Friday: Game Day
Around three o’clock in the morning, I gave up trying to sleep and sat up. I didn’t expect to wake up John with my slight movement, so I was surprised when I heard him say, “I think I’ll get up, too.”
“I might have dozed off for an hour or two, I hope,” I said. “There’s no way I’m going to get any more sleep tonight.”
I started the coffee and we sat at the kitchen table, both of us still in our robes and slippers.
“I’m thinking I could make the pep rally this morning,” John said.
“I’d like that.”
“Nine o’clock, right?”
“Nine o’clock sharp.”
The Brownwood Bulletin was still hours from delivery.
“You haven’t shared the game plan with me,” John said. “I know you have something up your sleeve.”
I smiled.
“What is it, Tylene? The Statue of Liberty? A fumblerooski?”
“No, no gimmicks. Just some solid football and a few decoy plays.”
“Decoys? Nice.”
I filled our cups.
“If the game is tight, I might go to Bobby Ray on a couple passes. I don’t think Stephenville expects us to pass much, so I hope to catch them off guard. A deep pass or two.”
“Deep?”
“I had them practice it a couple times. Jimmy’s got the accuracy. It’s just an idea.”
John smiled.
“What do you think of a bootleg on fourth down beyond midfield?” I asked.
“If you think it’ll work, my guess is it will,” John said.
By the time the newspaper arrived, I was buried in my notes and mostly oblivious to anything else around me. Eventually, I noticed John open the paper and glance up at me. I could just imagine the headline, but I didn’t want to know. John smiled, and I returned to my notes.
BY SIX THIRTY, I was heading to my parents’ house. When I arrived, I was thrilled to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table. Bessie Lee was cooking bacon and eggs. As I had expected, my father was outside. The back porch faced east, and he seldom missed a sunrise. He swore it was the best part of every day. I grabbed a cup of coffee and walked out to join him. I found him visiting with Enrique Montano, not only his trusted ranch hand but his best friend.
Enrique was a rancher, born and raised in northern New Mexico in a small village called San Jose. He said he was related to nearly half the village residents and was hesitant to leave it twenty years earlier. But when Enrique’s wife, Elena, passed away a year after the loss of their only child, he needed to get away. With limited English skills and few possessions, Enrique headed east on a two-horse buggy with no destination in mind. He didn’t expect to venture halfway through Texas, but he said nothing “sang” to him until he hit Brownwood.
He met my father and began working for him, learning English and working alongside him nearly sixteen hours a day. Enrique insisted there was nothing else he’d rather do.
Upon seeing me, Enrique hugged me, wished me luck, and headed to the stalls.
“If I know my Petunia, you’ve been up the better part of the night,” my father said as we hugged.
“I haven’t slept much in days. I’ve also been doing a lot of thinking about us. Remember our first game together?”
“You thought I didn’t know you were flipping that coin in your bedroom and running coast-to-coast with your doll,” he said.
I paused. “I sat in the stands, Dad, last night at sundown. Thought you should have been there with me.”
“Getting the lay of the land?”
“In a way. I really just wanted to remind myself of why this means so much to me. You know, Dad, you changed my life with football. And it’s not just the game I love—it’s what it’s meant to the two of us. It sticks in my craw when I hear men talk about football as a father-son experience.”
“I guess the world ain’t ready to talk about football as a father-daughter experience,” he said. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“The world isn’t ready for a lady coach experience, either, Dad.”
“They don’t know you like I do. But I also know why you’re doing this, Tylene. The town may have forgotten, but we never will.”
“Why is it that the pain never goes away, Dad, even after so many years?”
Just then, Bessie Lee peeked from behind the screen door and declared that breakfast was ready.
“I have to head to school. We just need another minute,” I told her.
“Suit yourselves,” she said. “Dad, you know you don’t like your eggs cold.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said.
“Any nerves?” he asked turning toward me.
“I think I’ve got them under control. Once we get that first game behind us, the scuttlebutt should subside, and we can finally sink our teeth into football.”
“Tylene, I’ve been proud of you for many reasons. But this? This is different.”
“Funny,” I said. “Men do it every day. I guess I still don’t get why the fuss.”
I extended my hand to help him up. He got up slowly, as always, favoring his bad hip. He limped behind me, but insisted on holding the screen door while I entered the kitchen first. I had already eaten breakfast, so I left for school. I had a morning meeting scheduled with Jimmy at 7:15 A.M. and the team at 7:30.
WHEN I ARRIVED at the field house, I found Jimmy sitting at his locker, pumping air into footballs. I walked over and sat beside him. Each time Jimmy inflated a ball, he’d toss it into a basket placed a foot away. He had gotten through only two. He finished the third and handed it to me. Neither of us spoke as I looked down at the football I was gripping. Twice, I cupped it in both my hands, flipped it into the air a few inches high, and caught it. I was still holding on to it when Jimmy broke the silence.
“Excited?” he asked.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“I’ve been here since six o’clock. You do know Wendell never locks the place up.”
“Any second thoughts, Jimmy?”
“Not one.”
“Is that what you plan to tell the boys this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am. I got my speech all written.” He patted his back pocket to indicate where he had it stashed away. “I’m trying to memorize it, though. I think it’ll be more powerful that way.”
“You know, without you there’d be no game tonight.”
“It really was Stanley, Miss Tylene. He knocked the sense into me. Strange that it took a sailor with an amputated leg to remind us we were acting like fools.”
