Bubba

My first year of college football was the first year of the program. I entered like most kids, this was the next step. But the men who came to start that program had walked the life of football for a while. Most of them were from the top. They were National Football League and World League football players who gave of themselves to start something new.

I don’t really know what it was like for them, but I can use my imagination. I imagine that it was like homemade ice cream compared to ice cream from Cold Stone. In the end, both are sweet. But the equipment, technology, infrastructure, and resources are vastly different. It was sitting on a kitchen chair turning a handle on a bucket kind of ice cream making.

The pre-season and whole season was a list of “first time everything.” On the evening prior to our first homecoming, we had a rally outside the athletic building.

As Denny Duron introduced the starting offense and defense he came to me. I was a walk on. Although I had started every game, I was a new guy. So, it shouldn’t surprise me that coach forgot my name. In his embarrassment, he introduced me as “Bubba.”

“Bubba?” Now I’m embarrassed. I mean if I cannot be Rod why not Atlas, Titan, Gladiator or Samson? Why Bubba?

Honestly, I was 30 before I started to appreciate all that was done for me in those days. They say the adult male brain is not fully formed until 25. Maybe I was slow? But only by reflecting on the perspective of others was I able to see what I was given.

In Coach Duron, I was given a man of passion and conviction. A man who loved people, who had a vision for life and life impacting the world. But he was just that, a great man.

If you want a perfect man you will need to open up the Bible. But if want great men, men of vision and passion, men who care and equip others, coaches are often the place to find them.

Thanks for your life, your investment, coach Duron.

Yours truly – Bubba.

Destiny

Photo by Robert Smith
Image for the cover of my book

In the fall of 1977, I stepped onto the college practice field with a mass of strangers all competing to make up a team. If you made the team, then you wanted to be a starter. In just a few days, it was necessary for me to figure out the coaches, get along with a new roommate, become part of my squad and start embracing a new team culture. While all this was going on, what I didn’t know was that I was also laying the foundation for lifelong friends, opening my life to trust on new levels, and breaking down stereotypes held by this redneck mystic from South Dakota.

My first encounter of significance that year was with Coach Paul Costa. Paul was a big man and seemed friendly enough, although I think he enjoyed people not knowing that. His ways were direct and intentional, which I liked. We always knew where we stood with Paul and that gave us confidence. When Paul was messing with us, it wasn’t about our performance or position, it was the way Paul enjoyed relationships.

Coach Paul was not a peaceful man, but I didn’t mind that. I understood the workings of aggressive men better than one of peace. In no way was Paul mean, but his nature was not tender by any means. In the mindset of the cowboy country I came from, Paul was all man.

And the men I knew had mental triggers, just like a gun. Pull the trigger and performance is sure to follow. I respected this in my coaches I had growing up and in Paul. Coach Paul could perform.

Evangel University didn’t choose me. I chose them. My twin brother and I had decided that we would not attend the same college because we had been competing with one another since pre-birth. It was time to stop that. Rick went to Clemson in South Carolina and I leaned toward Nebraska. But I felt that I needed to make a course change in my life. I felt that going to Nebraska would not allow me that change. I just didn’t have the character for it.

Evangel was my choice. Walking out of the locker room and into the hallway where we were receiving our practice gear, I met Paul for the first time. He reached down and grabbed the red jersey from my pile of gear and gave me a white one. I didn’t know it at the time, but I had just been moved from defense to the offensive line. Later, during practice, I heard the defensive coach calling off names.

Paul saw that I was getting ready to get up from our stretch and run over to my squad. He came over and ripped my name tag off my helmet. He lifted his size twenty finger over his lips to make the “silent” sign and waved his hand in a motion that let me know I was to get back to my stretching. It was a done deal. I had just transitioned from linebacker to lineman.

Not every decision forced upon us in football or in life is a good one. However, that day was a good one. It was good because I enjoyed my coach. Over the next few years, we would grow to understand each other even better. I learned much from Paul, about technique, about kindness, about persistence… and about pulling that trigger of his.

At any given moment in life, it is hard to see what the result will be in four years. Some people believe in fate. Some believe that life is simply a result of our own choices.

I believe in our journey into our destiny, some things we choose; some things are chosen for us. Thanks, Paul for choosing me.

Laughter and love

Smilie Roberts. Roberts played center on the offensive line. He was from Louisiana, I think.  As a Cajun, gumbo, swagger, and half-funny humor was his forte. To me, it seemed like most of his jokes were half told or mistold. But we all laughed anyway. Maybe we laughed because his story didn’t make sense. Maybe we laughed because he laughed and we wanted to join in. He was a joy to have on the team.

Every team needs some laughter. It relates to love. It’s a kind of communication that breaks through the pain of duty and the displeasure of sacrifice. Being able to laugh at one another and with one another is a part of maturity. Being able to make fun of yourself is a sign of security. Allowing others to join in is a sign of humility.

Smilie had such charm that our coach was subject to his ways. When Smilie thought we needed a little rest or when a little humor would lighten up a practice, he made sure that a story or antidote would break out. Most often Smilie started with, “Hey coach.” Then anything from a “you know what you call a cow with two heads?” to a “you know what my grandma used to say?” would emerge. Each saying was presented with a smile. A head bob or hand motion matched each phrase.

Football and life are not all fun and games. But some of it is. I like men who are comfortable laughing at themselves and with others. Smilie got us through a lot of long days. Maybe every team needs a center like Smilie.