Bears fall 21-7 to Wesleyan
First for the logistics: Getting from Holy Innocents’ to Wesleyan at 4:45 on a Friday afternoon simply can’t be done. It’s a you-can’t-get-there-from-here waiting to happen. Head Coach Ryan Livezey and assistants Ron Green and Bill Railey check their I-phones, looking for the latest traffic reports.
“Traffic’s backed up to Riverside,” Railey says. Green just nods. Livezey leans forward to the bus driver – the same driver and same bus as last week for good luck – and gives the orders. “Let’s just go 285; we’ll get off at Peachtree-Industrial and try our luck that way.”
So off the Golden Bears go, 13-0 winners over Bowdon the week before, a team that has now advanced to the Sweet 16 two years in a row. It’s a quiet bus – a trip with the Golden Bears isn’t a trip to rah-rah land. There’s no yelling, no cheers, no singing – in fact some are actually asleep as the bus does its stop-and-go thing through tens of thousands of Atlantans eager to get into their weekend.
It’s cold outside – “so cold it hurts” one would say – so hand and foot warmers, hats and long johns are the order of the night. The equipment bus has apparently taken the short route – they went Roswell Road, hung a right at North Springs and then hit Spalding Drive all the way to the Promised Land.
The bus arrives at around 5:15 p.m.; it parks right in front of a sign which reads “Bears Hibernate – 11-21-2008. We hope not. Last year the Final 16 was our exit; this year’s team comes hoping for better things.
In the locker room:
Again, this isn’t your made-for-TV locker room. Knute Rockne doesn’t deliver the roundhouse speech in front of a bunch of screaming kids. No, it’s methodical times 12 as each coach grabs the chalk, writes on the board and delivers tonight’s mantra.
“They aren’t going to do anything unexpected,” Livezey says. “It’s going to be a matter of execution. It’s going to be a matter of who wants to continue playing football.” Avid faces lean forward, equipment half on, half off, some waiting to be taped, all hyped up on the inside in spite of the outward appearances.
Trainer Lindsey Law tapes quietly in the corner. Assistant Coach Marshall Gaines passes out defensive equipment. Forrest Stillwell and Dan Forrester head outside to get the lay of the land.
There are “Go Wolves” signs everywhere. We know already we are facing a team eager for revenge. We beat them last year 3-0 in regular season, eliminating them from the playoffs. In Week 3 of this season, it was a 7-6 win right here in Wolf-Hood that stopped our losing streak and put us on the road to postseason.
Can we do it again?
There’s promise and hope in the air as the teams go through “Flex” and the fans, instead of heading for the seats, stay in their cars for warmth.
“Hand warmers anyone?” cheerleading coach Alyson Miller says from the track next to our bench. There are several takers.
With a hand too cold to keep stats and a brain too buzzed on Friday Night Mayhem, this is what I recall:
We again dodged bullet after bullet in the first half, what baseball great Yogi Berra would refer to as “Déjà vu all over again.” Wesleyan drives the opening kickoff down our throats and has a first-and-goal.
But – like shades of last Friday – our defense stiffens and – on 4th-and-2, a bone-jarring tackle forces a fumble in the end zone that the Bears recover.
But… we go three-and-out and the snap for the punt is low. John McKay scoops it up hurriedly and kicks it off but it’s blocked. Once again, the Wolves have it in our red zone.
And again our defense stiffens. A 29-year-field goal is wide left and the Bears have new life.
It would happen again. The Wolves take a second quarter punt and drive it outside our 25-yard line. But a pass is intercepted inside the 10 and the Bears appear to be living right.
The Wolves do break the ice early in the second quarter, however, when the lefty quarterback finds his wide receiver for a 30-yard strike and a score. The PAT is good and the bad guys are up 7-0.
“It’s like a heavyweight fight,” Forrester had warned the team all week. “They’ll throw a punch; then we’ve got to take it and throw one back.”
We do.
Wills Aitkens takes the ensuing kickoff all the way down to the Wesleyan 16. Then, on 4th-and-goal from the 4, Peter Allen takes a Will Allen handoff and cracks it in off-tackle for the score. Collin Rhea converts the point after and it’s 7-7.
The first half ends that way.
“We’ve been given a gift,” Railey says in the locker room. Stillwell agrees. “For us to play this poorly and to still be tied….I know we’re going to play better in the second half. Do we want this season to end tonight?”
A chorus of “No’s” break out through the otherwise silent locker room.
Each coach delivers their spiel. “You said you were going to do whatever it took tonight for us to win,” Mike Thornton yells. “We haven’t done that. Let’s go!”
The words are received; even this reporter wants to don a pair of pads and go play the second half – the half which would decide either a trip to Savannah or the planning of our post-season banquet.
Unfortunately…
Call it fate, call it God’s will, call it the Divine Plan. Regardless, the Football Gods smiled down on the Wolves in the second half. And give them credit – they played a good football game.