“Did you know Brownwood canceled a football season once?”
“No, ma’am, I didn’t know that.”
“Nineteen eighteen. The boys should have been playing football instead of fighting a war. Like y’all, they were far too young. You have to do things when you have the chance, Jimmy, and not everyone gets a chance. When you do, you can’t throw it away. You just can’t.” My voice tapered off into a whisper as if I were talking to myself. I tossed the football into the basket and stood up.
“What else needs to get done before the fellas bust through that door?” I asked.
“We’re good. Nothing else, really,” Jimmy said.
“I have to run to my office for a minute, but I’ll be right back.”
As I turned to walk out, I could hear Jimmy continuing to inflate footballs. I knew he had four more left.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, I was back at the field house. Every member of the team had already arrived. Moose was sorting through the uniforms. Wendell was mopping the floor.
“Fellas, let’s gather ’round,” I said, using my right arm to indicate a circle I wanted formed around me. The locker room was small, so the boys clustered tightly, each down on one knee. I stood in the center.
“Finally, boys, the day is here. Excited?” I asked exuberantly, lifting my arms into the air, imitating the touchdown signal.
The boys started hollering.
“It’s been a long journey to this day,” I said. “Feels like a lifetime, not just a week. Tonight, we’ll meet before the game and put the final touches on the plan. But now? We’re going to get focused on what’s in front of us. Come kickoff, we don’t need any surprises. We can’t pretend it’ll be business as usual tonight. But we can put it on the back burner and focus on what we’re here to do. We’re here to play football. Now tell me, boys, what are we here to do?”
In unison, the boys shouted, “Play football!”
“And what does that mean to you?” I asked as I swiveled around and pointed at Bobby Ray.
“It means putting my best effort into every play, ma’am,” Bobby Ray answered.
“What does it mean to you, Willie?”
“It means working as a team from start to finish, ma’am.”
“And to you, Jimmy?”
Jimmy stood up to address the team. He began to reach into his back pocket, but he looked over at me and stopped.
“It means responsibility,” he said. “And as captain, I have a greater responsibility to the team, to you, Miss Tylene, to Moose, and to our friends and family.”
Jimmy cleared his throat, took a moment, and gathered his thoughts.
“I want us to begin our meeting with the Lord’s Prayer,” Jimmy said.
The boys bowed their heads, and as Jimmy said, “Our Father,” the boys joined in.
“Amen,” they said at the conclusion.
“Please, Lord, keep us—both teams—safe from injury, and may the best team win,” Jimmy said. “I also want to tell y’all I’ve been thinking about something this week, about all the attention we’re likely to get tonight because of Miss Tylene, and that attention is likely not going to be so good.
“I’ve heard the game atmosphere will be like a circus. Well, I ain’t never been to no circus, but I’ve been to a rodeo. And I’m thinking the game atmosphere will be like a rodeo. We can expect lots of taunting, ridicule, and laughing. But like a rodeo, we can also expect awe—like when the cowboy stays on the bronc. In a way, we’re like that cowboy. Tonight, we’ll show Stephenville we can do more than just stay with them. We can beat them. I got a feeling we’re going to surprise a lot of folks out there.
“So fellas, we can’t let the attention get to us. We have to block it out tonight. We have to listen to Miss Tylene and to each other and to no one else. You got that? And if you do, shout with me: Lions rule!”
“Lions rule!” the boys shouted.
Jimmy looked at me. I knew he was expecting me to wrap up the meeting, so I thanked Jimmy and he sat down.
“We’re ready. I know it. Go Brownwood!” I shouted.
The boys responded, “Go Brownwood!”
“Now, y’all have class in a few minutes, and then the pep rally at nine o’clock. Meet in the lobby outside the gym when class gets out so we can walk into the pep rally together.” I then stepped out of the circle and told the boys to gather in closer.
“Lean in, fellas, and tell me who you are,” I said.
The boys leaned in together and extended their right hands into the center, and as they lifted their arms in unison, they shouted, “Brownwood Lions!”
Shortly before nine o’clock, I was ready to lead the football team into the gym as the band wrapped up the final notes of the school fight song. From just outside the closed gym doors, I could hear Mr. Redwine begin his address to the student body.
“Good morning, Lions!” he said. The crowd cheered.
“Let’s all get on our feet and welcome our football team and its coach, Miss Tylene,” he said.
I heard the sound of movement on the wooden bleachers, so I imagined that everyone stood, and I could hear the cheers in unison.
Lions rule!
The doors opened. I walked in first, the seniors immediately behind me, with the rest of the team following behind them. Each boy was decked out in a pair of nice slacks, polished dress shoes, and his letter jacket.
The cheers continued.
The boys walked to their folding chairs neatly arranged on the gym floor, assembled directly behind the microphone stand where Mr. Redwine stood. Once everyone was seated, Mr. Redwine spoke.
“Let’s please stand for invocation,” he said, and the room went silent.
“Lord, we thank you for another school year. We accept the challenges you have placed before us as we prepare our boys for the unprecedented upcoming football season. We thank you for Miss Tylene stepping up to lead them. We pray, dear Lord, that our boys stay safe on the football field and that our entire school community stays in your graces. Dear Lord, we also ask that you keep our soldiers in your loving embrace and return them all home safely. Lord, in your name, we pray.”
