Hublog

The gloaming...the lesson learned...(& other ramblings)

2009-10-14T22:59:00.016-05:00

Times were hard. Not "Swarthmore, take the children to school in the Cadillac, the Rolls is being detailed" hard but "are we going to have enough to eat this week" hard. It was the fall of 1958 or '59, somewhere in there and my dad was a coalminer. Back then, that didn't mean what it does now. The big money and the UMWA were still a dozen years away. Reality was something called the Southern Labor Union, $1.00 an hour, dangerous conditions and hard work. The wolf wasn't at our door, but if you sat in my grandmother's rocking chair on the front porch after supper, you could hear him howling down in the Studhoss Bottoms.

A wildcat strike had broken out in eastern Kentucky and quickly spread to West Virginia. Those good ole boys from the hills and hollers had finally had enough. They felt they were being worked to death for pennies while their cheap labor made the coal companies millions. The only thing worse than a mad hillbilly is a mad hillbilly who knows he's right. They set out to shut down all U.S. coal production. This included the mines in northwest Alabama. One morning my dad (and every other miner in this part of the world) was greeted at the entrance to his workplace by a picket line, manned by people he'd never seen before. These boys weren't playing around, either. A couple of days later, they got into a gunbattle with state troopers at a mine entrance just north of the Winston County line, off Highway 13 above Eldridge. My dad and everybody else turned around and went home to worry. Worry about feeding their families. Worry about simply surviving 'til the strike was settled.

Willie Nelson was right. It's funny how the passing of time changes things. Next time you're riding through Bazemore, slow down and look at the pile of blocks and timbers in front of Butch and Rhonda Hudson's house. You'd never know that this spot was once the center of a busy community. That pile of rubble was Ector Hollingsworth's general store. You could get anything at Ector's store, from Watkins Horse Liniment (guaranteed to cure everything from the common cold to leprosy) to a center-cut pork chop. It was a wonderful place. It was wonderful mostly because of Ector and his wife, Miss Ethel. I've never met two finer people. This was where our family did all our shopping. For everything.

It was almost dark as my dad pulled the old Chevrolet into the gravel beside Ector's store. I could tell something was bothering him. He was quiet and almost nervous, which was out of character for him. We got out and went inside and I heard my dad ask Ector if he could speak to him outside. The three of us went out the door on the back side of the building into the twilight. I remember standing under an old goose-neck light fixture painted white, with a naked lightbulb shining. Dad explained to Ector about the strike and told him he might not be able to pay him off every Friday, like he had always done, until the strike ended. I'll never forget what Ector told my dad. He said, "Red, don't worry about a thing, we'll all get through this just fine." He put his hand on my head, leaned down toward me and said, "Don't you worry either, son. Everything's gonna be okay." Did you catch that? The "we" part? There's no doubt in my mind every bell in heaven rang just about then. Folks, that's how one decent, compassionate, upright man treats another decent, compassionate, upright man. Although I was just a child, I knew I had witnessed something very special. And please, don't think you can do or say things in front of your children and they won't remember them years later. I'm not sure I could tell you what I had for breakfast this morning, but I can quote that conversation from over half a century ago word for word. Some things God doesn't mean for you to forget.

As I've told you before, I don't dream much. But when I do, it's generally something serious or something that has real meaning from somewhere in my life. Once or twice a year I dream about that afternoon at the store. It's always after I wake up at 2 or 3 a.m. and am trying to go back to sleep. I'm somewhere in that place between sleep and awareness. That twilight place my Irish grandmother called "the gloaming." She said it was the period between the time the sun disappeared and until it became completely dark. According to her, this was when "the magic happened." Maybe she was more right than either of us realized. Just maybe. My dream always begins the same. I'm walking south on the Bazemore road just above the store. I know it's a dream because I'm walking, strong and confident. No pain, no limp. It's wonderful. Off to my left, I see Miss Cora Hollingsworth going inside after working in her yard. Over to the right, Jerry and Larry McCollum are going up the steps into their house, somebody's calling them in to supper. As I walk on, there's an old frame house on the left which belongs to Bill McCollum. The house where Rhonda and Melissa Lynn grew up hasn't been built yet. To my right the store is still there. The lights are on and I can see Miss Ethel inside, patiently waiting on the last few customers of the day. I take two or three more steps and it's then I see them. There at the door under a naked lightbulb are two men and a little boy. The two men talk quietly for a minute or so, the older man rubs the little boy's head and says something to him and then they do something strange. Instead of going back inside the store, they turn and walk alongside the building toward Butch and Rhonda's house. The two men continue to talk quietly and the younger man reaches and takes the little boy's hand and the three of them gradually fade into the misty twilight. Gone.

But they're not really gone at all. They're just...walking in a different place. Men like my dad and Ector Hollingsworth never die. The good they did, the lives they led, the things they stood for, last for eternity. They've joined a long line of other good men. A line that stretches from here all the way to heaven. God help me remember the example the two of them showed me that day. God help me pass their lesson on to others. God help me hold on to that afternoon in the gloaming so many years ago. God help me be worthy of a place in that line someday. God help me...please.

The Old Gray Lion

This month's recommended reading: The Oxford American Magazine.
Cheap rates, great writing and wildly disparate observations of the things that make our part of the world so special.

This month's recommended movie: Fandango, starring Kevin Costner.
An absolute delight from start to finish. The adventure at the Pecos Parachute School may be the funniest thing I've ever seen. The ending is visually stunning, the sound track is great and the final stages are filmed in the most beautiful little town in Texas. One of the best endings ever. If I remember correctly, everybody can watch. You will never forget Truman J. Sparks or his airplane. That's a promise.

Tradition never graduates--ain't it wonderful? (& other ramblings)

2009-08-18T16:16:00.020-05:00

Are these ladies terrific or what? The 2009 Lady Lions softball season was another brick in the wall of consecutive great seasons. We came in having to replace three of the best players in program history. Yes, Jesi McMillan, Chasidy Tucker and Nicole McGuff, I'm talking about you. These warriors started as a unit for five years. Instead of throwing up their hands and surrendering, Coach and the girls regarded 2009 as a challenge and went to work. That hard work and a winning attitude resulted in another great season.

How good of a season was it? Let's look at it from a 20-20 hindsight point of view. We finished with 27 wins and 11 losses. That's a 71% winning percentage. Only that dadgum James Spann kept us from winning 30 games for the fourth time in 5 years. The first half of the season was wetter than the dance floor on the Titanic. All our rain-outs were against teams we would have been favored over. But that's neither here nor there. The hard facts are as follows:

We finished #4 in the final ASWA 1A state poll, our highest ranking ever.
The Lady Lions won the NAC Tournament for the third time in 4 years. We won at Vina in 2006, Berry in 2007, and at Hackleburg this year. That's an excellent achievement, ladies. Congratulations and thank you.

When you add in the NAC basketball championship we won earlier in the year, this was one of the best years in Lady Lion history. And at this school, that's saying something. Also, a good barometer of our season is who we beat. Look at it, we beat 3A state tournament semi-finalist Carbon Hill twice, 1A state tournament runner-up South Lamar twice, top ten and 1A state tournament team Lynn twice, a very good Parrish team three times, and an outstanding Ragland team in the North Central Regional. Equally telling is who you lose to. Of our 11 losses, 8 of them were to: 3A Sumiton Christian (another state tournament team), Carbon Hill, South Lamar, Lynn and Ragland. No sisters of the poor there--these were all really good teams. Only a very close loss in the "who goes to the state tournament game" in the North Central Regional at Vestavia Hills kept us from a third straight trip to Montgomery.

