I love football. I was one of those rare high school girls who really watched the games. When I graduated from college, I began teaching English in the largest high school in Louisiana Woodlawn High in Shreveport. After 20 years there, I moved to Evangel Christian Academy as an English teacher and counsellor. I adored all of my football players and I knew each one's jersey number, home conditions, GPA and ACT
scores, how to enlist them with the NCAA clearinghouse, and their current grades in all their classes. I never missed a game, and some of friends told me that that I would love any boy with a size 15 shoe. It was true. Our varsity team won 13 state championships and one national title and were known as a football powerhouse. When I walked out of the field house into the Friday Night lights, I could smell the pride, the legacy, and the victory. I knew most stadiums in Louisiana and what they had at the refreshment stand and if the restrooms were usable. If they were not, I would quit drinking liquids at 5:00. I went into the all stadiums expecting a victory or at least a close loss: down to the last second, with inches to go, and a failed field goal.
Except that night in Longview...When the boys got off the bus, they did not look up at us, and the coaches trailed behind. I talked to one of those coaches, and feeling as part of the inner circle, I asked, "What is wrong with the boys?" The coach answered that Longview was so good this year, and we really did not have to schedule this interstate game. I was stunned because Evangel had always felt that we could hold our own against the Saints or the Cowboys.With a tinge of anger, I sat down with great faith, surrounded by my rowdy friends on the 50, about 10 rows up because we were convinced that our yelling and screaming was directly a major part of the Eagles' success. I had permanently damaged my vocal chords from yelling, and only laser surgery would help; so damage being done, what difference did it make? "Go, Eagles, Go!"
I am coming directly to the point. We played the worst game in our history. We fumbled, got every penalty the refs had in their book, ran the worse plays ever called incorrectly, and missed an onside kick. We also threw helmets and were generally unruly on the bench. The boys were cramping up which meant they had not practiced as hard as they should, and they were just sitting on the bench playing with their helmets when not in the game. I finally got so disappointed and sick that I got up and walked up to the back of the stadium. The breeze felt good on my red cheeks, and i noticed several other fans were there just shaking their heads. I announced loudly, "I think I will just go to the car!" I could not believe I had said that.Then in a moment's time, God called me into his office, gave me my yellow pad and a #2 pencil and said sternly, "Take notes."
"Why did you get up and leave the game?"
"Because they can do so much better. They know what they are supposed to do out there. They have read the playbook. They know all of the playbook. They know the signals. There is no excuse."
"Oh, so they are having a rough day and you are going to the car? That is strange because when you have a bad day, that is when you need me most. Do you want me to walk away because you are losing? Don't you know your playbook? Do you sometimes get your signals crossed and things do not work out? That is when I remain most loyal to you. That is when we get in a huddle, and I reintroduce to my plan for your life and my next call. Maybe they don't deserve praise tonight or even your loyalty, but your job is to go back to the 50 and yell your vocal chords off just as do for you when you need encouragement. After the game go to the bus and hug your boys. You want my love when you are a winner and a loser. Get back downstairs."
I tore off my minutes I had taken, and I ran to the concession stand and bought some M&M's as an excuse for my absence. I sat down and offered my seat mates some candy. Meeting adjourned.
(The score was much worse than it was when I left.) Go, Eagles.
Please share your experiences or your response to my story. I will have another meeting with the Master this time next week. I think we can all teach each other from our yellow notepad.
scores, how to enlist them with the NCAA clearinghouse, and their current grades in all their classes. I never missed a game, and some of friends told me that that I would love any boy with a size 15 shoe. It was true. Our varsity team won 13 state championships and one national title and were known as a football powerhouse. When I walked out of the field house into the Friday Night lights, I could smell the pride, the legacy, and the victory. I knew most stadiums in Louisiana and what they had at the refreshment stand and if the restrooms were usable. If they were not, I would quit drinking liquids at 5:00. I went into the all stadiums expecting a victory or at least a close loss: down to the last second, with inches to go, and a failed field goal.
Except that night in Longview...When the boys got off the bus, they did not look up at us, and the coaches trailed behind. I talked to one of those coaches, and feeling as part of the inner circle, I asked, "What is wrong with the boys?" The coach answered that Longview was so good this year, and we really did not have to schedule this interstate game. I was stunned because Evangel had always felt that we could hold our own against the Saints or the Cowboys.With a tinge of anger, I sat down with great faith, surrounded by my rowdy friends on the 50, about 10 rows up because we were convinced that our yelling and screaming was directly a major part of the Eagles' success. I had permanently damaged my vocal chords from yelling, and only laser surgery would help; so damage being done, what difference did it make? "Go, Eagles, Go!"
I am coming directly to the point. We played the worst game in our history. We fumbled, got every penalty the refs had in their book, ran the worse plays ever called incorrectly, and missed an onside kick. We also threw helmets and were generally unruly on the bench. The boys were cramping up which meant they had not practiced as hard as they should, and they were just sitting on the bench playing with their helmets when not in the game. I finally got so disappointed and sick that I got up and walked up to the back of the stadium. The breeze felt good on my red cheeks, and i noticed several other fans were there just shaking their heads. I announced loudly, "I think I will just go to the car!" I could not believe I had said that.Then in a moment's time, God called me into his office, gave me my yellow pad and a #2 pencil and said sternly, "Take notes."
"Why did you get up and leave the game?"
"Because they can do so much better. They know what they are supposed to do out there. They have read the playbook. They know all of the playbook. They know the signals. There is no excuse."
"Oh, so they are having a rough day and you are going to the car? That is strange because when you have a bad day, that is when you need me most. Do you want me to walk away because you are losing? Don't you know your playbook? Do you sometimes get your signals crossed and things do not work out? That is when I remain most loyal to you. That is when we get in a huddle, and I reintroduce to my plan for your life and my next call. Maybe they don't deserve praise tonight or even your loyalty, but your job is to go back to the 50 and yell your vocal chords off just as do for you when you need encouragement. After the game go to the bus and hug your boys. You want my love when you are a winner and a loser. Get back downstairs."
I tore off my minutes I had taken, and I ran to the concession stand and bought some M&M's as an excuse for my absence. I sat down and offered my seat mates some candy. Meeting adjourned.
(The score was much worse than it was when I left.) Go, Eagles.
Please share your experiences or your response to my story. I will have another meeting with the Master this time next week. I think we can all teach each other from our yellow notepad.
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