Once Mr. Redwine completed the invocation, the twelve-member cheer squad—six boys and six girls—began a rousing rendition of “Two Bits, Four Bits.” Mr. Redwine stood at the microphone, waiting for the cheer to finish, and then once again asked for silence.
“It is with great pleasure,” he said, “that I introduce to you our 1944 football squad. First, Captain Jimmy Palmer!”
Jimmy stood, and the crowd cheered. Mr. Redwine went on to introduce the boys individually, beginning with seniors and followed by juniors and sophomores. Each boy stood as his name was called. Once Mr. Redwine completed the roll, he turned and smiled at me.
“Last, but not least, I’d like to introduce someone we’ve all known for years as a teacher and as an administrator, who now has a new title: football coach. Please give a warm reception to the lady who will lead the Lions onto the football field tonight. Miss Tylene!”
The students applauded—if not warmly, then respectfully. As the applause slowed and the room became silent, a Winslow brother shouted from a corner seat.
“It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s embarrassing!”
Immediately, a homeroom teacher approached the stands and signaled for the offending Winslow brother to come down from the bleachers. None would fess up to the outburst, so all three were removed from the gym.
Lula Ann, the student body president, then took the microphone to briefly address the crowd. She implored the students to conduct themselves with class and dignity throughout the game. She concluded by reminding the student body that Brownwood High School was known statewide for producing upstanding citizens, and she wanted the students to act accordingly while under the microscope of the Texas media. As Lula Ann spoke, I noticed the cheerleaders leaving the room, and I figured they were preparing for the pep-rally skit.
Following Lula Ann, Jimmy took the microphone.
“I really don’t have much to say, except that we expect everyone to be at the game tonight,” he said. “We’ve worked hard despite all the distractions, and I believe Stephenville will be caught on its heels. We can’t do this without y’all, so please come out and support us. Lions rule!”
With that, Mr. Redwine informed the crowd that the cheerleader skit would follow. On cue, they emerged dressed as football players, save one who was dressed, I supposed, as me. The crowd filled the gym with laughter.
“Boys, boys, gather ’round,” the female character said. She then pulled out an emery board and began to file her nails. “Let’s play some football. Now, what is a football again?”
A cheerleader, dressed as Jimmy, said, “It’s a ball, but it’s not round like a basketball, and it has laces, but not like a shoe, and you catch it, but you don’t wear a mitt like with baseball, and it can bounce, but you can’t dribble it.”
The female character laughed.
“Be serious,” she said. “What does that have to do with feet?”
“Feet, as in football?” another cheerleader dressed as a football player said. “You can only kick a football on four plays: a kickoff, an extra point, a field goal, and a punt.”
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” my doppelgänger said.
“You mean a monkey’s aunt?” asked another.
The crowd laughed so hard throughout the skit that I often had trouble hearing the lines. A part of me was embarrassed that my father was watching a skit designed to ridicule me, but at the same time, I enjoyed the entertainment, and I knew no one meant any harm. At the conclusion, Mr. Redwine asked me to speak to the crowd.
I approached the microphone, something I’d done many times throughout the years in my administrative role. But on that morning, and after that skit, I was nervous.
“Thank you,” I began. I looked up at the bleachers packed with students—eager to hear what I had to say or eager for me to say it quickly. I turned to my right where John and my father were standing at the gym’s entrance.
“I was five years old when my father took me to my first Brownwood High School football game,” I said. I looked over at my father and signaled for him to come join me. In a suit and tie, carrying his fedora in his right hand, with the help of his cane in his left, he gingerly limped to my side. As he made his way to me, I was taken aback when the crowd began to clap. I smiled at the student body, and once my father was next to me, he, too, smiled and acknowledged the crowd. He hugged me, and we stood side by side.
“From the moment I saw the first coin flip, I’ve had Lions blood running through my veins. I was one of you long before there was one of you.
“I hope you know how much this school and this team mean to me. I want y’all to know I would not be in this position if I didn’t believe I could get the most out of this team. In my short time with these boys, I’ve come to see that they can compete with the best the state has to offer. I’m fully convinced of that.”
At that moment, I noticed a piece of paper circulating in the stands, and I sensed its distraction. Students chuckled as they glanced at the sheet and passed it on. I kept going.
“I want you all to remember the same thing I told the boys: A world away, there is a brutal war going on. Look at these seniors sitting here before you. They will be fighting in that war at this time next year—perhaps in the South Pacific, or even in Japan. They will be seeing things and doing things we cannot imagine. But their time has not yet come. They are here with us now. So please support them. We all hope for your support. We all need your support. Let’s all come together tonight to cheer on your Lions. Now, let’s get it done. Lions rule!”
The crowed followed up with the chant. My father and I parted, and I made my way back to my seat.
As the crowd cheered, Mr. Redwine marched up the stands and demanded to be handed the piece of paper. He returned to the microphone, dismissed the football team, and released the students to their classrooms. I stopped to hug my father and John, and then I headed for Mr. Redwine’s office.
“I’d like to see the paper,” I said. He handed it to me.
In my hand was a cartoon sketch of me hanging in effigy.
“Someone will be punished,” he said.
I had seen the sheet circulate from left to right, and I knew who that someone would be: Mac Winslow. Shortly after I left Mr. Redwine’s office, I ran into Mac between classes.
“Didn’t have the courage to sign your artwork?” I asked him.
