Patty comes into the garage, seeking an extension cord from one of the many still unpacked boxes. She charges about, even more self-assured than her husband. "A wide receiver," says Ralston after she has left. "No doubt about it."
He and Patty made this final move so he could be closer to school, so, with his workday beginning at 6:30 a.m., he wouldn't have to spend three nights a week sleeping in a San Jose State dorm room after having studied tapes until 11 p.m. Just as a point of speculation, it is suggested that maybe he would like to coach until he's 90 or 95, keel over on the field in mid-practice and be buried under one of the goalposts that bookend all football fields like gateways to another world. He considers the notion. "That," he says, "would be the ultimate."
College or pro—it doesn't matter.