I really don't know where to begin talking about our seniors. They've been so good, so dedicated, for so long. Jamie, Tiffany and Brooke join Jesi Mac, Bug and Nicole on the list of the very best in our fast-pitch history. Jamie was a 5-year starter in the outfield. Excellent defensively, she was best known for her explosive bat. Jamie could hit the ball out of any park, up to and including Yellowstone. Of the many drives she hit, 3 really stand out in my memory:

The monster shot she hit against Spring Garden in the 2008 state tournament at Lagoon Park. Anything that travels that far and that high should have a stewardess on it.
The powershot she hit against Maplesville in the sub-state at the Hub. Their entire team turned in perfect synchronization and watched it fly. When they turned around, they all had a different look on their faces. Game, set, match. Frankenstein was not only loose, he was headed for the village with a rusty Kaiser blade.
Finally, a double she hit off the Great Wall of Guin two years ago. It was still climbing when it hit the Big Red Monster in right-center, about 40 feet up. I'm convinced if it had cleared the fence, it would have broken somebody's windshield up on the interstate at Yampertown. Wow!

Oh, before I forget, Jamie has more career RBIs than anybody in program history. Congratulations on a great career. You (and big sister Nikki) have been a big part of our success for a long time. We're going to miss you, young lady.

Tiffany Oden is not overly swift, not particularly strong, nor is she uncommonly athletic. These things only make the fact that she's one of the best players in our history all the more amazing. She's without doubt the best defensive outfielder I've ever seen. And as somebody once wrote about Shoeless Joe Jackson, her "glove was where triples went to die." Time after time she caught balls nobody could believe she got to, let alone caught. And when she moved in to play shortstop this season, she made the move with a smile and a great attitude. She became a really good infielder with good range and an excellent arm. Tiff was one of those special players who always put the team ahead of herself. She never hit for a spectacular average, never hit a ball over the fence, but she was a great clutch hitter. Tiff was at her best when things were tightest. Anybody remember who got the hit that beat eventual 2A state champion Oakman at Hub a couple of seasons ago? I do. Tiffany Oden. How about who lead off the 7th with a double in the NAC finals and scored the tournament winning run on Taylor's single this last April at Hackleburg? Right again, Tiffany Oden. She is a shining example of heart and want-to being more valuable than raw talent and ability. If any of you younger girls are worried about playing time, just follow in Tiff's footsteps. She's already proven that hard work, effort and a great attitude trumps whatever else people think is required to be a great player. Good luck and continued success, Tiff. You're going to be greatly missed.

Brooke Everette. Where do I begin? If I listed all her honors, this blog would be too long to read. Simply stated, she is the best player in Hub fast-pitch history. Period. We've had great pitchers before (Chasidy Tucker). We've had great hitters before (Jesi McMillan, Jamie Hancock, Maegan McCollum, Jennifer Oden). We've had great infielders before (Jesi Mac, Bug, Nicole). But we've never had them all rolled into one player until Brooke Everette. Four times first team All-State, received a scholarship to play at Bevill State Sumiton, led Hub to two consecutive state tournaments, three 30-win seasons, 4 consecutive ASWA Top 10 finishes and was three times named to the Tuscaloosa News Super 10 Team. She owns every career record at Hub except homeruns and RBIs. Whew! The last time a Lady Lion team took the field without Brooke in the starting lineup was May of 2003. Amazing, isn't it? You're the best, kid, and to say we're going to miss you is a big understatement. May success and happiness be your constant companions.

So where do we go from here? After losing 6 of the best players in team history (Jesi Mac, Bug, Nicole, Jamie, Tiffany and Brooke) in the past 2 years, it's all over, right? Horse Manure. We've lost great players to graduation. So what? It's happened before and it will happen again. Remember, tradition never graduates. That's not just a slogan at the Hub, it's a way of life. We will practice longer, harder and better than anybody we play. We will out-hustle them, we will play with more heart, we will be better prepared, better coached and have better fan support than anybody we play. We're the Hubbertville Lady Lions. We don't rebuild, we reload. 24 consecutive winning seasons don't lie. No Lady Lion in the history of either the slow-pitch or the fast-pitch programs has ever played on a losing team. That says a lot about the ladies who have played on those 24 teams and a whole lot about the man who has coached every one of them.

I want all the ladies returning to the 2010 team and all those who have ever played Hub softball to do something for me. Be proud. You're a part of a very exclusive club. Be proud that you are a part of something so consistently excellent. You wear an invisible badge of honor that separates you from ordinary high school athletes. When you tell people, "I played at Hubbertville for Coach Harris," you've told them everything they need to know about you. It says you're a can-do person, tough as $2.00 steak, and no stranger to hard work and maximum effort. It also says what you're not, that you're not a thumb-sucking, diaper-wearing Mama's baby who ran for the couch when things got tough. In this age of whiney babies, you can be proud you're not one of them. You earned your place in history.

One last observation about the 2010 team. We return 6 starters, including Molley, Leigh Ann, Taylor, Katie, Alley and Alisha. We also have some valuable reserves and some promising rookies coming along. It's a good blend of experience and youth. There's no doubt in my mind this will be a good team. The only question is how good. Hard work, dedication, and a winning attitude can take you from good to great. You control your own fate. But please don't think you're in this alone. There are 24 teams, 24 years of a tradition of excellence watching you. Don't let them, or yourselves, down.

The Old Gray Lion

This month's recommended reading: The Total Money Makeover by Dave Ramsey.
Common sense financial advice. Good stuff.

This month's recommended TV: No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain.
Mondays at 9 p.m. on the Travel Channel. I don't agree with all that Bourdain says but he may be the most delightfully sarcastic human being on the face of the earth.

Uncle Ralph (& other ramblings)

2009-06-05T11:56:00.007-05:00

I'm in trouble. When he reads this, there's no doubt in my mind he will, at the very least, attempt to beat me with a softball bat. But like you've heard me say before, some things just need to be said. "Uncle Ralph" Kelley is an invaluable part of Hub Athletics and his dedication and hard work need to be recognized. Thanks Uncle Ralph.

This guy wears a lot of different hats. During football and basketball seasons he films our games. This is not a hard job. This is a hard job to do correctly. Just ask Coach Harris. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff we've been given by schools we've traded films with over the years. Those films vary from looking like satellite video from outer space to being so zoomed-in you can only see 3 players, while the other 8 are roaming around in video no-man's land. Not the case with Uncle Ralph's videos. Always in focus. Always showing the entire offense or defense. This takes skill, and Ralph is the best there is. He also does something that other videographers rarely do. He constantly cuts to the clock and scoreboard. Sounds simple, doesn't it? It's not. It's a big problem, especially in basketball. Try scouting a team when you don't know what the score is or even what quarter it is. You have no context, no feel for what's happening. That's a problem we don't have thanks to Uncle Ralph.

Softball season is Ralph's favorite time of the year. He helps in so many ways it's hard to keep up with them all. He works with batting practice, the JV, the outfielders, and generally helps Coach run practice. This is on top of helping with mowing, groundskeeping and getting the softball fields in game-ready condition. Ralph is always there, helping in any way he can. But his main claim to fame is as a scout and defensive positioning expert. I'm not exaggerating a bit when I tell you he is a legend in Alabama high school softball. When we go to tournaments, we don't get through the gate before other coaches begin to ask both him and Coach Harris for information on teams we've played or scouted. They all know Ralph has them pegged. Have you ever noticed that you very rarely see one of our players make one of those spectacular ESPN Sportscenter catches? There's a reason for that. That reason is Ralph. He charts where every player on every team we play hits the ball. If that weren't enough, he also keeps up with who's pitching. He can tell you where hitters will hit the ball against different speed pitchers. He can tell you who can or can't hit a change-up, who likes the pitch on the outside half of the plate, who doesn't like the fastball up and in, and on and on. The man is amazing.