AT THE END of the school day, I was home for a couple hours before I had to be back at the field house. I wanted to freshen up and have supper. I didn’t want to eat anything too heavy, so I cooked chicken soup with extra-large chunks of chicken and loads of carrots. Although it was soup, it had such a thick texture that it was nearly a casserole. John liked it that way. I liked it, too, but that afternoon, I didn’t think I could handle much more than broth, so I set aside a small amount for myself before I thickened the rest for John. After supper, I cleaned up, washed the dishes, and jumped in the truck with John.
“I hear Dana Bible will be in the stands,” he told me as we rounded a neighborhood corner.
“Oh, great. Not much more pressure,” I said as I snapped on my mother-of-pearl earrings. “I’ve known about his interest in Jimmy. I guess I can’t say I’m too surprised.”
Just knowing the Longhorns’ football coach would be in attendance reminded me of the first time I’d met a UT football coach.
I was fourteen years old when one evening my parents and I stopped for dinner at the Underwood Café. Immediately, my father pointed out a stranger to me. The man was eating and writing something in a small notebook.
“Coaches the Longhorns,” my father told me. “His name is Dave Allerdice, and he played football for Michigan not too long ago.”
The Longhorns were coming off an 8-0 season, Allerdice’s fourth in Austin. At twenty-eight, Allerdice was preparing to take the Longhorns into a newly created league—the Southwest Conference. The new conference was to be made up of Texas, Arkansas, Baylor, Oklahoma, Oklahoma A&M, Rice, Southwestern, and Texas A&M. Because of the proximity of the membership, recruiting had stepped up a notch, and we came to find out that Allerdice was in Brownwood to meet with the family of a local recruit.
Upon hearing of his status, I dashed to his table before my parents could stop me. I introduced myself and told him of my love for football. He then asked me if I rooted for the Longhorns. Too young to understand the value of diplomacy, I smiled and said no. I promptly told him my two favorite college football teams were those of Daniel Baker and Howard Payne Colleges. I asked him if he knew both schools were in Brownwood.
“I do,” he said. “In fact, Daniel Baker will be coming to our place next season.”
Next thing I knew, Coach Allerdice asked me a life-changing question.
“How can I turn you into a Longhorn fan, young lady?”
I just looked at him and smiled.
He said he’d leave tickets at the gate for my dad and me—in Austin, for the Texas game against Texas Christian. That fall, my father and I took the train to Austin and witnessed from midfield the Longhorns’ 72–0 victory over the Horned Frogs. A week later, my father and I listened to the radio as Texas defeated visiting Daniel Baker 92–0. I remained a Daniel Baker fan, but the Longhorns were never too far behind.
Somehow, after having recollected so warmly that childhood moment, I let go of my anxiety over Coach Bible’s attendance. By the time John and I arrived at the school, I was ready to get going. John walked me to the field house entrance, and he kissed me on the cheek.
“Goodbye, Stephenville,” he said before he walked off.
Preparing to lead my own football team onto the field, I stood outside the boys’ locker room, adjusting my dress, kicking dirt off my one-inch pumps, and looking at my watch. It’s fifteen minutes to kickoff, I thought. What’s taking so long?
Finally, Moose emerged from the locker room.
“They’re ready for you,” he said.
I stepped in. The boys were sitting beside their lockers, and I could feel tension as they sat quietly. They stared at me and then at each other.
Jimmy looked over at Willie, and in a voice loud enough for the entire room to hear, he broke the silence. “Hey, Willie, just ignore the dress. And the pumps. And the pearls.”
Slowly the team went from suppressed laughter to full-blown hysteria. I knew they meant no disrespect. Although I had run each practice in similar attire, I was aware that the big stage would draw more attention to my look. And what a great way to break the tension!
I smiled and nodded, and considering we were amid an aroma of body sweat, dirty socks, and feet, I said, “And I’ll ignore, shall we say, the fragrance.”
Everyone laughed, even Wendell, who was placing footballs into a basket that was to remain on the sidelines throughout the game.
With the ice broken, I changed the tone. I gathered the boys around me, creating a tight-knit circle, and I began my pep talk.
“Young men, this is what we’ve worked for. I know this isn’t the way you expected things to go, especially you seniors, but no matter what you might hear from the stands, I know you’re ready. We can beat this team. We are going to beat this team! Now focus on your assignments. What are we here to do?”
“Play football!” the boys shouted.
“What kind of football?” I asked.
“Brownwood football!” they shouted.
I exited the circle. The boys moved in closer and more tightly and extended their right hands toward the middle of the circle. As they lifted their arms upward, in unison they shouted, “Go Lions!”
The boys broke the huddle and moved near the locker room exit. I stood out front. I shouted, “Let’s go!”
The field house door flung open, and the team followed me, running out to the sounds of the band and fans screaming and cheering.
I had told the boys to prepare for a big crowd, but I had no idea I would see what was before us. Standing room only. Reporters packed the tiny press box, with the overflow shoulder-to-shoulder along the sidelines. As I walked, the boys ran past me, as I’d instructed them to do. I walked by reporters with name tags—reporters from Dallas, Houston, and as far away as El Paso—their pens and notepads at the ready. I overheard radio crews begin their descriptions as we streamed onto the field.