On the other hand, however, you ain’t human if you don’t feel for our kids – especially those seniors who have given six years of their time (including JV) to make this trip happen. To see Mo Green wrap up for another tackle. Connor Randall foiling a would-be passer. Collin Rhea stepping up on both sides of the ball and special teams. Rawson Allen recovering from a bone-splitting tackle the week before only to suit up and hit the field again; the spirit of Tucker Lansing, the guts of John Mitchell, the hands of Jack Farrell. There are plenty more.
Regardless, Wesleyan turns a HIES fumble into a score in the third quarter; they would add another TD in the fourth as time and the season runs out on our beloved Bears.
Later…
“I’m disappointed we lost but I’m not disappointed in any one of you guys,” Livezey says. The stadium lights – save one post – are all out. Even Wesleyan has gone in for warmth and next week’s plans.
Our Bears are huddled – no hibernation in sight thank you very much – at around the 15-yard-line.
Livezey himself is at a loss for words. After all, what do you say to a team of kids who have given you their guts, their livers and their spleens for all those years? How do you adequately wish these seniors well and praise them for their efforts? How do you recognize such a young football program already recognized as a power, even though these sentiments aren’t felt at the moment?
Maybe you just do exactly what these young Bears did: They just held on to each other and there were tears. They just slap backs, exchange hugs of respect and look each other in the eye. They huddle and stick close together out of respect and loyalty, out of love for the game, out of love for the program and their school.
True, the Football Gods – and a good Wesleyan football team – has ended this season. But nothing diminishes these positives felt here, these sentiments expressed here.
This is a good group to walk off this field with. This is a good group to share this pain with. This is a good coaching staff to mix in with. “You’re loyal to each other and you love each other – that’s what got us here in the first place,” Stillwell says.
He’s right.
And in spite of the pain – maybe even because of the pain – this feeling makes for a glimmer of hope deep down, a sense of joy, a sense of being in the right place, in the right time and with the right group of kids.
As the last post of lights go out – as the locker room doors open and close for us the last time, as the bus cranks up and takes us through the cold, across town and back home – there’s almost a smile in back of the tears.
After all, you can go through hell if you go through it with the right people.
We love you Bears!
Dunn Neugebauer
Nov. 22, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
A night with the Holy Innocents' football team
Bowdon, GA – 5:15 p.m.
“Okay everybody! It’s time for everyone to get quiet and get focused on what we came here to do.”
With these words, Holy Innocents’ head football coach Ryan Livezey sits down at the front of the rented coach, grabs his clipboard, moves his IPod aside, and stares forward into the mid-November, Bowdon, GA sky.
We’re somewhere between Carrollton and Alabama, somewhere between Atlanta and Nowhere, and we left the school at around 1:45 (1:52 to be exact!) and made the trip across I-285 and I-20, headed west, drove through the drizzle and the autumn clouds.
It was that period between daylight and dusk, and the out-of -window surroundings provided us with absolutely nothing to remember. More drizzle, old houses, businesses that probably closed sometime around when Carter was president, fences, fields, and a two-laned blacktop that would take us, hopefully, to Bowdon High School.
Livezey has his football team in tow, his team only in its third year of varsity football competition. Most programs at that stage are supposed to go – say – 4-6 and out, thanks for the memories and let’s have a fun banquet. But not these overachievers.
They went 7-5 last year; made it to the Final 16 – knocked off region champs Fanin County on the road in their opener before bowing to Pepperell.
This year, with a new classification but just as tough a schedule, they made it through regular season at 7-3, 6-2 in the conference and are now heading north. Or west – for this first round game of the Class A playoffs.
The players obey Livezey’s comment. IPods are pulled out of ears, pads are adjusted, there’s a quiet on the bus but it comes with a non-silent buzz – that buzz of the Friday Night Lights and the playoffs. The sound of pads, the locking of helmets, the sounding of whistles – all that – are soon to follow.
It’s November and it’s postseason.
“If you’re playing football in cold weather you’ve got to be doing something right,” Coach Ron Green said earlier. I think it was Green anyway. Regardless, the comment was accurate.
3:00 p.m. --
The team had rented a hotel in Bremen – the name of the place already forgotten – and the Golden Bears turned a meeting room into a chaired-off version of a football field. After destroying a pregame meal – sandwich, fritos and a power bar – the team moved all chairs out of the way, lined the walls with their bodies, and listened while coaches went through the night ahead.
There are nerves kicking in. A trip to the bathroom is like trying to relieve yourself during a rock concert. You must wait. Players line themselves almost outside the door between meetings.
Some coaches, the trainers and manager are outside watching ESPN and channel surfing while the team waits for the 5:15 bus to take them to the stadium.
“Enough of these sports, let’s watch Oprah,” Trainer Lindsay Law says. To Manager Casey Farrell’s agreement, she clicks off the sports’ experts and changes the channel. Coach Bill Railey gets up in disgust, heads outside to talk to Coach Marshall Gaines about the game. Or about something.
“I don’t like that woman,” Railey mutters as he joins Gaines.
Gaines, for the record, is no stranger to postseason. Besides football, he was on the sideline during the baseball team’s 2007 state title. He’s had his share of pregame meals, tape jobs, chalk talk, pep talk, you name it.
