Country Road, Take Me Home

Whenever West Virginia U. performs well in athletics, I am reminded of the two (separate weeks) I was in that armpit of the world. It is also the birthplace of several nicknames.

My high school football coach decided that we needed to run a west coast spread offense and West Virginia's in exactitude. What do we do? We go to football camp up there. The offense only, primarily the offensive linemen and our running backs and quarterback. Now after the long ride up there in a van with my o-line coach and 4 of my teammates, we reached the famous (hah) WVU campus after rounds of music trivia which I beasted them all in. There we met Rich Rod and his minion from hell, Rick Trickett(now with FSU).

Coach Trickett was by far the meanest, most foul mouthed, hard-nosed football coach I had ever met. He served two tours in vietnam as a Marine Corps Captain, won several purple hearts and had a Bronze Star. A war hero to say the least. He stood at an impressive 5'6", but he was lean, had the look of a hungry wolf about him. Even more terrifying electric blue eyes, steely in their gaze, he could see into your soul, or so we thought.

Now being from Dutch Fork we have a certain swagger. We know we are good, we know we are smarted than you, we are just better than you. That translated poorly, especially when we were viewed as "southerners," but we could compete. They put our starting o-line in the group personally coached by Trickett. This included all the major prospects..the big guys..the 6'6" Florida mammoth and the two 6'5" 300+lb brothers from Morgantown. Our line was big, but lean, and me, I was a baby in the group, but I could hold my own. Technique had always been my saving grace. I have a quick first step and worked hard to be the best, even when my physical gifts failed me. I knew angles, how to place my hands, I could beat you off the line and could probably block you though I was the smallest one out there. But I made an easy target for Trickett.

When we rotated our second string into the main group, I went down to the other coach with the "normal" kids. Well it seems my replacement had down very poorly and I heart a yell, "Get that fuckin' fuzzy headed kid back up here," bellowed that short angry man...well my coach then responded, "Dewey get up here, now." I ran and was greeted by trickett grabbing a handful of my curly hair and yelling in my face "Fuckin' fuzzy, show him how to run it" I ran it. Fuckin' Fuzzy...a gross departure from my nickname then and now, the only name I seem to respond to, Dewey, bestowed on me by one of favourite coaches when I went into full body cramps but refused to sit out. Now I had fuckin' fuzzy.

Well it didn't stop. Trickett decided that he was going to break me. I always did something wrong, at least in his eyes. I was told that I was a fuckin' piece of shiot. Garbage. That he would stick his foot so far up my ass that I would need to go to the hospital to pull hit out. He slapped me with his hat(the metal part...stang a bit, but never show pain). I didn't allow any of this verbal abuse get to me; I was there to learn. He tore down my technique, told me I was slow, and I just asked, "Tell me what I need to do...Teach me." Well it never stopped, but I learned, got better. The verbal attacks got even more furious. Finally at the end of the week, I shook his hand and told him I couldn't wait till next year, smiling. He later told one of my coaches that he threw everything in his book at me and I didn't break. That hasn't happened before.

I nearly got in a fight with someone up there as well. I roomed with a random West Virginian, I think his name was Ike, not like the president though. His parents brought him sea food everynight. He had a shaved head and weighed nigh over 320lb, but we talked about pick-up trucks at night, something I know a good deal about with my jacked up 85 Toyota. Well, one evening as I was talking to my mom on the phone, the guy next door came in. He heard me tell my mother I loved her. He then proceeded to walk in and said he could "kick my ass." I wasn't in the mood to put up with it. I told him "Go ahead, do it, you want to do it in here or out in the hall" He was probably about 6'2" 220lb, lean, olive complection and also was being recruited to play linebacker at WVU and Maryland. I shouldn't have pressed him. I pressed him. "Lets do this, quick talking" I said. "Are you crazy kid, I am being recruited by here and Maryland, I would destroy you," He yelled. "Let's fuckin' do this then, destroy me, you afraid of me, you talk a lot and don't seem to want to fight, I am being recruited by Miami and OSU so lets just settle this now." It wasn't exactly a lie, more an untruth. I had received academic information from Miami and Ohio State...recruiting is recruiting right? "Man you don't want this, I will destroy" He repeated, realising the growing crowd. "Listen, we do this now, I am coming over there, I am going to hurt you, you won't get back up, you won't play college ball anywhere, you will be a bloody mess when they find you, so quit talking because it is going down now," I responded knwoing that that would probably end his threats. It did, he said, "forget you" and walked out of my room. I was glad. I did not want to fight that kid because he probably could have injured me, but I could have got a few good ones in...but I knew he wouldn't fight...it was just the fact that he picked on me to show how masculine he was, but he was afraid.

