‘The Lights in Collins’ by Shane Brown

It’s a Friday night in the fall. The air is cool, and the lights are bright. There is a smell in the air, and there is a particular feeling that comes with it.

Smoke rolls off the grills behind the concession stand, and the smell triggers the fans’ appetites. Groups of grown men are circled up talking about what No. 16 will do or No. 1 and No. 2 and…they are talking about the Collins Tigers. Cheerleaders are raising a paper sign they have painted throughout the week over a goal post. The stands are getting full as more fans pay to pass through the gate and witness a Mississippi Friday Night.

Chills are going through my legs, my back, my arms and my neck. The band is in the stands belting out music that bounces through the tree tops and atop our field house. We faintly hear it where we stand, but our bodies tense with every thud and beat of the drums. Our eyes are focused on Coach Earnest. I listen as I adjust my headset and tuck away a white Gatorade towel that has been folded neatly in the back of my pants so that it drapes below my waist to soak up some sweat, or some blood, or maybe even some tears. I glance at my watch because I have been outside and looked at the minutes on the scoreboard ticking away to see when we need to line up, and I have timed it perfectly down to the second that we need to march through the gateway of the fieldhouse doors and out to our battlefield. Coach Earnest talks with passion and love. He talks of dreams and fight; he talks about never giving up. The fourth quarter is signaled, and the room grows tense. Confidence also builds throughout the room, and heads start to nod as they absorb the coach’s words. The hair on my neck is still standing when I look into the eyes of fifty young men on their knees, strapped in shoulder pads and laced with white tape on wrists and ankles; helmets are held to the side in a hand or on the floor. They’re focused and they believe. They’re still bobbing their heads up and down and not blinking their eyelids as Coach Earnest’s voice echoes off the concrete walls. I look at Earnest and point to my watch. He shouts out a few more truths and tells everyone to circle up and bow our heads. We are a family right now. We’re fixing to go fight for our brothers, we’re about to go to war for each other.

The doors open and the boys start strapping on chin straps. Hoots and hollers are shouted as they jog out and through the doors. Some are jumping up and down and some are at a steady, focused pace. It’s game time–time to shine under the lights. Our defensive coordinator, Coach Mason, is waiting on me at the door as I am one of the last persons to go through. I am the last person he talks to before he ascends the stairs to the top of the press box. He reaches out his hand, and I grip and twist it. He reaches around and grabs my back, and I do the same. We both get down on one knee, and he prays for me. He prays for our children, our loved ones, and for the young men about to take the field. He prays for our coaches and for no player to get injured. Coach finishes the prayer with hopes that it be in His glory whether we win or fail. We stand up and slap hands again. He tells me to have fun, that he loves me and to stay focused. I smile and tell him I will try as I jog off holding my headset to the sidelines.

I’m just jogging up as Coach Earnest is waving at me to hurry up. Helmets are lining up behind the goal post and all the coaches are circled up on the sideline. I run up and grab a shoulder to my right and a shoulder to my left. Coach Earnest prays for us and the boys again. When the final prayer is over, we all slap hands and hug each other, and Coach Earnest tells each of us something positive: that he loves us, or for us have fun, or he’ll coach hard or whatever it might be! I make my way to the twenty-five yard line and stand alone. I’m waiting for the boys to bust through the sign. I see them poking holes through the sign, and I can hear them shouting and screaming. They are psyched right now. I am psyched too!

Arms rip through the signs, and they are all rushing toward the sideline. I lower both hands down low and stand in the middle of the stampede. They know I’ll be standing there waiting. I’m standing there every Friday night. They know not to run over me. Hands are slapping my hands, and I repeat over and over “Let’s go, Let’s go, Let’s go!” and “Play hard, Play hard, Play hard!” I put my headset on, and Coach Mason is already calling my name. I know he gets impatient with me. I’m controlling his defense on the field because he and Coach Earnest thought it would be best for him to be upstairs watching what he has created. It was the best idea. He can see things better up there. He can make adjustments immediately or change a defense package with a swift call down to me from up in the “box” when an offense lines up in a different formation. I will relay it through signs to our middle linebacker or scream out code words to them. They also trust me and believe I can control his calls and his defense.

