Field of Screams

If it had happened today, it would have been a major sports story - no, a major news story.  There would have been iPhone videos on the nightly news, and commentary on ESPN. Paul Finebaum’s callers would have been obsessed with it.  Coaches would have been fired, and lawsuits filed. Someone may have even been publicly flogged.  But none of that happened in 1968.  It went unnoticed, unless you were one of the players on the football field when it happened. They remember it the same way people remember where they were when Kennedy was shot.

It was spring of my freshman year at Huffman High.  The school was brand new, so new, it didn’t have juniors and seniors. Just a freshman and a sophomore class. That meant when we had spring training for football, it was a small, inexperienced group that was participating.   And for whatever reason, we thought it was supposed to be fun.  It was a game, right?  Weren’t games played for fun?  Wrong. This was the heyday of Bear Bryant football, and to our coaches, that meant to take this crap seriously.  

No one took football more seriously than our newest coach, Bobby Johns.  He was a three time All SEC, two time All American, defensive back at Alabama in 1965 thru 1967.   He was drafted by the Kansas City Chiefs but chose coaching high school football instead. (No, this is not fiction. Remember, it’s 1968).   So naturally, he began his career by reaching out to one of his former high school coaches, Dewell Crumpton.  Coach Crumpton was an assistant at Banks High before becoming the head coach at Huffman.  With that connection, Johns quickly joined his staff.

Before he arrived, we had a team meeting where we were given the rules about interacting with our new celebrity coach.  The first rule was to call him Coach.   If we called him Bobby, we were promised one swat of the paddle for each letter of his name.  To emphasize his point, Coach Crumpton swung at the air as he spelled B-O-B-B-Y.  No one dared risked their butts for that kind of punishment.   Soon after, Coach Johns arrived at school and we began to get used to each other.

Within a few weeks, spring training started.  And from the first day, the coaches were unhappy with our efforts.  Maybe it was because the freshmen weren’t used to thinking about football in March. Maybe the sophomores were focused on harassing the freshmen.    It didn’t matter anyway - we were viewed as one team that needed an attitude adjustment. 

Despite the coaches screaming, depriving us of water, and making us run extra wind sprints, we just could not get into football.  It seemed nothing they tried could get our attention - until that afternoon.   

I remember that day.  I was leaving 6th period history class, headed to the gym to get dressed for practice, when I saw two friends walking towards me.  They looked like they had just seen Pennywise in the locker room. 

I asked,” Hey guys.  Everything all right?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Just go inside the gym and look on the bleachers. You’ll see.” 

And they continued walking, shaking their heads.  

This sequence of events filled me with a curious dread.  Obviously, it was something that terrorized my buddies.  But, what could that be?

I got my answer when I walked thru the double doors and passed by the concession stand.  There, sitting on the bleachers, was Pennywise - in the person of Bobby Johns. He was lacing up his cleats, fully dressed out in pads and helmet.

My heart jumped in my throat.  I knew what this meant. We were about to pay for our slothfulness.  An All American defensive back was about to practice with us. 

As you might expect, the locker room had all the ambiance of a sweaty funeral home.  If anyone talked at all, it was just above a whisper. My fellow linemen were undoubtedly silently thanking the Almighty that we did not touch the football.  Today was going to be a bad day to be a running back or receiver.

To be honest, I don’t remember a lot about the practice itself. That’s because the mind tries to block out traumatic events from its memory. But I do remember how much he looked like a football player.  Everything Johns wore - shoulder pads, pants, helmet, fit him perfectly. On the other hand, my ill-fitting uniform made me look like a 6-year-old on Halloween night. All I was missing was a bag of candy.

There is a term old timers used to describe hard hits passed on a football field: “the pads popped”.  I had no idea what that meant until the scrimmage began. Then I saw Coach Johns hit one of our running backs. Those pads didn’t pop - they exploded.  He was like piranha in a school of minnows, running from sideline to sideline, hitting anything that moved. Once again, I watched the carnage, and thanked God I wasn't out there. 

I heard some parents weren’t too happy about what happened on the field that day.  I don’t know.   But I do know that practice the next day was pretty dang good. Nothing like the threat of an all-star college defensive back murderizing your teammates on the field to give practice an extra spark. 

And you can be sure that for the rest of spring training, we always checked those bleachers before we went in the locker room to dress out.

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