Coaches pace in and out of the meeting room. Each coach delivers his spiel. Father John Porter, along for good luck as well as a good spiritual connection, delivers a speech and a prayer. Father Porter’s energy is felt in the room; his spirit kindles so perfectly with this group of eager, nervous Bears.
“I’m saying it in the present tense,” Porter says. “I AM enjoying this football season because it’s not going to end tonight. Do this as a team. It’s not going to end tonight.”
The players hear, yell, enjoy.
Even Michael Altmeter looks up from his USA Today crossword puzzle and gives a yell.
And now, after a trip from school that included sleep and I-Pod listening, the Bears have now heeded Livezey’s advice and are quiet, staring out the window into nothing, at these rural surroundings that give them nothing else TO think about but the task ahead.
The bus pulls into the school at just after 5:20. The lights aren’t on yet, bleachers are virtually empty. A group of Bowdon Red Devils pace the sloped field at the opposite end and Bowdon parents set up the Admission table.
It’s the pre-game before the pre-game. The walk through. The time to catch the energy and the lay of the land. You don’t coach this, you just go through it. Players glance at the field while walking into the old fieldhouse. Just a glance, they know. Nothing much left to say, no more chalk talk needed thank you very much.
They go inside; several coaches lead them in and close the door.
7:30 p.m. Game time ---
Things become hazy come show time, as hazy as the fog that lifts across the field, obviously clouding the P.A. announcer’s vision. It’s almost funny, but you have to feel for the guy.
This much I did catch…
The Bears won the toss and elected to defer. Both teams are nervous early – a couple of illegal procedure penalties, some missed assignments. Both are three-and-out with the punters getting some early work. John McKay, filling in for the injured Jack Farrell, does a good job of pinning the Red Devils back early.
Regardless, the Bears have to dodge bullets in the first half – three to be exact.
Bullet #1 happens when the Devils drive inside the Bears 30, mostly behind the running of their athletic back (#2, don’t know his name). He twists, turns and eludes some Bear defenders and has his home team knocking on the door.
But on 3rd-and-long, Bear cornerback Peter Allen slips in front of a Red Devil receiver and intercepts a pass, thwarting the first Bowdon drive of the night.
Momentum has shifted for the team being, and the Bear offense gets a couple of first downs on their turn with the ball.
Then comes Bullet #2. Again, the Red Devils are driving. Some more good runs, some timely gains, and Bowdon has the ball 1st-and-goal at the Bear two-yard line.
This is where big teams come up big, however, and the Bears hold them outside the goal three straight plays. After a procedure penalty on the Devils, Bowdon tries a chip shot field goal.
They miss. It’s still 0-0 and why to go Defense!
Bullet #3. Last play of the half. McKay is back near his own goal to punt. After a low snap, McKay scoops it up quickly and punts. It’s blocked and the ball rolls free as the time on the clock reads 0:00. The Bears recover. It’s halftime. It’s still scoreless.
What can you say? Good teams also need good luck at times. We just got some. Perhaps there is something to Father John’s connection. He smiles on the sideline, pats his belly, lifts his fist in the air.
The trainers go off to re-fill the water coolers.
And… the scary moment of the night for the Bears. Rawson Allen, after delivering a bone-crunching tackle, has an injury to his chest area. He’s on the sideline coughing up blood. He is taken away by ambulance…our prayers go with him.
Second half…
The Bears use the good fortune and the breaks of the opening two frames and turn it into momentum the last 24 minutes. The offense comes out inspired.
“They looked like they wanted to be out there,” Livezey would say after the game. “Whether they gained 8 yards or 2 yards, they jumped back up and hustled back to the huddle. The bottom line was passion. They played with passion!”
HIES takes the opening kickoff and shoves it down the Red Devils’ throats. After some timely and excellent runs from running back Jordan Garrett and quarterback Will Allen, the Bears are first-and-goal on the two.
After an option loses two yards, tailback Wills Aitkens breaks the ice. He takes an Allen hand-off and scampers in off left tackle for a four-yard score. The extra point is good.
The Bears, visitors to this fogy land, are up 7-0 with half of the third quarter left.
The defense picks up the momentum – hold Bowdon for another three-and-out. The Bears get the ball back around midfield, pumped up, adrenaline times 12, ready for anything.
On the 26-yard line, Aitkens takes a pitch from Allen and scampers off-tackle. Cutting right and eluding a tackle, the junior takes it to the house for another score. The Bears miss the PAT, but they’re up 13-0 and not taking any crap from anybody.
It ends that way – Bears 13, Bowdon 0. The players gather around the coaches.
9:48 p.m.
“You guys played well, particularly in the second half,” Livezey says. “Now there’s a certain team in Norcross we have to get ready for.”
The players erupt. Just the thought of that “W” word from back home can gear a Bear riled up regardless of the sport.
Wesleyan, you see, has already drubbed Warren County 42-19 tonight in the rain at home. It’s the same Wesleyan team the Bears edged 7-6 back on Week 3, the same Wesleyan team the Bears beat 3-0 last year, eliminating them from post season.
“They’re probably hoping that we won tonight,” Livezey says. “They’re going to be fired up for us.”