People like Ralph are getting increasingly rare. In this age of "what's in it for me," his only concern is how he can help out. And if you're looking for some ulterior motive, don't bother. He's not on the payroll and his kids finished high school years ago. He has no "dog in the hunt." Dedication like this is pretty much a thing of the past. I hope everyone realizes how fortunate we are to have Ralph as part of our athletic family.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009. Mark that day down on your calendar. That's Veterans Day. Please hunt up Uncle Ralph and thank him for his service and sacrifice. Thank him for defending you, your family, your way of life, your country. He and tens of thousands of others gave so much and expected so little in return. For those of you who don't know the story, Ralph was badly wounded in Viet Nam--that's how he got the wounded arm. Not a carwreck, not an industrial accident, but gunfire from a man who meant to kill him. That makes Ralph Kelley a hero. Somebody we can all look up to and respect. And in all the years I've known him, I've never once heard him complain. That's what American heroes do. They play the cards they were dealt and do the very best they can. And that's what we of the Maroon Nation get from Ralph Kelley every day. His very best. Thank you, Ralph.

The Old Gray Lion

This month's recommended reading: "The Prince of Frogtown" by Rick Bragg.
The final installment in Rick's trilogy about his family. Great stuff.

This month's recommended movie: "Stay Hungry"
Filmed in and around Birmingham in 1975. A cult classic. Wildly funny. Lots of local folks make appearances. Jeff Bridges, Sally Field, Arnold Schwarzenegger, R.G. Armstrong, Robert Englund, Roger Mosley and Scatman Crothers. Pretty tame by today's standards but still Rated R. No kids, please. Don't miss the moonshine/buck dancing scene filmed up in Blount County. Classic.

Remembering Nick...no other ramblings

2009-04-28T20:40:00.003-05:00

What can I tell you about Nick Threlkeld? Lots of things. Things like the fact he caught more passes than anybody who ever played football in the state of Alabama. His record still stands. And yes, more than Julio Jones, Ozzie Newsome and all the other greats. How 'bout the fact he was a high school All-American in both football and basketball. He would have been in three sports if Hub had a baseball team. He made first team All-State in both sports for three consecutive years. He once blocked 14 shots in a single high school basketball game. He once made 3 free throws with no time left on the clock to win an area championship. He once scored 48 points, including swishing a 45 footer at the buzzer of a 4-overtime game to win a NAC Championship. He had free run of the Alabama sidelines with his sideline pass at Crimson Tide home games. He could have signed to play SEC football with Bama, the Florida Gators or the Tennessee Vols. I once heard a Hall of Fame coach tell him, after playing the Hub, that he was the finest high school football player he had seen in 30 years of coaching. He signed with a Division I basketball team. He scored over 2,500 points, had over 1500 rebounds and blocked over 400 shots in his high school career. All this is staggering, utterly amazing. But it tells you absolutely nothing about what a wonderful human being he was. As great an athlete as he was, he was an even better person.

Today's elite athletes are, for the most part, a group of arrogant, self-centered horse's rear ends who feel like everyone should bow when they walk by. (There are some notable exceptions.) Even the top high school athletes are often infected with the disease of arrogance. Not Nick. Never. Always accessible, always friendly. Coach Harris used to have a poster up in the fieldhouse which said, "You can judge the character of a man by how he treats the people who can do absolutely nothing for him." That fit Nick perfectly. He was kind and compassionate to everyone. I remember his senior year, we were headed to Notasulga in the football playoffs. The charter bus stopped to let us all eat at a Ryan's in Montgomery near Crampton Bowl. We were about to begin eating when I heard a voice say, "Hey guys, it's Threlkeld!" A team from Greene County was also traveling to a playoff game and happened to be in this particular Ryan's when one of them recognized Nick. I sat and watched in amazement (and admiration) while he shook hands, signed autographs and even took some photos with what seemed to be nearly the whole team. These were his fans, his friends, and he was going to return the love they were showing him. It was a great thing to watch. I remember him looking over at me while all this was going on. His expression seemed to say, "why in the world would anybody want my autograph?" I just smiled and nodded at him. I knew exactly why they wanted it. I wish I had one now.

I can only imagine the pressure that went with being Nick. A lot of us unintentionally heaped tons of our expectations and failed dreams on his broad shoulders. He never complained. But how many times did we hear the following or something close to it? "We're counting on you." "Make us proud." "You're going to put us on the map one day." "You're sure to make the big time." "We can't lose as long as we have you." "You're going to play on Sunday someday." "Don't forget about us when you make it in the NBA." "Don't let us down." That's the one that really eats at me. Because I know how desperately he wanted to make everyone happy and proud. And he did. I can only hope he knew how well he succeeded.

We didn't see much of Nick after his college playing days were over. He was busy. Busy working. Busy starting a family. Busy with life. Occasionally, somebody would run into him and would give us a report on how he was doing. But I'm sure there was more to his absence than just being busy. I'm sure he felt like he had let everybody down. That's just the kind of kid he was. But he was so very, very wrong. He took us to places and successes we had only dreamed of. He made us all prouder than ever to be part of a little country school with no town. Proud of the great athlete, yes. But more importantly, proud of him as a person and how he represented us and the Maroon Nation. In so many, many ways, he was the very best of us.

What can I tell you about Nick Threlkeld? Lots of things. He was a good kid. He was a fine young man, carrying on in the tradition of his father, who is one of the finest men I've ever known. Nick was a good husband. A good father. A good son. He was a loyal, caring friend. He was never too busy to help someone. He was one of the very few young people I ever met who realized how a few words of encouragement and a few minutes of attention could make a difference in somebody's life. He was humble, modest and didn't have a hateful bone in his body. He loved the Lord, his family, his many friends and this big old crazy world we're all trying to find our way through. I can also tell you this--we're not likely to see his equal again in our lifetime. Not as an athlete, not as a person. He was one of a kind and we were so lucky to have him as a part of our family.

Nick's passing has left all of us stunned. We're all wondering and worrying about why things happen like they do. That's not for us to know or understand. Somebody infinitely wiser and more powerful than us controls those things. But I do have an idea in my mind that gives me a great deal of comfort. I'm pretty sure that when Nick reached his reward, just inside the gate waiting to give him a hug and show him around were Coach Rodney Marcum, Thomas Dunavant and George Wages. Good friends. Good men. Good lives...goodbye.

The Old Gray Lion

Success...expected & otherwise (& other ramblings)

2009-03-23T01:08:00.011-05:00

Congratulations to the 2008-09 Hubbertville Lady Lions basketball team. What a great season! Sit back and observe. 24 wins, tying the school record for wins in a season. Only 3 losses--twice to a 3A Winfield team which won 28 games and was ranked #7 in the final ASWA poll, and once to eventual state champion Hazlewood. Also, add a Northwest Conference Tournament championship, an undefeated Area 10 regular season championship, an Area 10 Tournament championship, a third straight regional appearance (2 Central and this year's Northwest), and a third consecutive year ranked in the final ASWA 1A Top Ten Poll. Not bad for a team that started the year with more questions than answers.

Don't get me wrong. I think all of us expected this edition of the Lady Lions to be pretty good. The key words being "pretty good." There was no way we could be as successful as last season after losing Jesi Mac, Bug and Nicole, right? Wrong. There's a panel on the outfield fence up at the softball field that tells the tale. Look for it next time you're up there, it says "Tradition Never Graduates." For those who need a translation it means this: when you pull on that maroon jersey, you are expected to win. No excuses, no "yes, but." Prepare, compete, win. Period. That's the expectation at the Hub. Every day. Every season. Every year. No matter who graduated, no matter who quit, no matter who moved to Bummelbanger, Minnesota, no matter who did what. In the famous words of Al Davis: "just win, baby, just win."