“Here she comes!” shouted Corby Rhyner, a radio announcer standing at the nearside end zone. “The Lions are taking the field alongside a lady coach. Miss Tylene, as they call her, is appropriately attired in a flower-print dress, heels, a string of pearls, and what look to be white clip-on earrings. I see no handbag, but it may be packed away on the sideline among the pigskins. We’ll keep an eye out for it and will let you know!”
Knowing at any point my heels could get caught in the grass, I walked carefully, keeping an eye forward.
As captain, Jimmy began walking toward midfield for the coin toss, and because Moose had stopped by my house the night before to give me great news about Stanley, I waited for Jimmy’s reaction with joyful anticipation. Jimmy walked faster and faster before breaking into an all-out sprint. He ran straight to Stanley, whom Moose was wheeling out to midfield. Stanley was in a Lions jersey—we had designated Stanley as the game’s honorary captain—for the first time since he led his team to the state playoffs his senior season. He ran for 145 yards and three touchdowns in his final game.
When Jimmy caught up to them, Stanley looked up at his kid brother. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but by the look of things, Stanley had just told Jimmy that Moose had made it all possible. I saw Jimmy reach out to hug Moose before Moose began to walk toward our sideline.
Moose and I gave each other the thumbs-up.
Moose had driven up to the hospital to pick up Stanley for the Wednesday board meeting. But that was for just one night. What Jimmy had not been told was that Moose had made arrangements with Stanley’s doctors to allow Stanley to return Friday night to attend the game. Moose picked up his former teammate earlier in the day. To see Stanley in a Lions jersey again was both glorious and heartbreaking.
I saw Jimmy hug Stanley and hold on to him for so long that Alex Munroe had to tap Jimmy on the shoulder. I knew Jimmy had to get focused, but I was thrilled that Moose had given Jimmy that moment.
I watched Alex prepare the boys for the toss, and my mind went back to the fall when Alex and I were Brownwood High seniors. It was 1918, the only year the Lions’ season was canceled. Alex had been quarterback of the football team as a junior, but without a team his senior year, he became a volunteer for Daniel Baker College’s football team. He did anything that was asked of him—running the clock, working the chains, keeping stats.
That season launched his officiating career. And because I had no high school football team to cheer on that season, I also spent my Saturday afternoons rooting for Daniel Baker. I recalled it was the third game of the season when Alex needed someone to help with the chains for the second half of the Hillbillies’ game against the Hardin-Simmons Cowboys. One of the chain-gang members had the flu, and by the second half, he could no longer stand up. Seeing what was happening, I jumped from my seat in the stands and offered to take the sick official’s spot. I expected to encounter resistance. After all, working the chains is a vital role in working a football game. But Alex, who also was working the chains, vouched for me. Together we moved the sticks without incident. After the game, Alex thanked me for having done such a competent job. I said the same to Alex, choosing not to remind him that twice during the game, I had to correct his stick placement. Twice he had been confused on a third down.
Alex was about to toss the coin when I noticed the Stephenville quarterback and team captain Mitch Mitchell smile at Jimmy as if to mock him. As instructed, Jimmy kept his eyes focused on the toss, and, after winning it, he chose to take the ball. He then wheeled his brother to the sideline with the team, where Stanley remained throughout the game.
Next, I gathered the boys. I knew I would have to shout to be heard above the band, the cheers, and the Winslow brothers heckling from the front row of the Stephenville stands.
“Young men,” I shouted. “We have to focus on what we’re here to do. Don’t let the hoopla get to you, or we’ll be out of this before we get started. Remember, it’s loud on the other sideline, too. But this is our field and our home. Don’t look into the stands. Don’t allow any distractions. We’re ready to play, so remember your assignments. Talk to your teammates. Talk to me. Do what you’re here to do. Now, let’s play some football!”
Following the opening kickoff, the offense ran onto the field. As Jimmy huddled the boys, I could feel the energy.
The teams lined up. Immediately, the defense started to talk trash. I was close enough to hear it, but was praying the boys would ignore it. “Did your mama tie your shoes?” someone shouted from the defensive line. The ball was snapped and Jimmy was tackled for a loss. As the defenders got up from the pile, several laughed and taunted Jimmy. “Your mama needs to kiss your boo-boo!”
I was standing parallel to the huddle, and I signaled for the boys to run the same play. This time, among the taunts and laughter, the play worked. The Brownwood crowd went wild as Willie took the pitch around right end for a seventeen-yard gain and a first down. Unfortunately, Donald, the starting right tackle, turned his ankle on the play and hopped to the sideline. His replacement, Mickey, came in. I had told Mickey to tell the boys to run the same play.
Again, the play worked. Mickey had thrown a massive block on the Stephenville left tackle, allowing Willie to take the pitch twenty yards for another first down just across midfield. I treated myself to a tiny smile as I noticed the defenders had quieted.
But the next play had my blood boiling. Willie had scampered to the Stephenville five-yard line when I noticed a yellow flag lying on the ground near the line of scrimmage.
Alex had flagged Charlie for holding.
“Come on, Alex! That was a clean block!” I shouted. Alex then ran toward me and gave his version of what he saw.
“Ridiculous!” I told him. “Don’t nickel-and-dime my boys!”
The half continued with both teams trading possessions with little success. The game remained scoreless as halftime approached, until finally we were threatening.
“Okay, fellas,” I said, reminding the boys that on third down, they were just five yards from a touchdown. “We need to score. But let’s run a decoy on third and score on fourth.”
