It’s fall and time for football. The game, however, is secondary to what hyperbolic announcers always refer to “the grand spectacle of football; the clash of titans; a war of gladiators.” Anyone who has spent six hours watching the Super Bowl will tell you that the best part is usually the halftime show when celebrity rock ‘n’ rollers entertain and sometimes have part of their clothing ripped off.
Even in high school, it’s classy cheerleaders, a blaring band and inspiring halftime shows that win championships, not strong-armed quarterbacks, fleet receivers and brutish linemen. Don’t scoff. Remember the Dallas Cowboys were “America’s team,” everybody’s favorite to win the Super Bowl in the 90s; then the team’s new owner tangled with the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. The next year they won only one game and were the perennial 200-to-1 shots to win the championship.
At the high school level, where winning and losing means a lot more, the consequences of alienating those responsible for school spirit can be even more devastating. When I was at Weiser High School, it ended the coaching career of the coach who had been brought in three years earlier to rescue the Wolverines from humiliation.
Weiser High School had as many students as the rest of the schools the Snake River Valley Conference and its football players were just as big and just as talented, but it lacked several important basic ingredients for winning championships. Its so-called drill team, under the direction of civics teacher Margaret Duclos, performed Scottish country-dances wearing full-length red skirts topped by white sweaters. The band provided a perfect compliment. Director Ford Smith’s idea of a fire-up-the-team number was a well-disciplined rendition of The Happy Wanderer.
The cheerleaders tried, but with that kind of backup it was almost impossible to get the Pep Club fired up to chant “Go team, fight, fight. Red and white you’re dynamite.”
Over at Emmett, where the brother of Weiser’s new coach had built a strong football program, the band was all drums and brass and could be heard, nay felt, for miles around when the Huskies were pressing toward the end zone. The drill team, in short skirts and sequins, strutted and high kicked in time while the local citizenry roared for its team.
Weiser’s coach must have known he would have to dislodge Duclos and Smith before that atmosphere could be duplicated and a championship won. But they were institutions. To challenge them was to question God.
A showdown came the week before the Wolverines met the Huskies in the traditional Armistice Day game. It had been the Wolverines’ worst season in memory. Not only were they winless in six games, they had scored only 12 points to their opponents’ 196.
Working through football players and other sympathizers, the coach got a motion before student council calling for more support from the band and rill team. There was a heated debate that culminated in band drum major Susan Millbrook telling quarterback Bobby Sturtevant the football team couldn’t win so there was no point in trying.
Bobby countered that the team would beat Emmett and rub the band’s face in it. That fired up the whole team and for a couple of days it looked like the Wolverines were ready to pull off the upset of the season. On game day, the band was droning its usual mush and the drill team was chanting, “We’ll roll that red and white, hay-andy-andy...” and other nonsense. But the team was on fire. Guys were slapping each other on the shoulder pads, butting heads and yelling at each other. The euphoria lasted until Virgil Lord, the Huskies’ all-state fullback, ran the opening kickoff back for a touchdown. The game pretty much went downhill from there.
At half time with the score thirty-something to nothing the coach seemed overcome with despair and disgust. For a very long moment he stood at the blackboard fingering a piece of chalk. Suddenly he jerked his head up, spun around and spiked the chalk to the floor with such force it vanished in a puff of dust. “It’s the same old bullshit,” he thundered. There was a beat of silence and then Glenn Reeve’s shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. There were a few sniggers, and then someone snorted sharply and began laughing out loud. Soon the whole team was laughing and the poor coach had no choice but to join in the fun. The team went out and played well holding Emmett to less than 50 points – a moral victory all things considered.
The born-again clique in the staff room did not appreciate how the coach’s outbursts broke the tension, much less see the humor in his outburst. Neither did the Weiser Ministerial Association. The coach found another job.
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Posted by: john bruce | November 30, 2013 at 04:50 AM