It's hard to imagine a Hub girls game without Brooke Everette on the court. The last time that happened was very early in the season in 2003. That's been awhile, folks. I can vividly remember sitting on the bleachers 10 years or so ago at my daughter Jennifer's varsity practice, watching this flying little munchkin zip by me dribbling a basketball about a hundred miles an hour. From one end to the other, right hand down, left hand back. Amazing. That was my introduction to Brooke the basketball player. Now it's 10 years later and I'm still amazed. 1,190 points, 503 assists, 580 rebounds, and 200 steals. Those numbers speak for themselves. But they don't say a thing about the other things Brooke brought to the table. Leadership, unspoken intangibles, and a gritty toughness that shone like a beacon. We're gonna miss you, kid.

Somebody else we're gonna miss is Tiffany Oden. What a zone-buster! In her 3 years as a starter, Tiff made 148 3-pointers. Not many players (boys or girls) average 50 3's a season. Time after time, we've been involved in a close 4 or 5 point game and Tiff would throw in a couple of bombs from downtown in less than a minute and suddenly, "put the chairs in the wagon, the singing is over." Like Brooke, Tiffany made the people around her better. Her accurate long-range shooting made it impossible to sink back and collapse on our inside people. Unselfish to a fault, Tiff had less ego than most great 3-point shooters. She was the ultimate team player and the finest long range ace at Hub since Tonya Mahoney. Thanks for the memories, kiddo.

The losses are huge; there's no minimizing the loss of our seniors. But the cupboard is far from being bare. We return what will be a tall, battle-tested group of experienced Lady Lions. Leigh Ann White and Brooke Hubbert, Taylor Benton, Katie Key, Whittley Haley-Ricks, Rebecca Cook and the Three Amigos (Jessie Bowles, Alley Norris, Alisha Marcum) are all coming back. That's a good blend of experience, size, athleticism and "want to." Add a lot of hard work and some leadership and this should be another excellent group for 2009-2010. And before I forget, let me thank someone else who won't be coming back next season: Lisa Pakkenberg. This junior exchange student from Denmark has been an absolute delight. Intelligent, friendly, polite and kind beyond compare, she has captivated everyone who has met her. She played in the first basketball game she ever saw and showed a real aptitude for the game. We're gonna miss you, Frugen. May success and happiness follow you back home and beyond. We're all richer for having known you.

Recently I've run across a couple of quotes from hall of fame coaches that have really stuck with me. The first was "If I've learned anything in my years of coaching it's this. Championships are won in the off season." --Coach Pat Summit, 8-time NCAA Champion. The other was from Coach Bob Knight, "Playing hard is a skill just like shooting, passing and playing defense. But if you don't play hard, none of your other skills are worth a plug nickel." I hope our returning Lady Lions will take these to heart and learn from them. Slogans and quotes are effective only if you find a way to translate them into hard work and results.

High school sports have changed dramatically in Alabama in the last 10 years or so. The days when you could just show up and be successful because you're gifted athletically are over. Even the junior high and elementary kids are working and training in the off season. There are several things we can do to improve our chances of success:

Give 100% in your off-season workouts. Coach has designed this program to improve your skills, techniques and conditioning. Don't just go through the motions. Show up, work hard and be a leader. This is the single most important thing you can do to improve.
Work on your own. This is where you can really improve your game. This is particularly true of shooting. Stop and pop, drives, off-the-dribble, free throws. 300 shots a day would be a good place to start. Work at it.
Play some sort of organized ball. Church summer leagues and tournaments, park and rec games, or just a Tuesday night make 'em take 'em tournament at a school gym, church facility or a park. And don't forget we have an outdoor facility (sort of) with a covered court and regulation goals at our own Hub Pavilion. The weather is no excuse.
Instructional videos. These can be very helpful if used correctly. The best I've seen is the series by the Better Basketball Foundation. Louisville Coach Rick Pittino also has some excellent teaching videos. Check them out online.
Watch your TV. No, I'm not talking about Jerry Springer or Big-Fat Redneck Wedding. With the NCAA games, NBA and NBA Summer League games, Euro-League games, D League games, and high school games on TV virtually 365 days a year, there is no lack of opportunity to watch and learn. Look for stuff: what offense are they running, what defense, what kind of press are they running, how are they breaking the press, who's setting the screens and where, how did they get #20 so open on that 3 pointer, what out of bounds plays do they run, how are they shutting down this player who's been averaging 30 points a game? The questions and the learning opportunities are endless. Watch and learn. Watch and learn.
Weights and fitness. Ladies, we need to get stronger. Particularly upper body strength. Do we expect or want you to pump iron to the point you look like the Bulgarian shot-put champion Iva Liftabuick? No. But we need to be stronger to the point that a good hard outlet pass doesn't take you, ball and all into the third row with the cheerleaders. Get a 10 lb. set, get a good program and get to work.
Nutrition, health and general well-being. Go to the doctor and have regular checkups. Ask him or her for some paperwork on proper nutrition. A lot of this is just common sense. If you've got 2 people going head to head and one has had a pregame meal of a pork chop and mashed potatoes and the other had a Pepsi and a ding-dong, my money is on the pig and the spuds every time. While you're at the doctor, ask about B12 shots, flu shots, vitamin supplements. I'm not saying demand them, I'm saying ask about them. Your nearest GNC (Jasper Mall) can fix you up with an individualized daily dose blister pack if it turns out you have a vitamin deficiency. Take care of yourself. This is the only bod you're ever going to be issued.

Here's one last thing for you to think about. While you're sitting on the couch watching MTV, eating Pringles and sucking on a Mountain Dew, somewhere out there the girl you're going to go head to head with in clutch situations next season is in a hot gym, sweating. She's probably alone. Dropped off at a dark, quiet gym by her father after borrowing the key from her coach. There's nobody there to tell her what a wonderful job she's doing, nobody to praise her effort. That's not why she's there. She's there to become a better player. Why? Because she remembers how bad it felt to lose to you and your team last season. She never wants to feel like that again. She never wants to see you and your teammates celebrating at her expense again. She's made her decision. She's willing to do the work, make the sacrifices. How about you? Are you serious about winning or are you just one more of the pretenders?

The Old Gray Lion

This month's suggested reading: "The Winter of Our Discontent" by John Steinbeck.
Still relevant. Still powerful. Still a mirror in America's face.

This month's suggested movie: "Necessary Roughness"
Scott Bakula, Robert Loggia, Jason Bateman, Fred Dalton Thompson, Larry Miller, Kathy Ireland. One of the funniest sports movies ever made. PG-13. Some salty language.

5 smooth stones (& other ramblings)

2009-02-28T11:37:00.014-06:00

I'm back. Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the blogosphere. First, let me apologize for missing last month. Between a very busy boys and girls basketball schedule and the stats and paperwork they generate, I just let the month get away from me. Sorry. I don't work well without some sort of structure, so from this point forward, I will have a new Hublog ready somewhere between the 15th and the 20th of every month. The Good Lord willing.

I've had a real problem picking a topic this time around. Not coming up with one, but rather picking one from the several I have been kicking around in my head. The most obvious one is the great girls varsity basketball season we've just completed. This was one of the best years for the girls in school history and be advised, this will be next month's topic.

Have you ever heard a song on the radio on the way to work or school in the morning and gone around all day singing or humming it? Sure you have. I do ideas like that. No matter how hard I try to ignore it or file it away for later, I can't shake it off. It's what my grandmother McCaleb used to call "getting a bee in your bonnet." You have to deal with it. The following is my "bee."