The boys looked at each other. It was as if I could read their minds. What? Why would we waste a down when we’re running out of time and we haven’t scored all night?
“Jimmy, fake a dive to Kevin, then pitch left to Willie. On fourth down, give the ball to Kevin. Snap on one, and just watch them wait on Willie. We’ll be in the end zone before they realize what happened.”
Just before the fourth-down snap, I saw Stephenville’s noseguard shift about a foot to his left. Immediately, I knew Charlie had pulled off the four-pod, triple-quint option. I wanted to smile, but I waited to see if it worked.
It did. I glanced across the field and saw Coach Black slam his cowboy hat to the ground. With no time on the clock, we kicked the extra point and took a 7–0 lead. Then I smiled.
The boys cheered as they entered the locker room, but I quickly reminded them that as good as it felt to take the lead just before the half, the game was not over.
“Never cheer until a game is over,” I said.
I had the boys clustered in the locker room and reinforced the need to stay focused. “Again, assignments. Assignments. Assignments,” I said. Then I turned to leave, telling the boys I’d be back in exactly twelve minutes, allowing them some time for privacy. I exited the field house and found myself nearly nose-to-nose with Mr. Redwine.
“Everything okay?” I asked, unable to suppress my surprise by his appearance at the field house.
“We all saw you shout at the ref on the holding call,” he said.
“He was wrong. It was a bad call.”
“And it was a bad move on your part, Tylene. You know I support you, but you can’t be out there shouting at the ref in front of the whole town. You’re the face of this team, and it’s just not—”
“Not what?” I asked. I knew where he was going, but I wanted to hear it from him.
“Not ladylike,” he said.
I laughed and shook my head.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Redwine, for not undermining my authority in front of the boys,” I said sarcastically.
“Tylene,” he said.
“Look, you can scold me all you want Monday, but right now, I’ve got a job to do.” I turned away and began looking at my notes while I waited out the twelve minutes. I found myself calming my nerves by softly singing a few bars of an Ernest Tubb favorite, “Walking the Floor Over You,” as I paced outside the entrance.
Shortly after, I entered the locker room to join the boys and lead them in our exit from the field house. As we approached our sideline, I noticed that the Winslow brothers had joined our fans on the Brownwood home stands. Moonshiner had shown up and was standing near the entrance. I also noticed that the standing-room-only crowd had grown exponentially. I figured people who had begun listening to the game on the radio had dashed to the field.
Maybe they couldn’t believe what they were hearing, so they wanted to see it firsthand? I allowed myself a flash of satisfaction. I turned to my family and was stunned to see my mother hadn’t left. She and I made eye contact, and she gave me a thumbs-up. John, my father, and Bessie Lee had equally encouraging expressions on their faces.
We began the second half on defense, clinging to our tenuous one-score lead. We exchanged a pair of three-and-out possessions, and I knew we needed to force a turnover if we were going to extend our lead or establish a hint of momentum. I paced the sideline, rubbing my forehead, thinking of my next move. I walked slowly at first, but as the game progressed I grew more intense. I hadn’t realized how fast I had begun pacing until my right heel got caught in the grass. I jarred it free and then sent it airborne, nearly clipping a line judge upside the head. He turned to me but didn’t say a word.
With one heel on and the other off, I limped toward the forty-yard line and retrieved my shoe. I pulled the other off my left foot. With my feet covered only in nylon stockings, I walked to the back of the sideline and tossed both heels into the basket of footballs where I’d also stashed my maroon-and-white handbag—one I had crocheted two weeks earlier in Brownwood school colors.
I stepped away from the basket and noticed the dirt track behind it. I bent down on one knee and started etching potential plays in the dirt. I had to think of something to generate an offense. The game was too close, and we weren’t penetrating midfield.
A few minutes later and with less than four minutes to play, our noseguard Albert Brumfield tripped. He couldn’t recover quickly enough, and Red McNeil dashed seventeen yards up the middle for a Stephenville touchdown. The extra point tied the game at 7–7.
“That’s okay,” I assured the boys. “It’s tough to keep a team scoreless. We can get this back.”
With possession and three minutes to go, I pointed to a play I had drawn in the dirt, turned to Jimmy, and said, “I know you can make this happen. I’ve seen you do this since seventh grade.”
It was the Great Gatsby, a play so challenging it was rarely seen, especially by a triple-option offense. It was a go-to play, but it had to be run with perfection or it would fail. I knew it was one of Jimmy’s favorite plays, and I had the boys run the play just once in practice, more for fun than anything else.
Bobby Ray had been blocking and running decoy routes throughout the game, and he appeared a bit winded. Now, he had to run his most important decoy route of the night and then follow it with what I had engineered to be the game-winning play. I knew he was up to the task; after all, he had been on the receiving end of four touchdown passes from Jimmy over the last three years. I’d seen each one of them.
Still without shoes, and with my glasses having slipped to the tip of my nose, I stood parallel to the line of scrimmage, hands on my knees, eyes locked in on the play as the ball was snapped. My heart began beating faster, beads of sweat dripping from my forehead. The play unfolded just as I had hoped—Bobby Ray slowed to a stop on his out route, and the defensive back stopped as well. Bobby Ray was instructed to do the same thing on the next play, but after feigning a stop, he was to make a dash for the pass.
Preparing for the big moment, Jimmy huddled the boys together, then looked over his shoulder at me. He nodded so slightly only I could have noticed it. The boys broke the huddle and lined up.