The players yell, all hormones and adrenaline, ready for anything. They are released while the Bear spectators, straight off of the Spirit Bus, storm the field. They are led by volleyball star Meg Yanda and tennis stars Jessica and Julia Bailey. Cross country ace Wood Alter and baseball coach Dylan Deal. Volleyball assistant Quinton Walker and parent Teresa McMillan. Graduate parents – Brooke Hawkins, cheerleaders, well-wishers.
It’s a Bear-fest on the Bowdon field and the Bears walk back to the bus slowly to savor the moment. Snacks await them on the bus, something they will jump on like a fumble on a Friday night. Then a bus ride.
A not so quiet ride this time.
No, it’s still football season, you see. It’s the Final 16, just like last year. It’s against rivals Wesleyan.
“They don’t like us,” Livezey says before putting in his IPod on the bus home.
Still, he smiles and throws down his clipboard, the wisdom of no escape if you will. Ron Green grins while he throws snacks across the back of the bus. Father Porter goes to sleep, his job well done. The equipment bus, driven by Forrest Stillwell, follows the coach back to I-20, back to I-285, back through the Atlanta rain.
Home before midnight. Adrenaline still up - Friday night lights still shining in Bear brains. Still, there’s a price to pay for winning – it’s business as usual.
“Films at 2 p.m. Sunday, weight lifting after that, same routine as last week,” Livezey tells his players. “We’ll be under the lights practicing at Riverwood all week."
That’s right folks, you don’t wish for success – you earn it. The Bears yell one last time, clean up their trash, exit the bus one at a time, head off into what’s left of the Friday night.
Drive safely…
Can’t wait till next Friday.
Go Bears!
“Okay everybody! It’s time for everyone to get quiet and get focused on what we came here to do.”
With these words, Holy Innocents’ head football coach Ryan Livezey sits down at the front of the rented coach, grabs his clipboard, moves his IPod aside, and stares forward into the mid-November, Bowdon, GA sky.
We’re somewhere between Carrollton and Alabama, somewhere between Atlanta and Nowhere, and we left the school at around 1:45 (1:52 to be exact!) and made the trip across I-285 and I-20, headed west, drove through the drizzle and the autumn clouds.
It was that period between daylight and dusk, and the out-of -window surroundings provided us with absolutely nothing to remember. More drizzle, old houses, businesses that probably closed sometime around when Carter was president, fences, fields, and a two-laned blacktop that would take us, hopefully, to Bowdon High School.
Livezey has his football team in tow, his team only in its third year of varsity football competition. Most programs at that stage are supposed to go – say – 4-6 and out, thanks for the memories and let’s have a fun banquet. But not these overachievers.
They went 7-5 last year; made it to the Final 16 – knocked off region champs Fanin County on the road in their opener before bowing to Pepperell.
This year, with a new classification but just as tough a schedule, they made it through regular season at 7-3, 6-2 in the conference and are now heading north. Or west – for this first round game of the Class A playoffs.
The players obey Livezey’s comment. IPods are pulled out of ears, pads are adjusted, there’s a quiet on the bus but it comes with a non-silent buzz – that buzz of the Friday Night Lights and the playoffs. The sound of pads, the locking of helmets, the sounding of whistles – all that – are soon to follow.
It’s November and it’s postseason.
“If you’re playing football in cold weather you’ve got to be doing something right,” Coach Ron Green said earlier. I think it was Green anyway. Regardless, the comment was accurate.
3:00 p.m. --
The team had rented a hotel in Bremen – the name of the place already forgotten – and the Golden Bears turned a meeting room into a chaired-off version of a football field. After destroying a pregame meal – sandwich, fritos and a power bar – the team moved all chairs out of the way, lined the walls with their bodies, and listened while coaches went through the night ahead.
There are nerves kicking in. A trip to the bathroom is like trying to relieve yourself during a rock concert. You must wait. Players line themselves almost outside the door between meetings.
Some coaches, the trainers and manager are outside watching ESPN and channel surfing while the team waits for the 5:15 bus to take them to the stadium.
“Enough of these sports, let’s watch Oprah,” Trainer Lindsay Law says. To Manager Casey Farrell’s agreement, she clicks off the sports’ experts and changes the channel. Coach Bill Railey gets up in disgust, heads outside to talk to Coach Marshall Gaines about the game. Or about something.
“I don’t like that woman,” Railey mutters as he joins Gaines.
Gaines, for the record, is no stranger to postseason. Besides football, he was on the sideline during the baseball team’s 2007 state title. He’s had his share of pregame meals, tape jobs, chalk talk, pep talk, you name it.
Coaches pace in and out of the meeting room. Each coach delivers his spiel. Father John Porter, along for good luck as well as a good spiritual connection, delivers a speech and a prayer. Father Porter’s energy is felt in the room; his spirit kindles so perfectly with this group of eager, nervous Bears.
“I’m saying it in the present tense,” Porter says. “I AM enjoying this football season because it’s not going to end tonight. Do this as a team. It’s not going to end tonight.”
The players hear, yell, enjoy.
Even Michael Altmeter looks up from his USA Today crossword puzzle and gives a yell.
