James M. Redwine

Football

Yea! Football Is Back!

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“The crisp autumn air. The dry brown grass. Sweaty pads and the exhilaration of combat without weapons. The kind of battle where one can experience the thrill of having been shot at and missed without even being shot at. Football. Ersatz war. Clashes of pride, power and cunning.”

Echoes Of Our Ancestors: The Secret Game, p. vii

James M. Redwine

Baseball may be America’s Pastime but football is America’s Passion. The only thing more endemic to the American psyche than football is politics and I am sick of politics. If, “politics ain’t bean bag”, it ought to be. Any sporting event from ballet to boxing is healthier for our country than political conventions and cable news. Heck, even a good old-fashioned fist fight often results in life-long friendship versus contemporary political campaigns in which social media is used much as small pox was allegedly used against Native Americans by the British colonial soldiers in 1763.

The difference between sporting contests of all types and modern national politics is glaring. When I think back to those times my erstwhile adversaries became my current friends via a skirmish over some forgotten controversy, I long for those days. My friends and I spent no time accusing one another of being a liar or a murderer or even a traitor to our country. We would just drop our baseball gloves or kick our opponent’s marbles out of the way and start the shoving process. Every now and then we would even throw a punch. I will not name those who bloodied my nose or tore off my T shirts but we buried our hypothetical hatchets immediately after each fray. Our politicians and news anchors could learn something.

Another thing we learn from sports versus politics is that the pain of physical injuries almost always goes away whereas the sickness of false comments can grow fatal to our body politic. There is something liberating from a sweaty fight or a sweaty game. But often permanent harm results from accusations of venality and planted stories of misdeeds.

Anyway, I am glad football and other games are coming back and I hope we will soon be able to engage in them and/or enjoy watching them in good health. I leave it up to each community and every individual to decide whether they feel comfortable participating in or watching in person any sporting event. Peg and I certainly want the right and ability to decide such highly personal matters for ourselves and we will afford the same right to others. However, the lessons from sports are easily learned and, unlike high school Algebra, one will always remember them. In fact, as I think of the fist fights and sporting contests I engaged in it now seems to me I never lost and I have gotten a lot faster, stronger and more talented as the years have transpired.

The Joys of August

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1960-61 Pawhuska, Oklahoma High School Football Team

I got up at 5 a.m. this morning and smiled at that teenager who had to threaten himself to get out of bed for a 6:00 a.m. two-a-day football practice a few years ago. Ah, the joy of putting on cold, smelly, sweaty pads from the previous day’s 6:00 p.m. practice and stumbling over to the field to be greeted by Draculas disguised as coaches. “Hurry up! Git with it! We’re burning daylight here and it is already nearing 90 degrees.” This was the refrain from the Knute Rockne wannabes who had a vision of our high school team being immortalized in the pantheon of pigskin glory.

Actually, my senior year at Pawhuska Oklahoma High School our coaches devised three August weeks of three-a-day practices: full contact pads from 6:00-8:00 a.m. then skull practice from 12:00 noon to 1:00 p.m. followed by limited contact and play drills from 6:00 p.m. to 7:30 p.m. Out of an overdose of humanity they only required wind sprints at the end of the evening session.

These pleasant memories arose early this morning after I heard that numerous colleges and several major conferences such as the Big Ten and Pac-12 had cancelled their 2020 football seasons due to ’Ole 19. My first selfish thought was why hadn’t that happened before my fellow galley slaves and I had to crawl out of bed before the sun got up. My next selfish thought was I sure hope the whole country’s football season is not lost. Peg and I are rabid fans of high school and college football, not so much pro. We have spent hundreds of enjoyable hours in front of a big screen TV sipping beverages and eating guacamole as we watch young men risk their bodies and psyches for our entertainment. And the best part for me is, no wind sprints. Getting out of bed at 5:00 a.m. does not cause the angst it did when I was sixteen but I am fairly sure my attempt at running forty yards now would not be pretty.

Our son and two of our grandsons played high school football but they have matriculated onto other pursuits. Still, we enjoy watching and cheering on other young athletes who have shown the character to endure the month of August and drill sergeants passing for coaches. Of course, each school and each parent and each athlete must have the right to decide these issues for themselves. And if Peg and I have to forego a season of football we completely understand and support whatever decisions others make. After all, for us it’s entertainment. For others it could be something else.

