Like the subject line says, this is just a story, one I feel like
sharing. It's not about Foosball, but it is a sports story. It'll
probably seem long to someone who thinks reading a book is a form of
punishment. So...you've been warned.
Many
years ago, in a galaxy far, far away...I was a high-school athlete. I
played football, and also competed on the track and field team. I
really liked Track, as I enjoyed the individual nature of the
competition (I played on some BAD football teams). I did well throwing
the shot-put and discus, and I had won lots of blue ribbons and some
medals.
I was forced to move from Kokomo, where I grew up, to a
VERY small nearby town when my Mother married her fourth husband (my
second step-dad) during my sophomore year. I only lived there one year;
that's all the longer they were married.
The first sport I was
eligible to play was Track that spring. I did even better at this small
school (Kokomo High was much bigger), which was called the imaginative
name of Eastern High School. I really stuck out like a sore thumb at
this place, the weird combination of City Hood and Good Athlete.
I
did fairly well that season, and was one of the Track team's leading
point earners as a Sophomore. The way that works, for those of you not
familiar with things like that, is the Coach/Athletic Department
assigns a point value to your placement in individual events. An
example would be something like: 1st = 5 points, 2nd = 3, 3rd = 1. They
use this to see who qualifies for varsity letters....and Letter Jackets.
Some
of you probably already know, and I'm sure it's easy to understand for
everybody, that getting big fuzzy letters and school Jackets with big
fuzzy letters on them is A BIG DEAL for a high school athlete. It is
something that the aspiring Big Man On Campus finds is a must, at least
in days of yesteryear. The way it worked at Eastern High was, you
earned your first letter and then after qualifying for your next,
you're awarded A LETTER JACKET! About as easy a system as you'll find,
as at Kokomo High you had to earn your third letter to get your Jacket.
I
went to Eastern one year, and left with a jacket. I left it hanging in
a closet of an apartment I got evicted from when I was nineteen. I was
in a "forget all past history" Phase of Life. I kinda wish now that I
still had it...
But...on to the events that have kept this story
so fresh in my mind all these many years, and which have assured it a
permanent place in my heart.
On the track team that spring, one
of my teammates was a guy named Jim Lawson. He was a Senior, and this
was his last Hurrah as a high school athlete. Jim was about six feet
tall, and in super shape. About 1% body fat and very slim, probably
like 140lbs. He was one of the most popular people in the whole school.
One of the nicest, coolest people I've ever met. He was probably voted
Most Likely To Marry A Super Model. I'm sure he didn't have any trouble
getting a date for the Prom, he was a good looking kid.
But...he
wasn't the fastest...or strongest. In fact, Jim had only lettered ONCE
before in his sports career at Eastern. Not only was this Track season
the last sport he would ever compete in...it was his last chance to
qualify for a Letter Jacket. Something he wanted very badly...but
seemed destined to fall short of being awarded.
Like I
said...not very fast....not very strong or skilled. He had participated
all these years in every sport he could, but mainly rode the bench. He
finally played enough for the Football team that year to be awarded a
letter, his first. You see, in Football the Coaches can give whomever
they want a letter. It's kinda subjective.
In Track and
Field...it's different. You need to accumulate points based on your
actual performance to get that big fuzzy letter...or that long dreamed
of Letter Jacket. No top three places...no points. No accumulation of
points....NO JACKET FOR JIM.
IT DIDN'T LOOK GOOD. WE WERE IN OUR
LAST MEET OF THE YEAR, AND JIM NEEDED A FIRST PLACE FINISH TO REACH THE
NEEDED NUMBER OF POINTS. Disappointment was all he was likely to get
for all his years of effort.
Well...there was another guy on our
Track team, by the name of Ron Frazier. He was one of those strange,
long distance "Running Gurus" you saw more of in the 1970's. You'd ask
him how he was doing, and he'd respond with something like "My lungs
are operating at peak efficiency at Oxygen intake and Carbon Dioxide
dispellation..." Ohh-kay. The guy got into running, and he never lost.
When you were in a meet with Ron Frazier, you were battling for the
second place ribbon in the two-mile run. He was going to win, and even
the opposing team knew it.
The last Track Meet of the year (and
Jim's last chance PERIOD) was against a good school. It was near an Air
Force Base, so they always had some "ringers", kids who came from other
areas.
To this day, I don't know who came up with THE IDEA....