And now, after a trip from school that included sleep and I-Pod listening, the Bears have now heeded Livezey’s advice and are quiet, staring out the window into nothing, at these rural surroundings that give them nothing else TO think about but the task ahead.
The bus pulls into the school at just after 5:20. The lights aren’t on yet, bleachers are virtually empty. A group of Bowdon Red Devils pace the sloped field at the opposite end and Bowdon parents set up the Admission table.
It’s the pre-game before the pre-game. The walk through. The time to catch the energy and the lay of the land. You don’t coach this, you just go through it. Players glance at the field while walking into the old fieldhouse. Just a glance, they know. Nothing much left to say, no more chalk talk needed thank you very much.
They go inside; several coaches lead them in and close the door.
7:30 p.m. Game time ---
Things become hazy come show time, as hazy as the fog that lifts across the field, obviously clouding the P.A. announcer’s vision. It’s almost funny, but you have to feel for the guy.
This much I did catch…
The Bears won the toss and elected to defer. Both teams are nervous early – a couple of illegal procedure penalties, some missed assignments. Both are three-and-out with the punters getting some early work. John McKay, filling in for the injured Jack Farrell, does a good job of pinning the Red Devils back early.
Regardless, the Bears have to dodge bullets in the first half – three to be exact.
Bullet #1 happens when the Devils drive inside the Bears 30, mostly behind the running of their athletic back (#2, don’t know his name). He twists, turns and eludes some Bear defenders and has his home team knocking on the door.
But on 3rd-and-long, Bear cornerback Peter Allen slips in front of a Red Devil receiver and intercepts a pass, thwarting the first Bowdon drive of the night.
Momentum has shifted for the team being, and the Bear offense gets a couple of first downs on their turn with the ball.
Then comes Bullet #2. Again, the Red Devils are driving. Some more good runs, some timely gains, and Bowdon has the ball 1st-and-goal at the Bear two-yard line.
This is where big teams come up big, however, and the Bears hold them outside the goal three straight plays. After a procedure penalty on the Devils, Bowdon tries a chip shot field goal.
They miss. It’s still 0-0 and why to go Defense!
Bullet #3. Last play of the half. McKay is back near his own goal to punt. After a low snap, McKay scoops it up quickly and punts. It’s blocked and the ball rolls free as the time on the clock reads 0:00. The Bears recover. It’s halftime. It’s still scoreless.
What can you say? Good teams also need good luck at times. We just got some. Perhaps there is something to Father John’s connection. He smiles on the sideline, pats his belly, lifts his fist in the air.
The trainers go off to re-fill the water coolers.
And… the scary moment of the night for the Bears. Rawson Allen, after delivering a bone-crunching tackle, has an injury to his chest area. He’s on the sideline coughing up blood. He is taken away by ambulance…our prayers go with him.
Second half…
The Bears use the good fortune and the breaks of the opening two frames and turn it into momentum the last 24 minutes. The offense comes out inspired.
“They looked like they wanted to be out there,” Livezey would say after the game. “Whether they gained 8 yards or 2 yards, they jumped back up and hustled back to the huddle. The bottom line was passion. They played with passion!”
HIES takes the opening kickoff and shoves it down the Red Devils’ throats. After some timely and excellent runs from running back Jordan Garrett and quarterback Will Allen, the Bears are first-and-goal on the two.
After an option loses two yards, tailback Wills Aitkens breaks the ice. He takes an Allen hand-off and scampers in off left tackle for a four-yard score. The extra point is good.
The Bears, visitors to this fogy land, are up 7-0 with half of the third quarter left.
The defense picks up the momentum – hold Bowdon for another three-and-out. The Bears get the ball back around midfield, pumped up, adrenaline times 12, ready for anything.
On the 26-yard line, Aitkens takes a pitch from Allen and scampers off-tackle. Cutting right and eluding a tackle, the junior takes it to the house for another score. The Bears miss the PAT, but they’re up 13-0 and not taking any crap from anybody.
It ends that way – Bears 13, Bowdon 0. The players gather around the coaches.
9:48 p.m.
“You guys played well, particularly in the second half,” Livezey says. “Now there’s a certain team in Norcross we have to get ready for.”
The players erupt. Just the thought of that “W” word from back home can gear a Bear riled up regardless of the sport.
Wesleyan, you see, has already drubbed Warren County 42-19 tonight in the rain at home. It’s the same Wesleyan team the Bears edged 7-6 back on Week 3, the same Wesleyan team the Bears beat 3-0 last year, eliminating them from post season.
“They’re probably hoping that we won tonight,” Livezey says. “They’re going to be fired up for us.”
The players yell, all hormones and adrenaline, ready for anything. They are released while the Bear spectators, straight off of the Spirit Bus, storm the field. They are led by volleyball star Meg Yanda and tennis stars Jessica and Julia Bailey. Cross country ace Wood Alter and baseball coach Dylan Deal. Volleyball assistant Quinton Walker and parent Teresa McMillan. Graduate parents – Brooke Hawkins, cheerleaders, well-wishers.