Regardless, at least now when 5:00 a.m. rolls around and I am lying there wide awake I know all that awaits me is a cup of coffee. And instead of putting up with coaches who make Captain Ahab look saintly all I have to put up with are the prattling heads of cable news.

Eden Revisited

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*** Update from Peg: After reading this article please see pictures below along with explanation! ***

The Garden of Eden set a standard no other garden can match. All Adam and Eve had to do was wander around fig leaf-less and enjoy earth’s bounty. Well, there was that small inconvenience of avoiding the fruit of one tree, but even with that tree there was no pruning, no Japanese beetles and no cultivation. Not even the concept of weeding and tilling were mentioned. In sum, neither a hoe nor Roundup were issues. There was no need for Adam to devise strategies to avoid his wife’s complaints that Mother Nature was winning the battle over whether fruits and vegetables or crabgrass would dominate. Adam could simply prop up his feet and, if he could have accessed cable T.V., watch football without guilt. Ah, if only Peg’s garden were the same.

“Jim, have you even looked at the garden recently? I have no idea what that stuff is growing out there but it sure is not the late-season vegetables I planted. It is humiliating to see the neighbors’ weed-free plants. Don’t you care?”

I bit my tongue and suppressed a truthful response. “Would you like for me to till the garden AGAIN?” Then I suggested IGA had a cornucopia of ripe and blemish-free tomatoes and onions. “You know, Peg, grocery stores need our business.We should try to be good community members and help keep those folks employed.” That sounded reasonable, to me.

“We buy plenty of groceries that we can’t grow such as paper products, detergent, peanut butter, and practically everything else we need. The stores won’t close if you weed our garden so we can grow a few fresh tomatoes. Is that stupid football game about over?” I did not tell her it was the third game of the day.

As I put down my iced tea and forced myself off the couch my life flashed through my brain. How did this come to be? Did it go all the way back to Eve? Did her seemingly benign offering of a weed-free apple to Adam determine the fate for all husbands for all time? And if it is not too impertinent to raise this issue, why did God include weeds in His grand scheme anyway? It’s probably as simple as He didn’t have a wife so He wasn’t worried.

Anyway, I slowly went from my cool den to my hot barn and found my two-cycle gas tiller. The tiller was about as reluctant as I was to face the hopelessly entwined non-edible vegetation. I primed the engine. I used starter fluid. I pulled on the cord for what seemed like an hour, so much so I caused a blister, before the tiller gave up and started. Then I trudged through the tangled mess that Peg claims is a garden. I completely understood the poetic analogy of William Cullen Bryant’s poem Thanatopsis in which he cautioned against approaching death (or gardening) like one being “scourged to his dungeon”. What I could not do was conquer my desire to dig out my old container of 2-4D and use the nuclear option. Unfortunately, Peg had anticipated just such a course of action and she had already disposed of it.

Okay, after only two hours and one blister the garden was tilled. Perhaps it will be at least two weeks before the weeds reemerge in all their sardonic evil. Once again, I ask you, would it have been too hard to design the whole thing better?

P.S. From Peg:

Folks, don’t feel too sorry for my hubby. Our neighbor, Chuck Minnette, took pity on him and offered to help as per the pictures below!

Forty Bowl Games And Counting

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Americans rushed to California in 1849 seeking gold. Most found what the little boy shot at. But now there is gold to be found by college football teams heading to California, and Florida, Texas, etc., etc., to play in one of the college bowl games. It is estimated that in excess of half a billion dollars will change hands between the first bowl game on December 16, 2017 (The Celebration Bowl played between Grambling and North Carolina A & T in Atlanta, Georgia) and the National Championship Bowl to be held January 08, 2018 in the same place.

My alma mater, Indiana University, will not be among the 80 colleges participating. We will, however, share in a portion of the bowl revenues that other Big 10 universities will rake in. Maybe we can use the money to help fund the one event I.U. students always get to play in, the Little 500 bike race. Okay, enough sour grapes. Let’s move along with the main topic which is the college football bowl season.

