- TOP PLAYERSOffensePABLO S. TORRE | August 20, 2012
- TAMPA BAY buccaneersENEMY lines WHAT A RIVAL COACH SAYSJune 28, 2012
- Faces in the CrowdJune 11, 2001
As coach Nick Saban said in your story (The Tide Is Turning, Sept. 8), the season-opening victory over Clemson was only one game, and Alabama faithful must be patient. I understand that. And three or four national championships by mid-November should satisfy me, my son and most 'Bama fans everywhere.
I read Rick Telander's story on the injury that ended his son's senior football season (PLAYERS, Sept. 8) through tear-filled eyes. My oldest son, Daniel, whom I also coach, tore his ACL and bilateral meniscus during seven-on-seven drills this summer. He was to be a returning starter at free safety and wide receiver. At our first game Daniel was cheering and supporting his teammates from the sideline, coaching his replacement and helping the secondary make their calls. Long after the game, when I walked into the hall leading to the locker room, I found Daniel standing against the wall with his head down. I walked over and put my arm around him, and a wave of emotion overcame both of us. There are a lot of things much more important in life than high school football, but to an 18-year-old who has had his senior year taken away—and to his dad/coach—that's about as bad as it gets.
In high school I injured my knee and went through five knee surgeries and countless hours of therapy over the next couple of years. I never had the chance to play varsity basketball, but the lessons that I've learned through this injury far surpass the lost memories. Now I am in college and have a new dream: coaching.
Voice of Choice
There's not much that this Padres fan likes about the Dodgers—except Vin Scully (In Vin Veritas, Sept. 8). MLB should have a mandatory announcer's course, and Scully should be the professor. He seems to have realized long ago that God gave us one mouth and two ears.
I am among the countless Dodgers fans who, as a boy, slept with a transistor radio under his pillow, furtively listening to Scully. After I confessed my disobedience years later, my father feigned surprise and then said, "Son, why do you think you never had to change the batteries?"
My first memory as a Dodgers fan goes back to 1959, listening to the school bus radio as they beat the White Sox in the World Series. Living in Iowa, I could seldom enjoy a Dodgers TV or radio broadcast—until recently, that is, thanks to satellite radio. Camped on the bank of my favorite catfish stream on a muggy August night, I wait for a bite while the stars and fireflies appear. Mr. Scully's telling me how clearly he can see the San Gabriel Mountains, or describing a child's struggles with what may be his first Dodger Dog, is like adding the syrup to the sundae. Is this heaven? No, it's Iowa!
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