I was sitting in my recliner the other night watching first one thing and then another. As I was happily flipping along, I noticed a movie about to start called "The Valley of Elah." I knew it was an Iraq war story and that it starred Tommy Lee Jones, among others. As usual, I jumped the gun and assumed that it was just another liberal Hollywood anti-war propaganda piece. A whole lot of those left-coast folks haven't figured out that freedom isn't free. Far from it. Freedom, from time to time, requires the highest price a man and his nation can pay. That's the truth as I see it. Anyway. I decided to watch primarily because I admire Tommy Lee Jones' ability as an actor. Besides, his movies give me an opportunity to act, too. Tommy Lee pretends to be some new and interesting character and I pretend not to be bothered by the fact that he was Al Gore's roommate at Harvard and the probability that his politics are somewhere to the left of Helen Keller's. Ah yes, the illustrious Miss Keller. If Annie Sullivan had known what we know now, she may very well have held Helen's head instead of her hands under that spigot in Tuscumbia. Oh well, I digress.

Pretty early into the movie I realized that the valley of Elah is where David met the Philistine giant, Goliath. I stopped watching Tommy Lee and reached for my Bible and began to read. Wow! Double Wow! This is one of the greatest stories ever told. Each time I read and re-read it, I get that "10 feet tall and bulletproof and where's that grizzly bear you wanted me to spank with a flyflap?" feeling. It's remarkable. My mind kept going back to the 40th verse of I Samuel, Chapter 17 where David chose 5 smooth stones from the brook. Those words create an amazing picture, don't they? Here's a small young boy armed with a slingshot, about to face a man in combat who is roughly 5 feet taller than him, 400-500 pounds heavier than him and armed with the finest weapons available. And here's the kid, picking out smooth stones in the creek. Amazing. But it also made me wonder, if I were him, which 5 stones would I choose? How about you? Got 5 in mind?

I've thought a lot about this question. I'm about to give you my 5 choices to put in my pouch. Yours may be totally different. That doesn't really matter; what's important is that you make your picks and pack them close. You're going to need them.

Smooth Stone #1 - Courage
I firmly believe that everyone has courage somewhere inside them. It just takes the right set of circumstances and the right trigger to turn it loose. You've got the guts to do a lot of things you don't think you can do. The best example I can think of is the small middle-aged man who was splashing in the ocean with his kids and grandkids in the Gulf of Mexico a few years back. An 8-foot bull shark slipped up into the shallow water and nibbled on one of his grandkids. To make a long story short, grandpa grabbed the shark by the tail and dragged him onto the shore. When the cops and paramedics got there, he was straddling our friend the shark and pounding his head with a concrete block. There's a lot to be said for righteous rage. Don't sell yourself short.

Smooth Stone #2 - Faith
Our boy David was the king of faith. He not only strode out to meet Goliath with nothing but a slingshot, he was talking smack to him before he ever threw the rock! Check out I Samuel, Chapter 17, verse 46: "This day the Lord will deliver you into my hand and I will strike you and take your head from you." That wasn't just David talking--that was David's faith talking. That kind of faith will have you hunting bears with a yard broom. Make sure your faith is solid, identify your monsters and grab yourself a smooth rock. Good hunting.

Smooth Stone #3 - Basic Humanity
We're all in this together. None of us are going to get out of here alive. I'm far from being one of those tree-hugging, 'we are the world'-singing, kumbayah types. But really, shouldn't there be more things we share than things that pull us apart? Many years ago, Dr. M.L. King made a great observation: "An injustice to any man anywhere is an injustice to all men everywhere." That pretty much says it all. Think about it.

Smooth Stone #4 - Love
Love can knock down immovable barriers, make midnight as bright as noonday, make the worst day of your life a treasure, right any wrong, and make the most useless of lives truly meaningful. And as I once heard a man say, "If you don't love anybody but yourself, what good are you?" 'Nuff said.

Smooth Stone #5 - Hope
Hope is the fuel which runs your dreams. Hope keeps us going as human beings--hope for a better future, hope for a better life. Not just for youself, but for your family, your friends, your nation, the world. Never underestimate the power of hope. As long as you have hope, you have a chance. Without it, it's all over.

Like my old friend Forrest Gump, I am not a smart man. But there are things I instinctively know to be true. One of them is this. Somewhere down the line, we're all going to have to go face-to-face with our own Goliath. He's there waiting, I promise you. Oh, by the way, his name is probably not going to be Goliath. His name may be Death of a loved one, Divorce, Financial Ruin, Betrayal by a friend, Sickness, Accident, Injury, or Failure to achieve your dreams. The old foe has many names, many faces. So choose your stones wisely. Pack them in tight. Keep them close by you. Fight the good fight. Because he's out there, waiting, in the morning mist of a valley just over the horizon, out of sight. Don't forget your slingshot.

The Old Gray Lion

This month's recommended reading:

The Bible, King James Version, I Samuel. This is magnificent, inspirational stuff.
Rick Bragg (again), "Ava's Man" If you grew up poor in the South, this is required reading. It will make you proud.

This month's recommended movie: "Hoosiers" Yeah, I know most of you have already seen it but watch it again--it's that good. When the old country preacher bows his head and says, "and David put his hand in his pouch and brought forth a smooth stone," the fine hairs on your arms and the back of your neck will tingle and stand on end. If they don't, just go on down to Norwood's Funeral Home and turn yourself in. You're dead and don't know it. Take a pass on the "The Valley of Elah." It's just too rough to watch. It's about soldiers who act and talk like soldiers. Don't let kids anywhere near this movie.

I hate Christmas (& other ramblings)

2008-12-12T13:05:00.014-06:00

I hate Christmas. There. I said it. I feel better already. No, I'm not Scrooge or the Grinch. I hate what we, the adults of the world, have let Christmas become--a massive, commercial, money-grabbing spend-fest of Crapapalooza where the only pertinent question is, "Whadja get me?" It stinks. And God help us, it seems to get worse every year.

I hate the fact that we have lost sight of what this season is supposed to be about. We've turned what should be the most joyous time of the year into a selfish, self-centered, greed-a-thon. I hate that millions of people are going to spend this day alone, hungry and in despair. I hate that untold numbers of children world-wide are going to wake up, tear open millions of gifts, eat themselves into a stupor and never once think about the reason for the celebration. I hate that their stupid parents never think to explain it to them. I hate the fact that so many have so much while so many more have nothing. Please don't think that makes me one of those "redistribute the wealth" guys. Far from it. The only things that need redistributing are personal responsibility, hard work and love for your family. There definitely aren't enough of those to go around.

The stereotype is 100% true. Being of Scotch-Irish descent, I have a melancholy streak a foot wide. I think this is a big factor contributing to our reputations as drinkers and hellions. We let things get to us. I let things get to me. Of all the heartwarming, happy things that go on at Christmas, somehow I dwell on the sad, sorrowful stories that surface this time of year. But let me tell you this: I will not let it depress me or make me an unhappy person. Being happy is a choice. The only thing you have to do to be happy is want to. If you're sitting around waiting for someone else to make you happy, you're in for a long wait. I refuse to let anybody or any set of circumstances have that kind of power over me. I'm going to be happy if it kills me. And if I'm not, nobody is ever going to know it. What happens in the Hub stays in the Hub.

Let me tell you something else I hate. I hate these new-age bozos who tell their kids there is no Santa Claus. What idiots! There's nobody more real than old Saint Nick. Okay, okay, maybe the jolly fat guy with a white beard and the reindeer and elves may be a bit of a stretch, but you've got to realize that it's symbolism. The real Santa lives in all of us, or at least he used to (you murdering heathens know who you are). He's the guy inside you who picks out that special something that makes somebody very, very happy. He's the little voice who tells you to show up some place where you're unexpected, but very welcome when you get there. He's the feeling you get when you realize the best gift you got was the look on the faces of the people you love. He's the amazed exhilaration you feel when you finally get it. When you finally realize this season is not about you, but about what you can do for somebody else. And more importantly, what somebody has already done for you. Yeah, Santa Claus is real and I hope and pray he lives in the heart of mankind forever.

