On the bus last Saturday evening, Luke Berblinger or Brendan Martens, or one of the other young men who rode home in a state of euphoria, said, "Coach Kohls, you need to blog about this!"
He was right. We were waiting for Coach Warner to come out to the bus after the State Championship game, a contest that saw this group of young men bring Buhler its first State Championship in football in school history. I started a blog on Sunday, but I did not finish it and post it. I take this blog thing seriously, dang it, and this occasion deserved to be done up right, if you will. I just deleted about 500 words because it was not right. These kids, these young men, rather, deserve better.
Let's take a walk back. Humor me, ok. After managing to grab a playoff berth by finishing as runners-up in our district, we made a trip out to Ulysses. For those who have not lived in southwest Kansas (I did for 10 years, and while the people there are some of the best I know, it is called God's country for a reason: no one else wants it), Ulysses is out there. As Ev Kohls would say, "You're not at the end of the world, but if you stand on your tiptoes, you can see it." On that long bus ride, the kids watched a DVD. As high school football players tend to do, they chose a football film. Actually, the ride was long enough that they chose two, but we will focus on one of them: Friday Night Lights. The book that was the basis for the movie came out while I was in high school, and it is, as always, better than the movie. However, nutshell version: people are crazy for high school football, and the kids who play, and the coaches who work with them every day, deal with more than just a boys' game. Communities rally around the ritual of Friday night, and what happens on the field may in fact echo far after the cheers have ended.
Tonight, after achieving a small degree of separation from the euphoria of Saturday's win, I began to twirl the idea of our own Friday Night Lights story in my head. You see, Coach Warner hates football movies. They are too formulamatic, too predictable, and too unrealistic. However, I will say that no one could write the story of this season any better than than Buhler's Boys of Fall wrote it for themselves. I have read Our Boys by a New York Times reporter, and I was bored by it. Sorry, but it is true. Roger Barta and Smith Center deserved better. It wa a sugary lovefest. Yuck. The story of the last true 4A champion in Kansas, the final champion of 64 4A teams, is much better. It is not gushing, glitzy show. This tale is, as the kids say, legit.
The fall of 2013 in Buhler America is a true story of Friday Night Lights. You have every storyline one could hope for. The senior QB returns, only to enter a QB controversy with a talented sophomore. The senior is injured, adding to the Hollywood conflict. But wait, as he struggles through his injury and the youngster develops as a QB and as a leader, the senior takes on a new role, as a do-what-it-takes-to-help-the-team leader. It is not a commercial forced upon us by a marketing campaign; it is sincere. After the season, one of the shining moments for this boy of fall is a block against Abilene, when he lined up at WR and slobberknockerred a DB on a power run play, knocking down three defenders and springing the All-Star runningback. It did not show up in the paper or on the stat sheet, but it was a prime example of doing what needed to be done, and relishing the moment.
It does not stop there. When I was a senior in high school, I hoped to write the great American novel. Maybe this will be it. Pick a story line, and I will run with it. True, we had the all-state runningback who everyone looked to, whom everyone knew would shine. Our Booby Miles, minus the dramatic knee injury. He was fun to watch, and an explosive weapon who rolled up yards and TDs, culminating in a stellar performance in the state championship. However, we also had so many other stories, stories so few people will ever know.
We have the warrior who was poised for greatness after sitting out his junior year with a torn ACL, only to destroy the other knee during drills at a college camp late in the summer. I will not lie: I had a catch in my throat when the phone call came that revealed what had happened. It's not fair. But he braced the knee and powered through, cautious at first, unsure of what he could do. He drove me crazy at times, but one could never doubt his heart or his dedication to his team, his boys, his brothers. And in the end, he was a force. A pillar of strength in the middle who would not be defeated, would not be denied. A warrior. A Crusader.
We had the other wounded warrior, who had gone under the knife after a week one injury his junior year. He blazed back and stepped up. A trap on fourth and long. A reception on third and 25. A game-winning TD reception late in a shootout. A lockdown corner when opponent's abandoned the run. In the spotlight? Sometimes, but not really. Playing a role that he had to play, doing what he had to do to push his family toward another goal, toward the ultimate goal? Definitely.
I could go on. Please do not be offended if you feel I left you out; I do not mean to and I have so many stories in my head, and more importantly, in my heart. I sat in the lockerroom last Saturday and thought about all the things we were not, and that defined who we are. We started two DBs that will need cleats and tiptoes to sniff 5'7", but they played with the heart of champions, and earned every bit of the honor that comes with being just that, champions. As an offensive coach, I would want to know where that missile of destruction was coming from at safety, and toughness and heart proved much more valuable than pure athleticism, as evidenced by one frustrated stud in neon socks, and, oh yes, a state championship. Two of our LBs can only dream of running what most people would call respectable 40 times, but they played smart, were tough, and are the epitome of what high school football is about. One broke his leg in the middle of his junior year. The other, well, let's just say I have never tried harder to play off tossing a player a black jersey, while feeling such a huge swell of pride for him. The third LB, a great athlete, spent most of the second half against Topeka Hayden in tears, partially because he had separated his shoulder, partly because he wanted so much to help his brothers win. There is the 160 pound wrestler who lined up each week, giving up at least 100 pounds to the guard across from him, and yet wreaked havoc on those offenses week in and week out. That spot, the quick defensive tackle, is becoming a prized position, a position of true honor and reverence, and will continue to add to our success. We have not even touched on the all-state defensive end who once blitzed while looking the opposite way, and set the school record for sacks, resulting in drawing three and sometimes four blockers on pass plays, all the while caring more about his hair and the team's success than individual recognition. Or the DE opposite who also played TE, and stepped up and made plays every time he was challenged. Or the two sophomores who lined up over two of the best athletes in state, not just in the championship game, but throughout the season. Go ahead; test them. You will lose. Oh wait; they did test them. And we won.
If you have not noticed, I am the defensive coordinator. The storylines on the offensive abound as well. They could fill a volume of their own.
I could go on. Maybe I will. Maybe this is my muse. I can tell you one thing: this is better than Hollywood. It is real. Sincere. True.
Boys, you are champions. And you did it the right way. Keep smiling; you deserve it.
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