It’s a Bear-fest on the Bowdon field and the Bears walk back to the bus slowly to savor the moment. Snacks await them on the bus, something they will jump on like a fumble on a Friday night. Then a bus ride.
A not so quiet ride this time.
No, it’s still football season, you see. It’s the Final 16, just like last year. It’s against rivals Wesleyan.
“They don’t like us,” Livezey says before putting in his IPod on the bus home.
Still, he smiles and throws down his clipboard, the wisdom of no escape if you will. Ron Green grins while he throws snacks across the back of the bus. Father Porter goes to sleep, his job well done. The equipment bus, driven by Forrest Stillwell, follows the coach back to I-20, back to I-285, back through the Atlanta rain.
Home before midnight. Adrenaline still up - Friday night lights still shining in Bear brains. Still, there’s a price to pay for winning – it’s business as usual.
“Films at 2 p.m. Sunday, weight lifting after that, same routine as last week,” Livezey tells his players. “We’ll be under the lights practicing at Riverwood all week."
That’s right folks, you don’t wish for success – you earn it. The Bears yell one last time, clean up their trash, exit the bus one at a time, head off into what’s left of the Friday night.
Drive safely…
Can’t wait till next Friday.
Go Bears!
Friday, November 7, 2008
Date Report - Volume 14
Re: Sunday night’s date
From: Feb. 24th, 2008
Author: Dunn Neugebauer
Additional comments: Please help
I left the house remembering all three rules of dating. 1) Don’t burp; 2) don’t fart; and 3) Hide all John Denver and Bee Gees CD’s under the car seat where she’ll think I’m cool.
I was dressed casually (jockstrap and sunglasses), while she looked suave in her jeans and sweater tied around her neck. We went Mexican – some place with a normal Mexican name that I’ve already forgotten. The hostess spoke no English and didn’t understand my dialect of ‘southern mixed with hangover’.
The subject of conversation was simple – OUR MIXED ALTA TEAM! In my story, of course, I was the hero – diving into the fence for loose balls, hitting magnificent shots between my legs and even banging my face into the net post between games just for pure adrenaline. She was impressed (either that or she feared I was lying). The damn waiter kept interrupting my lies – I mean, my story – by bringing us food and Corona beers. Couldn’t remember where the truth ended and my journalistic license began.
Fast forward: Not knowing whether we’re “just friends” or advancing into the stage of TV dinners by the fireplace while watching re-runs of Columbo in a romantic heap, I was very confidence-lacking as I walked her to the door. Still, being a member of the Final Four ALTA team and mustering up full nerve, I made the big move at the door, opting for the hug with a suck-on-her-face wrestling maneuver.
She turned her head and I ended up kissing her somewhere along the left ear lobe. For the record, sticking your tongue in a looped ear ring is not for the faint hearted and please, please, do not try this at home. She laughed, while I was speechless and literally, tongue tied.
Advice needed: Please send all help and correspondence to “Dear Dunny”. Deadline for submissions is next Tuesday (she’s going out of town I was told). Need help.
Sincerely,
Single in Atlanta and starting to get used to it,
Dunn Neugebauer
ALTA team member
Sportswriter
Nerd
From: Feb. 24th, 2008
Author: Dunn Neugebauer
Additional comments: Please help
I left the house remembering all three rules of dating. 1) Don’t burp; 2) don’t fart; and 3) Hide all John Denver and Bee Gees CD’s under the car seat where she’ll think I’m cool.
I was dressed casually (jockstrap and sunglasses), while she looked suave in her jeans and sweater tied around her neck. We went Mexican – some place with a normal Mexican name that I’ve already forgotten. The hostess spoke no English and didn’t understand my dialect of ‘southern mixed with hangover’.
The subject of conversation was simple – OUR MIXED ALTA TEAM! In my story, of course, I was the hero – diving into the fence for loose balls, hitting magnificent shots between my legs and even banging my face into the net post between games just for pure adrenaline. She was impressed (either that or she feared I was lying). The damn waiter kept interrupting my lies – I mean, my story – by bringing us food and Corona beers. Couldn’t remember where the truth ended and my journalistic license began.
Fast forward: Not knowing whether we’re “just friends” or advancing into the stage of TV dinners by the fireplace while watching re-runs of Columbo in a romantic heap, I was very confidence-lacking as I walked her to the door. Still, being a member of the Final Four ALTA team and mustering up full nerve, I made the big move at the door, opting for the hug with a suck-on-her-face wrestling maneuver.
She turned her head and I ended up kissing her somewhere along the left ear lobe. For the record, sticking your tongue in a looped ear ring is not for the faint hearted and please, please, do not try this at home. She laughed, while I was speechless and literally, tongue tied.
Advice needed: Please send all help and correspondence to “Dear Dunny”. Deadline for submissions is next Tuesday (she’s going out of town I was told). Need help.
Sincerely,
Single in Atlanta and starting to get used to it,
Dunn Neugebauer
ALTA team member
Sportswriter
Nerd
Monday, November 3, 2008
Meditations from a cross country meet
I want this night to be a celebration. A celebration of injuries healed, illnesses overcome, and guts. Lots of guts.