I love Christmas. I love the sights, the sounds, the smells and the traditions. I love the gathering of family and the feeling of belonging to something bigger than yourself. I love the anticipation and the looks on kids' faces. I love the fact that for a few days we are kinder, gentler, more considerate people than we normally are. I love the idea that for a few days we ask "How are you?" and maybe really mean it. I love people who say "Merry Christmas" instead of the politically correct "Happy Holidays." I love the brave souls who spit in the eye of liberal courts and the ACLU and proudly display their nativity scenes and open references to God in their Christmas celebrations. I love the fact that millions of people still remember the real reason for the season. A guy named Mark said it best a long time ago:

"Then the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord.'"

Happy Birthday, Jesus.

The Old Gray Lion

This month's suggested reading: "Salvation on Sand Mountain" by Dennis Covington. The photographs and text will absolutely take your breath. Dennis Covington was assigned to cover a trial involving some snake handlers. He wound up joining in and handling himself. To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure all Dennis' dogs are tied to the same leash. But this is a great book. By the way, Dennis is a professor of creative writing at UAB.

This month's suggested movie: "Scrooged" starring Bill Murray. A Christmas classic.

The puzzle (& other ramblings)

2008-11-03T12:14:00.008-06:00

I had a dream. No, this is not a re-make of Dr. King's famous speech. This was a dream I had many years ago in my youth. In the following passage of time, I've had that same dream (or a close variation) over and over again. I'm always sitting at a huge wooden table in what appears to be a very stately meeting room or perhaps a library hall. Everything is wooden, dimly lit, dark and massive. In front of me on the table is a beautifully ornate mahogany jigsaw puzzle. This is strange for me, because I hate all types of board games, especially those that require thinking. Like the old saying, "Sometimes I sit and think, but most times I just sit." Anyway, the game is always the same. I'm enjoying myself but occasionally one of the pieces will slide off the table and onto the floor. No problem, right? Wrong. The rug on the floor is some type of long silky shag the exact color of the puzzle pieces and I can't find a single one of them. They're gone and I can't get them back, no matter what I do. This is where I always wake up. Frustrated, upset, searching, and yeah, a little sad.

I can't begin to tell you how many hours I spent over the years trying to figure this out. It just made absolutely no sense. Then about two years ago, I woke up one morning and I understood it perfectly. No sudden revelation, no instant enlightenment--I think I just became old enough to understand what I was too young (or maybe too stupid) to comprehend before. It was right there in front of me all along. The puzzle was my life. The missing puzzle pieces were the people, experiences, places and points in time that were gone out of my life and weren't coming back. Simple. Kind of painful, but simple.

Just think about our Hubbertville puzzle for a few minutes. We've lost a lot of our pieces in the past few years. Puzzle pieces that were very different but all loved just the same. Long-time cherished friends (Jackie and Mary Ellen Turner), young friends who fell off the board way too soon (Jeremy Peoples), and friends who had no ties to the Hub, but adopted us and loved us like a native (George Wages). How do you replace pieces like this on your puzzle board? You don't. It simply can't be done. Yes, we can and will find and make new friends but they'll never replace the original missing pieces. But it's not a total lost cause. The Old Puzzlemaster has provided us a wonderful method of making those lost pieces live again. It's called a memory.

Memories are a wonderful thing. Without them we would probably all wind up crazy. I'm not talking about the one where Uncle Leander got a snoot-full and fell off the bleachers at the homecoming game back in '76. No, I'm talking about the ones that come to you at 3:30 in the morning when you can't sleep and everybody else in the house is snoozing. That's when the ghosts walk. My favorite author, Rick Bragg, says these memories are like little pieces of jagged glass left in your abdomen after a car wreck. After a few years, you adapt to them and rarely think about them. But every once in a while, you turn or move a particular way and it all comes flooding back. Those are the ones I'm talking about. They're the ones worth keeping with you. Make your missing pieces live again.

It's really important that you pass your memories on down the line, especially to your kids. I'm one of those people who believes that it's hard to know where you're going if you don't know where you've been. Tell them everything you remember. Tell it all. It's a part of who they are. Tell them about how great-great granddaddy Walter served 20 years in jail for stealing a horse. Tell them how all 3 of his sons were so mortified they became preachers. Tell them how the old homeplace burned to the ground but how Uncle Rafe and the boys and neighbors had it built back in a week. Tell them how their people struggled. Tell them how they survived and flourished. Tell them. Don't let your pieces be forgotten.

Sometimes missing pieces pop up in amazing ways. Some of my oldest memories surround my maternal grandmother Bishop. She was a wonderful woman on every level. I can remember her telling me about how her grandmother Aldridge would sit and cry for hours over a mysterious person named Richard. Apparently, Richard had marched off to the Civil War and was never heard from again. That's where I came in. When the genealogy craze first came onto the scene, I remembered the stories about "Richard" and dived in. Even after 115 years, it only took me a couple of months to unravel the mystery. I obtained a few forms and filled them out, then sent them off to the military records division of the national archives. Their reply left me absolutely stunned. Inside were copies of his enlistment papers, equipment receipts, regimental orders and an ominous copy of a document that contained the following: Richard Aldridge - age 17 - 43rd Alabama Volunteer Infantry - KIA in an engagement around Knoxville, Tennessee, Dec. 14, 1862. KIA means killed in action. Mystery solved. On one hand I was thrilled to find the missing pieces of such an old puzzle but I was more sad than anything else. I had found my great-great uncle and seemingly lost him all in the same day. And he was just a kid. His life was over before it ever really began. But at least he's back on the board.

I've got a theory about being dead. To me, you're not totally dead as long as at least one live person remembers that you once lived. That's how guys like George Washington and Abraham Lincoln live on in our consciousness many years after their passing. I believe the little guys, the common folks--they live on, too. Oh, before I forget, Happy 163rd birthday, Richard. Not bad for a 17 year old from rural Alabama. Rest easy, buddy. Somebody remembers. Somebody still cares.

The Old Gray Lion

ps - Move over, Oprah. Recommended reading: "All Over But the Shoutin'" by Rick Bragg. This is the only book I've ever read that will make you laugh, cry, and literally jump out of your seat and fist pump like the winning touchdown in the Iron Bowl. If you never read another book, read this one. As one Pulitzer Prize winning author's review stated, "this book does the impossible, it breathes." Read it. It may change your life.

The singing of crickets (& other ramblings)

2008-09-23T20:10:00.015-05:00

This is a complete re-do. I had the 4th Hublog almost completed, on a totally different subject, when I realized what I was about to do. Like a lot of Americans, I almost let the anniversary of 9-11 slide right by, unremembered. How stupid. How self-absorbed. How sad. A chance click of my TV remote saved me.

The man talking was a reporter. He was among the first to begin to document the devastation at ground zero. He said the first thing that he noticed was this loud, incessant singing of what seemed to be thousands of crickets. In the middle of the Manhattan financial district. Finally, one of the rescue personnel told him what he was hearing. Every NYC firefighter and policeman carries a body locator. Apparently, movement keeps it from going off and after a set number of hours of no movement, the alarm goes off. What he was hearing was hundreds of death notices. Death notices for the people who went into those burning buildings to save others.