It
was down to the short strokes....The last individual event was the
Two-mile run, also known as the "give the Blue Ribbon to Ron Frazier
portion of the program", and see who comes in second. It was also the
last event Jim Lawson could ever compete in with any chance to get his
jacket, and he needed a first place finish.
Jim had never run in
the two-mile before. Despite being in good shape, he just wasn't fast
enough to compete. And besides, what chance did he have to beat Ron
"Mr. Marathon" Frazier. They were both Seniors and teammates for four
years. Jim knew Ron was unbeatable...
The race started, they were both entered in the event.
It's
an eight lap race. A quarter mile a lap. On the old fashion cinder-rock
tracks you can hear the stones underneath the runners' feet with every
stride, kinda like how you hear the constant squeak of basketball shoes
during a game. It's a sound I'll always remember...like your teeth
smashing crushed ice.
Ron took the lead as expected. Jim was
struggling to stay with the pack, but with the extra motivation, the
Jacket-on-the-end-of-the-stick, he doggedly hung in there with the
other team's front-runners.
The laps began to add up...four
down...four to go. Ron still in his usual first place...but not by as
big a margin as normal. This only served to inspire the other team's
runners, who were worthy opponents, and would kill themselves for a
chance to beat a Legend.
And to everyone's shock, Ron's lead
began to shrink. On the next to last lap, The Pack began to overtake
Ron. Ron Frazier...the Unbeatable Distance Champion. You could feel the
heat of competitive fire coming off the four main runners as the lead
completely disappeared. The two best the other team had...and Jim and
Ron. Ron now ran side-by-side with Jim.
There was one and a half
laps to go...Jim didn't look too good. He was out of his league, in an
event that called for speed and endurance. Whatever will he had in him,
it was coming to the surface now....Ron began to talk to Jim, urging
his friend to pick up the pace, "Just a little faster Jim...YOU CAN DO
IT!". They pulled even with the other runners...
A crowd
began to gather around the inside of the track. People who had known
Jim his whole life, who'd been friends and teammates with him for all
these years began to yell out encouragement to him. Teammates lined the
inside of the track...they all knew what was on the line for Jim.
The runners passed the start-finish line, and the final lap began...
Almost
the entire Eastern track team was running on the grass inside the
track. You couldn't legally run next to the runners to help "pace"
them, as that is a violation of the rules. So the no longer yelling,
but SCREAMING supporters ran like a crazed mob along the inside grass,
leap frogging around each other to stay up with the competitors as they
ran the back stretch.
I don't know if Jim was even aware of his
near hysterical compatriots. His head was hanging down...his running
gait was beginning to become unstable, like the gyro-scopes were
malfunctioning. But he didn't need them to set the pace...he could
hear Ron, who remained right by his side, striding at a slower pace
than he'd ever run a race before, but looking as if it mattered more
than ever...
Calmly he urged more out of his friend...and a small lead began to appear...
As
the runners rounded the last turn, you could hear the labored, heavy
breathing. The other team's runners, who were themsleves giving more
than they'd ever given before, gulping for air, with a surprise chance
at victory so close at hand...
But Jim's breathing was that of
a person in their last extremities....Where the breathing becomes
almost like a song, with a cadence akin to the speaking of Religious
Tongues...sung in the key of Hoarseness, plaintive like the final Last
Gasp of life...
The finish line was a scene of such unbridled
emotion, of an outcrying of desire and support...the crowd was now also
on the outside of the track itself, everyone crowding in to see who
would cross the magic plane first, to see how this drama would play
out...
Ron and Jim, running side-by-side, Ron continuing to urge Jim on, a lead now of two yards, came toward the finish line...
By
this time I don't think Jim WAS breathing any more, and there was
nothing left inside him except the will that said, "Run On..." His head
hung on his chest, he was pale as a ghost and staggering badly... Ron
reached over and put his right arm around his friend, keeping him
upright and on course. The runners behind them, who looked as if they
were going to fall down, strived to catch up...
The Unbeaten
Champion, running with his arm around THE LIVING EMBODIMENT OF WHAT IS
BEST ABOUT ATHLETIC COMPETITION...came to the Finish Line...
And the Champion stopped...one foot short.
His beloved teammate fell across the line...
He was quickly scooped up by a hundred loving hands...
I never saw...but I'll bet Jim Lawson looked good in that Jacket.
************************************
"I can only hope to imagine..."