I want this night to be a celebration because I love runners. Because they’re a little bit skinny and a whole lot warped; because their sense of humor is way left of center and they are all angles and elbows, ribs and jawbones.
Maybe I love runners because they give up their weekends while others are home in bed with their electric blankets up somewhere between bake and broil; still others watching the TIVO edition of Grey’s Anatomy or House.
Maybe because they say things like Amelia Foster did: “Coach, you lied to me. There are no fat kids here!” This is Amelia – the one who lined up in Alabama with one shoe on and the other back in Georgia. The one who played the fiddle or the violin or whatever it was before region.
Then there’s Christina Touzet – the one who completed a 50-minute run and caught 20 fish in the middle of it. I told her to run a 24 and she thought I was talking about the television show. The one who took an innocent 4-mile run and said, “Let’s stop at Natalie’s house for some water. Want to?” Or: “Coach, can I just run from right here to over there and then come back?”
As you get older, you can arrogantly think you’ve seen and heard it all. To know Touzet, however, is to know completely different.
Maybe I love runners because sometimes they get so excited they wet the bus, literary. Or they say things like: I love cross country! Except for the running part. Or, my own personal favorite: Did you just put a booger on my pants?
There’s Kyle Donahue, speaking of wetting the bus. He began this season by putting himself in Group 17 at running camp last summer. Seventeen out of a possible 18! He just ran a 17:21, his best ever and top-10 best in school history. He just shrugged and went off to engulf a pizza.
There’s William Ward, who can quote Nietzsche or Kurt Cobain, who just ran a 1:30 better than last week’s time. He can’t run that fast…but he did. And Avery Robinson – God did you just see Avery Robinson? She just took off her boot, ran a 24 on one leg. She’s cussing her ‘stupid ankle’, tossing her boot aside and telling us she’s grumpy. I tell her grumpy for her is happy for most people. She just puts on a smile that will light up tomorrow. God don’t you love these kids.
Christina Callaway just left with her cupcakes. She’s got this big smile – all teeth and lips. She just ran the best race of her life; she and her mother are off in the urban assault vehicle. She left with her head held high and she should. She overcame chest problems and changes in medicines.
Look at Thomas Menk, he just ran an 18:58; his goal at season’s beginning was to break 21. Drew Wilkins is passed out at the finish line; I think he’s dead. He looks like he’s passing a kidney stone. I asked him how he was feeling – he was polite enough not to flip me the finger.
And speaking of guts, did you just see Greer Gafford? The one with her hair bobbing back and forth, the girl so skinny she could blend into wallpaper? She just followed Christine for 3.1 miles, ran a 20:07, overcame her nervousness, obstacles, projections be darned.
She was crying at the starting line – I guess the combination of Neugebauer, Kohl, Myers and Rahmeier can do that to anybody. Not to be sadistic, but it worked. Now she and her new car are off to Carrollton, off to state, to chartered territory.
Christine Georgakakos with the name everybody mispronounces. She runs the 5K, gets home, goes to Tophat Soccer. She’ll finish state on Saturday and jump straight into the pool, only to go back on the soccer field again come spring. Don’t you love that kid. Put it this way, if you don’t, you ain’t human. Period. End of story.
Maybe I love runners because they’re like Kate Borden, who can’t remember a thing after the second mile. That’s because she fainted, and ended up in the medical tent. Sadistic again, but don’t you love the guts?
There’s Wood Alter, - built like a lumberjack - who told me last spring he was going to run. My first thought was, “Run what?” He just improved his season time by six minutes, literally a mile. Name that man captain and clone him immediately.
Lucas Erlacher, the Italian Stallion. I’m not sure if he can speak English or not yet, but I do know he almost throttled me a minute ago. I told him he ran a 20 flat instead of a 19:59. He was quick to correct me. Still, he smiles and he should – he just beat his time by a light year.
Theo – the greatest JV runner in the history of the school. His keys are lost, his shoes are in his car, the map to the race in his locker. He’ll collect it all somehow, get himself together, win the race. Can’t wait until next year.
Maybe I like the runner because they get Tourette’s Syndrome on the third mile; their face looks like a Halloween mask on steroids. Or they’re like J.B. Meathe and they jump a fence one day and end up with stitches in their foot. He doesn’t tell me – instead just laces up, runs, he with his hole-in-one in golf already under his belt.
There’s Laura Capps, who ran the whole season on one foot, John Aldridge who led his team to the best year ever, Alex Hovancik, who limped his way across the finish line, and all 52 pounds of Callie Bergin. Chandler McMullen, who couldn’t complete warm-ups on opening day and is now competing for captain.
How do you salute these people who just gave you their insides? Who turned up their guts, their livers and their spleens and have no idea why or how? Who couldn’t come up with the answer when you ask them why they run?
Maybe I, as a writer will steal from J.P. Kinsella when summing them up.
Or maybe I’ll just call them up one at a time, tell them I’m glad I got to meet them. Tell them I’m glad I get to shake their hands. Tell them I appreciate them for who they are and for what they’ve done.
Thank you.