The beginning of the game is where the butterflies start to disappear away from me. I love this part of the game. I love it when the lights are on. I love it when the band is standing and rocking the stands. I love it when players are all around and we are all in the same color; we are all here for one purpose. Eleven boys on each side are lined up against each other waiting to kick or receive the first touch of the ball. Coaches are screaming, and the fans are backing them up with their cheers echoing across the field. Cheerleaders are shaking Pom-Poms in the air as they bounce up and down on the track. Football players hold up a helmet and wait to cross over the sidelines and onto the battlefield. The kick is in the air, and for a moment, it’s silent… just for a moment. Now heads are on a swivel and bodies are flying through the air, feet are digging in the dirt, and shoulder pads are popping all over. Helmets are smacking heads, and whistles are blowing. Excitement is at a high level in the stadium right now, and so are we.

I walked the hallways of Collins High School the first year Coach Earnest put his staff together. It was his first shot at the head spot too. We walked down the halls that first year at a 4-8 record. I could feel people I didn’t know stare at me or us. Football in that town was important. It was important to us too. But I never saw him hang his head low or worry about what he had. He was confident and sharp. He knew what was coming in the future.

I stayed one more year on staff before I made the needed trip back home. We finished up 9-4 and made a good run in the playoffs. Coach Earnest and the football team didn’t want me to go, and neither did my baseball team. I’ll never forget the day I brought them in my classroom and told them I was leaving. I called them in at break and I was as nervous as I could be. I walked in, and they were laughing and cutting up. They have no idea what I’m feeling inside, what I’m about to say or that I can barely speak. I finally get them to be quiet, and I start stuttering. Their smiles turn to frowns and anger. I try to explain what I have to do, but they don’t understand. And I’m okay with that. They’ll understand one day. I know too that they have a good person to take care of them when I’m gone.

The fall of 2014 rolls up and I keep up with every game Collins played and every stat individual player makes. I’m happy for them and root for them. I talk with Coach Earnest throughout the season and a few of his players. It’s good to hear their voice and the excitement that’s falling all around them. I can’t imagine the confidence and boost in the town or school. They make it to the South State Championship and win. They will play for the State Championship Thanksgiving weekend. I was very emotional with feelings and thoughts that week. I was happy for them and their chance to be a state champ.

I’m standing in Davis Wade Stadium at Mississippi State University and the buzzer goes off in the 3A state championship game. I’m standing with my son, my daughter, and my mom. Everyone around me is screaming and hollering and celebrating. I’m trying not to shed a tear or lose my breath. I regain my composure and start clapping and hugging my family. They did it! Those boys fought for each other for fourty-eight minutes and an overtime! They deserve to be screaming and running around shouting out that they are the best. Maddux looks up to me and says, “Daddy, can we go say hey?” I tell him no at first, and then I see the disappointment in his eyes. He had been to so many practices and a water boy on Friday nights, and I realize that he loved those guys as much as I did. I grab his hand, and we walk down to where they are running into the tunnel to go celebrate in the locker room! I yell at the first one coming through and he stops and grins. He runs up to us and high fives us and hugs us. Every player walked up to us and did the same thing that day. Coaches did too. That’s what family is suppose to do. I hope they do it again for No. 66

Shane Brown is a HottyToddy.com contributor and the son of noted author Larry Brown. Shane is an Oxford native with Yocona and Tula roots. Shane is a graduate of Mississippi State University and works as a salesman for Best Chance. He has two children — Maddux, age 9, and Rilee, age 7 — and makes his home at “A Place Called Tula.” He can be reached at msushanebrown@yahoo.com.

Copyright Shane Brown, 2015.