“Hut!” Jimmy yelled. The ball was snapped, Jimmy faked to Bobby Ray, and the defensive back bit. The moment Jimmy pulled the ball back in, the defender slowed. Bobby Ray turned to his left, and with the unsuspecting defensive back thinking the play was not coming his way, Bobby Ray ran faster than a black-tailed jackrabbit. Jimmy heaved the ball downfield and hit Bobby Ray in stride. Touchdown!
I froze. Did that just happen? Although the crowd was rocking the stands, and the Lions sideline had erupted, I was so absorbed in the moment I couldn’t hear a thing. Jimmy ran up to me, screaming, “It worked, Coach! It worked! Look at them!” He pointed to the Stephenville sideline. “They’re in shock!” So was I. It was the first time a football player had called me “Coach.” I was so overjoyed, I lost myself inwardly in the moment. But I had to regroup quickly, so I huddled the team seconds after Stephenville took possession and called its last time-out.
“We’ve done a heck of a job keeping their halfback in check, but he’s their go-to guy, so we can’t let up. Jake, be ready.”
“I’m ready, Coach,” Jake said. “I want him to come at me.”
“Bobby Ray, you have much left in the tank? We still need you on defense.”
“I’m good to go, Coach.”
“We have to get off the ball quickly,” I said. “I know you’re getting tired, guys, but remember, no excuses. We have to force them into a second and long, third and long. If we do that, we might get a shot at taking the ball near midfield and running the clock out. You ready? Let’s do this!”
I started pacing, now clutching a handkerchief I had grabbed from my handbag during the last time-out. First down. Stop. Second down. Stop. Come on, fellas, third down. Let’s get the final stop. With my glasses blurred by sweat, and my soft curls drooped by the heat and humidity, I put my handkerchief to my forehead and began patting every bead of sweat, but for a few that had dropped from my chin.
“Let’s go, men!” I yelled to the defense while clapping my hands.
“Yes!” I shouted as Kevin got off the ball quickly and was moving in on a sack. The closer he got, the faster I dashed along the sideline twisting and contorting my body, mimicking the play. Just as Kevin moved in on the sack, the quarterback threw the ball. Twenty-five yards downfield, Bobby Ray jumped in front of the receiver, high enough to tip the ball. As Bobby Ray fell on his head and back, the ball came straight down and landed on his chest, and he cradled it in his arms. Interception! We took possession at the Stephenville forty-five.
He wobbled to his feet, and I could tell he was hurt. I signaled to Moose, and we ran onto the field to help Bobby Ray off. I had instructed Jimmy to keep the boys focused on the sideline, but once I was back with the team, I called a time-out. It was our last time-out of the game. Stephenville had no time-outs remaining.
Bobby Ray went to the bench and sat down.
“Got the wind knocked out of me, Coach,” he said. He claimed he was okay and was ready to return. I made him sit.
“Boys, we have to protect the ball,” I said as we huddled. “We have the lead, we have possession, and we have time on our side. You know as well as I do that they’ll try to jar the ball loose, so hang on tight. Don’t let up.”
“What about Bobby Ray?” Jimmy asked. “We need his blocking.”
“He’s done.”
Bobby Ray heard me and jumped from the bench. “Done? Coach, I can go.”
“Sit,” I told him.
“Coach, we need him,” Jimmy said. “He just got his bell rung. He can play.”
“He’s hurt,” I said.
“No, he’s not,” Jimmy said. “He’s just a little wobbly.”
“Are you kidding me?” I said to Jimmy. “You think it’s worth sacrificing an injured teammate for the sake of winning? Is that why we’re here? To win at all costs?”
Jimmy just looked at me.
“I am not taking a chance.” I turned to Kevin and shouted, “You’re in!” As Kevin ran toward me, I told him his role was to run a solid route.
“Take the safety with you, away from the play,” I said. He and Jimmy ran out and joined the huddle while Bobby Ray sulked on the sideline.
I was frantically shouting out formations with my arms flying side to side and up and down, indicating where the players needed to be. I pointed at Kevin, then signaled a slight shift to his right. He made the move.
On second down, Jimmy handed the ball off to Willie. Kevin began his route, but he was running too slowly and the safety wasn’t fooled. The safety brushed Kevin aside and lunged toward Willie, knocking the ball loose and forcing a fumble recovered by Stephenville with one minute, two seconds to play. It was our first turnover, and it couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time.
“It’s not over. They’ve got a long way to go,” I said. “We’ve held them to seven points all game, and we can hold them for the last sixty-two seconds. Stay confident, boys. All I ask is one thing, and it’s the one thing I’ve always asked. What is that?”
“Assignments!” they shouted in unison.
Our defense took the field.
Stephenville began methodically moving the ball, chewing up the clock with long runs and a pair of ten-yard pass completions. With seven seconds to play, Stephenville had one more shot at the end zone from two yards out.
The crowd was so raucous, Stephenville appeared to have trouble hearing its signals, because Mitchell began shouting out the plays louder and louder. Finally, on third-and-goal from the two-yard line, Mitchell took the snap, faked a handoff, and ran into the end zone untouched. Touchdown!
As the clock hit zero, the Stephenville fans were cheering as enthusiastically as if they had just won a state championship. But the Yellow Jackets still trailed by one. Just as I had expected, Coach Black sent the boys out for a two-point conversion try. I knew he wouldn’t go for a tie with an extra-point kick. After all, a tie in Texas is no different from a loss.