The lady being interviewed was crying quietly. She had been descending the stairs in the second tower, just moments after the first tower collapsed. On her way down, she said she met dozens of NYC firemen, policemen and port authority officers headed up. She said her original intent was to avoid eye contact with them, as the fact she was headed down to safety while they headed up made her uncomfortable. But like the person watching the proverbial trainwreck, she could not avoid locking gazes with everybody she passed. What she saw amazed her. The officers were grim-faced and concerned but moving rapidly up the stairs. She did not see a single face with fear written on it. Something else was showing itself in their eyes. Every single man and woman she looked at knew exactly where they were headed and exactly what it meant. Not one person slipped away, not one turned and ran. Who were these people who climbed so willingly to their own day of reckoning? Mad, mindless, indoctrinated robots? No. They were ordinary Americans put into extraordinary circumstances. People who had come to believe, to paraphrase General Douglas MacArthur, "the three greatest words in the English language are duty, honor, country."

A lot of people in this country think this is outdated, silly cornball--that patriotism is an idea whose time has passed. I'm not one of them. Boy, am I not one of them. This country, this nation needs to be loved, protected and preserved now more than at any time in our history. Oddly enough, I'm not really that worried about our many enemies. Al-Qaeda, the Taliban, fanatics with suitcase nukes--they don't scare me much. The thing I fear most is.....us. The 'hate-America' crowd, the 'America-is-behind-everything-bad' clique, the Bill Mahers and the Michael Moores of the world; that's the folks I worry about. For every one house destroyed by fire or tornado, 10,000 decay from within. We have a lot of rot in our foundation.

I never cease to be amazed at the blind hatred aimed at America and her people. Ugly Americans. Arrogant America. Bully America. Kill everyone for a barrel of oil America. Well, you bums left out a few Americas. How about the fight the free world's battles for 200 years America? How about the feed the world America? Where's the saved the world from tyranny (repeatedly) America? How about the America funds and defends my country's very existence America? Where's the hundreds of thousands of young Americans died on my soil keeping me free America? Who do you think is walking freedom's perimeter? Here's a hint. It ain't the French. The Belgians are on vacation. All the Saudis are at a sand convention. Hey! It's us! Alone. A-M-E-R-I-C-A. Those ugly, arrogant, oil greedy bullies. Americans.

What do I expect from these people? Not much. A little respect would be nice. The benefit of the doubt once in a while would be appreciated. How about just the slightest hint of a little gratitude. Would that be too much to ask? Don't hold your breath.

Let's get one thing straight. These idiots don't owe me a thing--nothing. I never served in the U.S. Armed Forces. But there are Americans that they do owe. As long as a single member of our Greatest Generation is alive, kindly shut the hell up. The men and women who won World War II were heroes who fought and died in countries all over the world to save your sorry butts, and in return you spit on our flag and the people it represents. The Lord and Master of all things has a long, unbroken history of making both men and nations grateful for the gifts they have been given. If I were one of these ungrateful, memory-impaired nations, I'd be looking over my shoulder. Who knows? Maybe next time the crickets will be singing in the smoking ruins of your cities. Think about it.

The Old Gray Lion

Heroes--real and imagined (& other ramblings)

2008-08-23T20:06:00.017-05:00

Hero. Nice word. Somehow over the years, its meaning seems to have changed. According to today's media, 'most every professional athlete and actor (or actress) is some kind of hero. Spare me, please. Don't waste your admiration on people who have either never lived in the real world or once did, but now can't remember what it was like. Real heroes deal with real problems in the real world.

I've been really fortunate to be around some wonderful people I consider my heroes. I'm absolutely sure that each of the people I'm about to mention would laugh in your face if you called them a hero. That's how modest and unassuming they all are (or were). And it's one more reason why they made my list. You'll notice two things:
(1) They are all Hubbertville-ians. I guess this indicates I've led a sheltered life close to home. The older I get, the more I consider this to be an asset rather than a liability. There's no place like home, especially when home is the Hub.
(2) This list is all men. Please ladies, don't take offense. This was by design. There are plenty of female Hub heroes; so many in fact, that they will have their own separate tribute farther on down the line.

Let me tell you about my heroes:

Caldwell Hollingsworth. Mr. Hollingsworth WAS Hubbertville High School for decades. The term "great" is sadly overused these days, but I know of no other word that does him justice. He spent his entire life in dedicated service to the school, community and people of Hubbertville. This was a truly great man.

Thomas Dunavant. This man taught me a valuable lesson. You don't have to be a doctor, lawyer, diplomat, statesman or other so-called "high-profile" type to positively affect people's lives. Thomas was a custodian at a small country school but still managed to positively influence generations of young people. If you measured wealth in the currency of love and admiration of your fellow man, Thomas was one of the richest men I ever met.

Coach Hubbert Steven McCaleb. Coach McCaleb taught us (at least those of us smart enough to listen) that there is no slack in the truth and no "gray areas" when it comes to doing what's right. He is another member of that dedicated small group who spend their entire lives in service to the school, community and people of Hubbertville. In a world full of back-stabbing, mealy-mouthed weasels who say one thing to your face and something else to your back, Coach McCaleb is a welcome breath of fresh air. He will tell you exactly what he thinks. In fact, he may hunt you up and tell you. And that's a good thing. Thank you, Coach.

Coach Lamar Harris. Coach has been the face of Hubbertville Athletics for over 30 years. While other coaches use their success as a springboard to better paying jobs with less responsibility, Coach Harris has remained at the Hub. His athletes don't just learn about sports--they learn about hard work, personal responsibility, teamwork, loyalty, and mental and physical toughness. In just the last couple of weeks, I've received e-mails from former players talking about how much Coach Harris meant to them and how he helped them be successful in life. Coach is the most driven, well organized, best prepared man I've ever known. But the thing I admire most about him is his unwritten set of rules. We don't cheat. If we can't do it the right way we don't do it at all. We don't do shortcuts or easy fixes. Play hard but play clean. Be a loyal teammate. Make your school, your family and your friends proud. And last but not least, never quit. Life lessons for real lives.

Not all my heroes are "mature types" like myself. A couple of my heroes are young guys:

Jeremy Peoples. I'm not going to re-tell his story here; it's just too painful for us all. But he stepped up and did the right thing under what must have been unbelievably difficult circumstances. If anybody ever doubts what high school athletics can do for a kid, they need only to look at Jeremy. He went from an unsure, nervous kid to a smiling, confident young man in an amazingly short period of time. At the time of his death, he was quite possibly the most popular kid at Hub. Our world is a lesser place without him.

My friend Alex Chaffin. Has anybody ever loved all things Hubbertville more than Alex? I don't think so. I'm 100% sure nobody has ever wished they could play high school sports more than him. Alex is pretty much Mr. Hubbertville and believe me, he is a great ambassador. He has literally hundreds of friends and I'm proud to be one of them. While Alex has some challenges in his life, he also has some tremendous gifts. He is the absolute best judge of character I've ever seen. And he is never wrong. He can spot a jerk or a phony a mile away. And he has the kindest, gentlest, most loving heart you'll ever find. The world would be a much better place if we were all a little more like our friend Alex. Hero.

The Old Gray Lion

The upcoming football season (& other ramblings)

2008-07-12T09:19:00.009-05:00

It's baaaaaaack! Football season. We're fast approaching that special time of the year. Can you believe it's only about 6 weeks until we travel to Bear Creek for the jamboree? Please gear up to support the Lions with your attendance, your money and your continued hard work behind the scenes. All three are needed more now than I can ever remember.

We have a problem with our football program that many schools are having. Numbers. We've had really good teams with only one or two subs we could put on the field without sending somebody up into the stands to ask their parents if this month's life insurance premium had been paid. That's not the way things are supposed to be. Yes, we are a small 1A school, but every year there are kids wandering our halls who should be starting on our varsity football team. And it seems to be getting worse.