Less than forty years after the end of the Civil War (1902) the first college bowl game was held between the University of Michigan (representing the east) and Stanford University (representing the west). America’s Civil War wounds were still too raw to pit a northern team versus a southern one. The game was conceived as a fundraiser to help Pasadena, California defray the expenses of the Rose Parade that was always held to celebrate the New Year. Unfortunately, Michigan beat Stanford so badly that Stanford walked off the field and quit in the third quarter (49-0). This was so embarrassing the Rose Bowl game was not held again until 1916.

However, due to the financial success of games from 1916 up to the time of the Great Depression other communities jumped on the bowl bandwagon. Miami, Florida started the Orange Bowl in 1933, New Orleans added the Sugar Bowl in 1935 and Texas started the Sun Bowl in 1936 and the Cotton Bowl in 1937. A true gold rush was in full swing.

The 2018 Rose Bowl will be held New Year’s Day between The University of Oklahoma and the University of Georgia. Each school’s conference will be paid $40 million dollars and each of the two schools playing will get paid over $2 million as “compensation for expenses”. My guess is each university will use the money to snag five star recruits and build evermore state of the art practice facilities. I say we should not expect the money to be invested in each university’s academic needs. On the other hand, Peg and I have not seen fit to buy any tickets to watch the exciting lectures on physics at I.U. instead of the moribund football games!

Ohio State 13, I.U. 14 (Half Time)

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After treating me to 8 weeks of basic training in the Texas summer heat the United States Air Force extended the misery by subjecting me to Indiana University football. In 1963 the Air Force stationed me in Bloomington to learn Hungarian. First they gave me a Top Secret Security Clearance. Silly me, I thought the reason was to keep secrets from the Soviet Union. I discovered the only secret being protected was that there are two halves to a football game; I.U. often plays only the first.

From my first IU football game in 1963 through 7 years on campus up to last night, August 31, 2017, I have repeatedly had my hopes raised in the first half only to see them crushed on the shoals of reality. At least IU has often been inventive and original in finding ways to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

My most painful memory is the game we lost after it was over. Yes, over! What happened was Indiana went ahead with less than thirty seconds left to play and was so excited, and surprised, to be ahead the team started celebrating during the kickoff and the other team ran the kickoff back for a go-ahead touchdown as time ran out. That was the first IU game I saw. It was an omen, a harbinger, a curse.

On the other hand I have watched numerous football games where we led at half time. What is it about IU football and the second half? We often play well and smart and tough the first half then have to invent a way to lose in the second. Perhaps our approach has been misguided.

Indiana University is a fine academic institution with a beautiful campus and generous support from Hoosier taxpayers. We have smart students and even smarter professors and we require our football players to go to class. Maybe we should demand a rule change based upon the empirical evidence. I suggest we simply walk off the field at half time and not come back. Then such debacles as 13 (Ohio State) to 14 (IU) at the half will no longer turn into 49 to 21 at the end.

Parallel Universes

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Peg’s mom gave us her small Florida condo when she decided to move back to Indiana. It is part of a retirement complex where owners must be over 55 years of age; we qualify. For about 20 years we have spent part of the Christmas holidays at the condo. I remember our first trips there. We drove down non-stop (19 hours) and came back the same way. It now takes us at least 2 extra days. Those first few years we filled each day with trips to the beach, sightseeing, miles of walking on golf courses and many hours of swimming. We frequented sports bars where we watched college football games late into the night while noshing on burgers and fries washed down with draft beer.

We met other snowbirds from New York, Massachusetts, Canada and the mid-west who enjoyed getting away from the condo complex and engaging in dancing, dining and conversations about sports, politics and contemporary music. Those folks have remained friends for years.

During this same period Peg and I have attended my high school reunions which are held every 5 years in Oklahoma. Twenty years ago there was a live band playing Beatles songs. This past weekend there was one guy doing an Elvis impersonation. He was quite convincing. Whereas twenty years ago and several times in between everyone danced and shouted out the lyrics, this year people sat and listened politely while occasionally tapping their toes.

Over the years the reunions have included alumni football games, trips to local ranches for beer and barbeque and an occasional reprise of high school rivalries between contesting classmates. This year we met for a buffet of soft food and iced tea accompanied by a few announcements about the classmates who either could no longer be with us or who have retired to Florida.

Peg and I are looking forward to seeing some of those friends and our other Florida acquaintances this Christmas. We plan to sit around the pool and talk about the weather as we enjoy some lemonade. It will be exhilarating!