Dunn Neugebauer
Oct. 31, 2008
I want this night to be a celebration because I love runners. Because they’re a little bit skinny and a whole lot warped; because their sense of humor is way left of center and they are all angles and elbows, ribs and jawbones.
Maybe I love runners because they give up their weekends while others are home in bed with their electric blankets up somewhere between bake and broil; still others watching the TIVO edition of Grey’s Anatomy or House.
Maybe because they say things like Amelia Foster did: “Coach, you lied to me. There are no fat kids here!” This is Amelia – the one who lined up in Alabama with one shoe on and the other back in Georgia. The one who played the fiddle or the violin or whatever it was before region.
Then there’s Christina Touzet – the one who completed a 50-minute run and caught 20 fish in the middle of it. I told her to run a 24 and she thought I was talking about the television show. The one who took an innocent 4-mile run and said, “Let’s stop at Natalie’s house for some water. Want to?” Or: “Coach, can I just run from right here to over there and then come back?”
As you get older, you can arrogantly think you’ve seen and heard it all. To know Touzet, however, is to know completely different.
Maybe I love runners because sometimes they get so excited they wet the bus, literary. Or they say things like: I love cross country! Except for the running part. Or, my own personal favorite: Did you just put a booger on my pants?
There’s Kyle Donahue, speaking of wetting the bus. He began this season by putting himself in Group 17 at running camp last summer. Seventeen out of a possible 18! He just ran a 17:21, his best ever and top-10 best in school history. He just shrugged and went off to engulf a pizza.
There’s William Ward, who can quote Nietzsche or Kurt Cobain, who just ran a 1:30 better than last week’s time. He can’t run that fast…but he did. And Avery Robinson – God did you just see Avery Robinson? She just took off her boot, ran a 24 on one leg. She’s cussing her ‘stupid ankle’, tossing her boot aside and telling us she’s grumpy. I tell her grumpy for her is happy for most people. She just puts on a smile that will light up tomorrow. God don’t you love these kids.
Christina Callaway just left with her cupcakes. She’s got this big smile – all teeth and lips. She just ran the best race of her life; she and her mother are off in the urban assault vehicle. She left with her head held high and she should. She overcame chest problems and changes in medicines.
Look at Thomas Menk, he just ran an 18:58; his goal at season’s beginning was to break 21. Drew Wilkins is passed out at the finish line; I think he’s dead. He looks like he’s passing a kidney stone. I asked him how he was feeling – he was polite enough not to flip me the finger.
And speaking of guts, did you just see Greer Gafford? The one with her hair bobbing back and forth, the girl so skinny she could blend into wallpaper? She just followed Christine for 3.1 miles, ran a 20:07, overcame her nervousness, obstacles, projections be darned.
She was crying at the starting line – I guess the combination of Neugebauer, Kohl, Myers and Rahmeier can do that to anybody. Not to be sadistic, but it worked. Now she and her new car are off to Carrollton, off to state, to chartered territory.
Christine Georgakakos with the name everybody mispronounces. She runs the 5K, gets home, goes to Tophat Soccer. She’ll finish state on Saturday and jump straight into the pool, only to go back on the soccer field again come spring. Don’t you love that kid. Put it this way, if you don’t, you ain’t human. Period. End of story.
Maybe I love runners because they’re like Kate Borden, who can’t remember a thing after the second mile. That’s because she fainted, and ended up in the medical tent. Sadistic again, but don’t you love the guts?
There’s Wood Alter, - built like a lumberjack - who told me last spring he was going to run. My first thought was, “Run what?” He just improved his season time by six minutes, literally a mile. Name that man captain and clone him immediately.
Lucas Erlacher, the Italian Stallion. I’m not sure if he can speak English or not yet, but I do know he almost throttled me a minute ago. I told him he ran a 20 flat instead of a 19:59. He was quick to correct me. Still, he smiles and he should – he just beat his time by a light year.
Theo – the greatest JV runner in the history of the school. His keys are lost, his shoes are in his car, the map to the race in his locker. He’ll collect it all somehow, get himself together, win the race. Can’t wait until next year.
Maybe I like the runner because they get Tourette’s Syndrome on the third mile; their face looks like a Halloween mask on steroids. Or they’re like J.B. Meathe and they jump a fence one day and end up with stitches in their foot. He doesn’t tell me – instead just laces up, runs, he with his hole-in-one in golf already under his belt.
There’s Laura Capps, who ran the whole season on one foot, John Aldridge who led his team to the best year ever, Alex Hovancik, who limped his way across the finish line, and all 52 pounds of Callie Bergin. Chandler McMullen, who couldn’t complete warm-ups on opening day and is now competing for captain.
How do you salute these people who just gave you their insides? Who turned up their guts, their livers and their spleens and have no idea why or how? Who couldn’t come up with the answer when you ask them why they run?
Maybe I, as a writer will steal from J.P. Kinsella when summing them up.
Or maybe I’ll just call them up one at a time, tell them I’m glad I got to meet them. Tell them I’m glad I get to shake their hands. Tell them I appreciate them for who they are and for what they’ve done.
Thank you.
Dunn Neugebauer
Oct. 31, 2008
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