I've had a few people tell me it's not that big a deal. It's just football, right? Wrong. It's much more serious than that. Let's suppose that someday the deadbeats gain control and we don't have enough people to field a team. Have a look at what that means to people other than football players:

goodbye band, band booster club and band director. The band would be all dressed up with no place to go.
bye-bye majorettes.
adios flag girls.
how many cheerleaders do we have now? 20 or 25 counting the JV girls? Well, you can cut that down by about two-thirds. No need for them.
see ya, homecoming festivities. We've all seen "homecoming" at "basketball only" schools and it's pretty pale compared with ours, huh?
farewell Hub Boosters Club. Take away the 75% of the members you would lose if we dropped football, and there's no way it could survive.

And believe me, this is just a partial list of the things we would lose. After a couple of years the entire school would probably fold. When people start attending sporting events at other schools, it's just a matter of time until their loyalty, money and kids will follow.

Over the years I've talked to many, many guys who have either quit football or refused to come out for the team. Excuses? I've heard them all. Everything from "the dog ate my doctor's physical exam form" to the stone killer who went home, locked the doors, pulled the blinds and refused to answer his phone or his door. Probably the most common thing I've heard is the old reliable "I'm just not having any fun." Fun? Go join the circus, play Bozo at kiddie birthday parties, get a job at Chuck E. Cheese! Talk about missing the point! Guess what? They're right! There are things about playing high school football that are definitely not fun. Practicing in full pads up on Rocky Top in the 110 degree heat index in August, with us screaming at you and the gnats and mosquitos flipping a coin to see who gets to chew on whatever the fire ants left of you, is probably not one of life's most pleasurable experiences. It's hard to do. But the fact that it's so hard is what makes it so special. If it was easy, everybody would do it. And please, don't let them tell you it's not fun. I wouldn't take $10,000 right now for the experience of beating Ragland up there in the '99 playoffs. Ragland had scored in the 60's the week before and the Birmingham News said they were going to kill us. Apparently Cajun, John Arch, Bowles and Nick didn't subscribe to the Birmingham News. We hit them upside the head with a bag of hammers for four quarters and stopped them on 4th down inside our own 10 yard line with 12 seconds left. If that wasn't fun, there ain't a cow in Texas.

You play football for what it says about you as a person, both to yourself and those around you. It says you're a man, or on your way to becoming one. It says you can hack it--the contact, the hours of practice, the heat, the bugs, the bumps and bruises, and all the negative crap you hear from the deadbeat crowd. It says you have grit, guts, determination and the heart of a lion. That's why you play.

What can we (family, friends, alumni) do to help? Lots of things. First and foremost, encourage our guys to play. Tell them how much our school and football program mean to you. Secondly, make it easier for them to play. Help out with rides, chores, anything to help out. Thirdly, show up for them. Games, practice, booster club, whatever. It's easy to tell your kids "I love you, I care about you, I'm interested in what you do." It's tougher to drag your tired butt out of the recliner after a hard day at work to take them to practice. Talk is cheap. Last but not least, expect them to play. Many kids underachieve simply because nobody expects anything out of them.

Not everybody is cut out to play football and I hope all reasonable people can appreciate that fact. That being said, we have a lot of guys at our school who are cut out for it and just simply don't have the stones to put forth the effort. The big thing is to be involved in something. Don't be one of those people who major in doing nothing. And to you parents, just so you know...the more deeply involved your kids are in sports and school activities, the less likely they are to be out in the woods around a bonfire with some guys with homemade tattoos and self-inflicted body piercings, drinking beer and smoking ganja. Think about it.

The decision whether or not to play football is a private one. Nobody can make it for you. But know this: the results of your decision are going to be very, very public. And believe me, everybody is watching.

The Old Gray Lion

A look back on a great 2008 softball season (& other ramblings)

2008-06-24T14:22:00.009-05:00

I realize you're all kind of sad. Me, too. It's easy to be down when you realize it's over for another year. However, I think maybe we should be grateful instead. Grateful for the privilege of being around such a great bunch of kids. We didn't win the big blue trophy, but we won something much more valuable and lasting: the battle to produce good, decent, caring young women who will improve this world of ours, rather than infect it with more self-absorbed greed and dishonesty.

It's going to be particularly hard to say goodbye to this year's seniors. Jesi, Chasidy and Nicole are going to be hard to replace, both as players and as human beings. Have we ever had 3 better senior players? I don't know. But I'll tell you what I do know. We've never graduated 3 better kids. These 3 were always ready for anything. We could always depend on them no matter what the situation. No attitude, no disrespect, no loafing--just 100% total effort. That's a hard combination to beat. And trust me, nobody beat them very often. Good luck ladies, and Godspeed as you ride off to new adventures.

And now for the thanks. First, thank you to the 2008 Hub softball team. You gave us a great season. You won 30 games, finished ranked in the Top 10, swept the Area Regular Season (6-0), the Area Tournament (3-0) and both sub-state rounds (4-0), qualified for your second consecutive State Tournament, and won our first state tournament game since we moved to fast-pitch. Great job ladies. And please be advised: we expect no less next season. Thanks.

Secondly, thanks to the Hubbertville Maroon Nation. We have the best fans in the world. And I do mean world. Check out the origin of the hits on our athletic web site. Usually we have people from 10 or 12 states and several foreign countries checking on our teams. Talk about devoted fans! Did anybody notice we had more fans at the sub-state finals than the home team, even though we were 125 miles from home at 1 p.m. on a weekday? Wow! You're the best and I know you'll keep it up--it's the Hub way.

Thirdly, a belated thanks to a special group of young ladies that we all seem to have forgotten...a big thank you to the 2002 Lady Lions softball team. You were the first team to play fast-pitch and you did it with grace and determination. Lesser individuals would have pouted and whined but you all accepted the challenge. You not only had a winning season, but you barely missed the state tournament, losing two 1-run games in the sub-state finals. I have to admit that I didn't realize what an accomplishment this was at the time. But over the years I've gradually learned to appreciate what a spectacular season it really was. You laid a great foundation for every young lady who pulls on that maroon jersey from now on. I would name you all individually but I'd be afraid I'd leave somebody out. Next time you see one of these girls, give them a hug or a pat on the back and say thanks. They were and still are a big part of our success and legend. Thanks ladies. Better late than never, I guess.

Meagan McCollum, Jennifer Oden. Two ordinary names, two extraordinary people. And please, let's not forget the contribution of Nicki Hancock, one of the best leaders we've had in any sport. Thanks, Nicki. It would be hard to overstate the importance of what these ladies meant to our program. They were a large piece of the bridge from the old to the new era. They were the "old guys" on what we called the "kiddie korps." It's a big responsibility to be the oldest players on the team when you're just sophomores. These young ladies handled the load flawlessly. They were exactly what the younger kids needed: tough, determined leaders who never quit. And the great part was they led by example rather than words. That's leadership you can respect and learn from. Thanks, ladies.

My next to last thank you is kind of tricky. It may very well get me whooped. This guy avoids the limelight, or any kind of praise or acknowledgment, like the plague. But some things need to be said. Here goes...THANKS, COACH. You're the best. Period. End of story. Our success begins and ends with you. There aren't enough words in the English language to begin to thank you for all the things you've done for our school and our kids. Thank you.

The final thanks is the most important of all. A grateful thank you to the Big Man in the upstairs office who rides herd on this big old crazy world we live in. Thank you for allowing us to be a part of the Hub Maroon Nation. Hubbertville is not a perfect place. We have our faults and problems, but for the most part we work on them together as a family. There aren't many places like ours left. We're still more Mayberry than Orange County and that's a good thing. When you say your prayers tonight, please say one that we never change. We don't need to be more modern, more hip or whatever they're calling turning your back on what's good and decent these days. God help us stay the Hub. Can I get an AMEN?

The Old Gray Lion