I had already prepared the boys to defend the two-point try. They had run several mock attempts in practice, and I was certain the boys knew what to expect. Bobby Ray, who played a key defensive role in the practice drills, was begging to go out on defense, but I remained steadfast. Too risky. I went with Kevin instead. I watched Kevin line up and lock his eyes on Mitchell. Kevin then turned to me and briefly flexed his fingers as if playing out a tune on the piano. I knew it was his way of telling me, I’ve got the quarterback.
I held my breath as the ball was snapped. It seemed to happen so slowly, I felt I might pass out. I tried, but I couldn’t exhale. I was too nervous to breathe. The defense had everyone covered, so Mitchell began to scramble. Kevin was moving in on a sack and appeared to have the quarterback contained when the quarterback squirted through Kevin’s grasp, ran to his right, and, as he fell, stretched the ball into the end zone just inches inside of the right pylon.
Game over. Stephenville 15, Brownwood 14.
Light-headed, I turned toward my family. I could see the crowd behind, standing motionless, shock splashed across nearly every face. Even the players looked frozen. My mind replayed John asking me: Can you be perfect? It was a paralyzing moment. And then the band began to play. The sound of the fight song filled the stadium. I’d never before heard the crowd sing the fight song after a loss. I stood at attention, just as all others on the Brownwood side had, and once the song ended, my father limped heartily to me. We hugged, and the crowd broke into cheers.
Lions rule!
The squad, about to begin the midfield congratulatory handshakes, joined in the chant, and I had to ask myself, Do they finally understand why we had to play?
Before I could acknowledge the crowd, I was swarmed by newsmen. I reached into the basket lying on the ground to fetch my belongings. Clutching my purse and heels, I attempted to break my way through the cluster. I begged reporters to give me a few minutes, but before I could escape the masses, I noticed the boys had already shaken hands with Stephenville and had begun making their way to the locker room. A few yards away I spotted Moonshiner. We made eye contact, but in an instant, he was lost among the throng. I knew Roger belonged with us, and I was heartbroken.
Eventually I made it to midfield where Coach Black awaited.
“You know I didn’t cotton to playing against a lady, but I got to admit, you’re a mighty fine coach,” he said. “Can’t say I seen this coming.”
After the handshake, I headed for the field house. I was stopped a number of times by the newsmen, but I continued to ask each one if they would give me a few minutes to address my team. I promised them I’d answer every question once they were invited into the locker room.
About five minutes after the boys had entered the field house, I arrived. Moose was standing outside the door. As I approached, Moose cracked the door open, took a quick peek, then told me it was fine for me to enter. For the first time, I was outwardly nervous. I was trembling. I let them down.
I walked in to find the room eerily silent, and my stomach sank. But when I walked up to the boys, they stood and began to clap and shout in unison.
“Coach!”
“Whose coach?”
“Our coach!”
They repeated it three times.
Fighting tears, I turned to the boy standing closest to me and hugged him. It was Bobby Ray. And then Jimmy approached me.
“Coach,” Jimmy said, “we nearly beat one of the best teams in the state of Texas because you know the game better than anyone in town. You persisted, and when you made Bobby Ray sit out the end of the game, it finally hit us. It never really was just about football, was it?”
My eyes welled with tears. I shook my head and whispered, “No.” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything more. Instead, I put my arms around each boy and hugged him as if he were my own son. Then I regained my composure and opened the locker room door. A trail of newsmen elbowed their way in—men with pens and paper, cameras and microphones.
“Miss Tylene, what was it like coaching your first football game?” a reporter shouted.
“How did the boys react to you after the game?” shouted another.
Before I could answer, I noticed over the shoulder of a reporter, off a slight distance, Alex was watching. I smiled and nodded my acknowledgment. He smiled, tipped his cap, turned and walked away.
“Do you plan on continuing?”
“What’s it like to lose?”
I answered all and stayed until I was asked the final question by a reporter from Fort Worth.
“Miss Tylene, it couldn’t have been easy. Why’d you do it?”
I gathered my thoughts for a moment and then replied. “No mother—no parent—should ever be left to wonder, If only. You see, ‘If only’ is the cruelest of all declarations. If only I could have protected my son. If only I had my son for one more year or even for just three hours on a Friday night.”
With that, I thanked the remaining reporters, and John and I made our way to our truck. My eyes were still seeing spots, and my ears were still hearing the poof of a camera’s flashbulb. The parking lot was mostly empty but for Wendell’s truck and the cars of a few lingering reporters.
John opened my door and kissed me on my cheek just before I got in. I was drained—physically, but mostly emotionally. Once in the truck, I sank into the comfort of our solitude.
As we entered our house, I walked to our bedroom. I sat alone at the foot of the bed, then reached down, opened the left bottom dresser drawer, and pulled out a small hand-carved wooden box, a box I had not opened since I had neatly tucked it away the summer of 1927—seventeen years ago. With the unopened box resting on my lap, I looked up and saw John standing within the frame of our bedroom door. He walked in and sat beside me.
I opened the box and took out the only pair of white infant booties I had ever crocheted. They had never been worn. I clutched them to my chest and closed my eyes. John wrapped his left arm around my shoulders and asked, “What position do you think Billy would have played?”