Well, we decided to go up there again. He was there; I was there. So it began again. He continued his abuse, verbal and physical..kicks and hits, I asked questions and gave answers. "We have eighteen inch splits(gap between the linemen) because that isthe size of your pecker. SIR." Well, one night old rick came to talk to me. He heard that I was smart, so we started talking about what I was going to do in life, what were my interests. He encouraged me to continue with my research (I had a two year research project going on at that time).

Our nice talk was an intelligence gathering operation. He now had more information to lambast me with. "Fuckin' Dewey (we told him my real nickname this time) I wouldn't walk over anything you built you fuckin' engineer." I was going into civil engineering you dumbass I thought, but I didn't say that. More about these bridges I was apparently going to built that would collapse, but my favourite insult..."I hear they call you the jack-off king of South Carolina" said Trickett, "Yes sir, that's what they call me," I rang back. That caught him off guard. The old man laughed as he repeated my answer...I smirked in my small victory.

Later he proceed to try to box me (as in boxing) he started the throw some jabs at me..I stood there and he told me to play along. I said, "Yes, sir" and began to tack my defensive position. Little did he know that I knew a bit about boxing and had been doing boxing training exercises...I put my hands up and he tried to through a jab hook combo, I ducked and dodged the hook and hank a left jab to a right hook and stopped my fist outside his jaw...he stopped and said thats enough. He knew I would have knocked him out cold. We finally had some measure of understanding for each other. Beneath my cool demeanor, I knew a decent bit. Not as much as he, but I knew when it was time to stand up for myself. It's never personal until someone makes it personal with me. I never lost my temper with him, I was there to learn and he finally figured out that he couldn't effect me with his banter or abuse.

He wished me a good senior year and told me he expected me to do something great, to invent something and never forget about him and all the things I learned. I told him thanks and we shook hands and that was that. I thought about playing ball somewhere and even considered going to West Point (planned on it) until a chance play in the second game of my senior year...the first offensive play..14:52 on the clock and then a body into my knee, I knew something was wrong. It didn't hurt, it just felt wrong, like something was gone. I walked gingerly to the huddle. I got into my stance, but something was wrong, it felt as though my lower leg had slid forward when I got down (well I didn't know it at the time...but it did). I played that play and ran off to the sideline. It was one of my principles to never stop play for any of my injuries...I had played an entire game(and season) with an untreated broken wrist, crawled off the field after a high ankle sprain, but something was odd this time. I got it checked out and I told them what I felt,a long night with lots of ice and an MRI later, my PCL was torn...off, they only see it in serious car accidents. No surgery to fix it.

I rehabbed. It hurt. I only got through it because I knew I could play again, I put up with Trickett, I could conquer anything. We lost in the playoffs on a bad snap the game before I was allowed to come back. Football ended early.'

West Virginia thought me that life doesn't wait on you. You have to take what it gives you. It isn't personal, it's just the way it is. It is cold and hard, but you learn, and eventually you get to a point where you can do what you want, you just have to be ready for it..know it's there, but you can take, no matter what, what is thrown at you, no matter how shitty, how awful, you can pull through it.