high school football in Louisiana, where the talent was also superb most years and, as I remember it, the interest was incredible. I'm sure it's still the same in many places; I just haven't been there since 1988.
---
         Loved covering games at LSU and Louisiana Tech, and a dozen other college stops, and the Cowboys at Texas Stadium and the Saints at the Superdome. Didn't like battling the big crowds or being part of a large media contingent trying to conduct interviews.
         Yet, covering high school football is a bigger challenge.
         At the NFL and college games, you have TVs in the press box to watch the game or watch replays, you are provided play-by-play sheets, statistics, quotes, a regulated interview process afterward. You usually have easy access to what you need to send in your story.
          At high school games, you keep your own play-by-play and your own statistics. It's not as easy as it sounds. Play moves pretty rapidly; you better keep up. And there's usually no replay to watch what you missed (although some stadiums do have video boards now).
          What I found last season -- after my long absence from the high school scene -- was that with the emphasis on the spread, no-huddle offenses and the passing game, my stats sheet -- which I first drew up in about 1970 and passed on to a couple of generations of young sportswriters -- was outdated. Not enough room for passes (30 was the limit) or first downs (20).
            So, with the help of Jason Hoskins in Star-Telegram sports, I have a new form -- up to 60 passes, 28 first downs, room for one back to carry 40 times and another to carry 20, etc. Hey, I'm ready.
              Another thing about high school coverage: Deadlines can be tight. Game ends at 10:15, and you need to have your story in in 30 minutes. If you want quotes, you have to hurry down to the field or locker room and do an interview or two. It's a scramble.
             But unlike the pros and/or colleges, where access can be limited and coaches and even players can get surly or short (sure, the media asks dumb questions), high school coaches and players are usually glad to see you and are cooperative. You might have to dig for information or a usable quote, but whatever you write is usually appreciated.
---
             Covered my first game in 1967 as a parttimer for The Shreveport Times -- a Sterlington-at-Benton playoff game. My first game as a fulltime Times sportswriter was two years later -- Minden-at-Bossier on a rainy night at Bossier's Memorial Stadium.
             Minden, which had been down a few years, pulled a 6-0 upset. Milford Andrews was the Bossier coach, a terrific coach but not a talkative one even when he won. That night, he was a tough guy to quote.
            I've covered a hundred games in Shreveport-Bossier. But I enjoyed covering games all over Louisiana, especially visits to Haughton, Natchitoches, Springhill, Minden, Ruston, Jonesboro-Hodge, Monroe, Haynesville, Homer, Winnfield; playoff games in Bastrop, Sulphur, Zachary, Lutcher, New Orleans' City Park Stadium.
            Fortunate to cover great players (more than a few who went on to the NFL), great games, so many decided on the final play, state championship games (Haynesville's first two under legendary coach Alton "Red" Franklin, the second one in a 7-7 tie with arch-rival Homer decided on first downs when Haynesville got two first downs in the final minute).
           There was the night in Springhill in '70 when the Lumberjacks lost to Hammond in the state semifinals and, because I was writing my story in the press box and it was late, my girlfriend and I were locked in the stadium (all the gates were chained). I had to call Coach Travis Farrar at home, and ask him to let us out.
            A cold, cold night in the late '90s in tiny Dunlap, Tenn. -- near Chattanooga -- when the home team, Sequatchie County, lost to the team from the Knoxville area, Alcoa. Couldn't write my story for the Knoxville News Sentinel until my hands thawed out. I was in the coaches' office, and everyone left except the janitor. Finally, he said, "I'm leaving. Just close the office when you're done." I could have taken anything I wanted as a souvenir.
             I've got more tales, but that's for the future.
              Last fall, I covered eight games in which only three teams -- I believe -- had winning records (two in the private-school state title game). But I was fortunate; every game I covered was interesting, fairly close and competitive. No blowouts.
             I should be so lucky this year. Heck, I am lucky to be doing this one more season.
             So I finish with this note: Mother Nature, it is not nice to mess with football. Please.