Football: Mounting traditions

It’s been over a decade and a half since Chucky Mullins died. Leroy “Chucky” Mullins was a cornerback for the University of Mississippi who was paralyzed after he made a tackle during a game against SEC rival Vanderbilt in 1989.

Subsequent to the injury Mullins died about a year and a half later. Since then Ole Miss has retired number 38, Mullins’ jersey number, the only Ole Miss jersey to be retired since NFL Hall of Famer Archie Manning’s. In Mullins’ honor, the players participate in the annual “Grove Bowl”.

Before the Grove Bowl, a scrimmage between the Ole Miss’s best players, one senior defensive player receives the Chucky Mullins Memorial Courage Award, bestowing on him the tradition and honor of wearing the 38 jersey for the matchup.

Parallel traditions exist elsewhere. At Moody, a bible college in Chicago without a collegiate football program, football tradition is carried through the Fall intramurals. Intramural men’s football is a big deal here and performance is observed closely. The best of the league’s players get to participate, by invitation only, in the North-South Bowl pitting the two ends of a small campus against each other for a big, big game.

What is it about Football that compels Americans to build traditions?

I have never gotten an answer to this question, and I probably never will. But I got a little buzzed on the punch, and got maybe a little insight, just by following mundane tradition for once.

That tradition was a visit, as an alumnus, to the Thanksgiving Day football game at my high school back home. It was the first time I partook in this ritual in 17 years.

Unlike in Chicago, high schools in Pennsylvania and much of the East Coast play their biggest rival on Turkey Day, rain or shine, whether or not the remainder of the season holds anything to play for.

I wasn’t attending per se to fulfill any ritual. No one dragged me out of bed. I guess this morning I just wanted some black coffee and a fresh look at what I thought was so important about the whole thing back then.

And on this day, hell, it was one of the best games I’ve ever seen.

During the four years I attended Hatboro-Horsham High, this matchup was always a rout in our favor. We regarded our rivals, Upper Moreland (UM), unfairly as the kids from the “other side of the tracks” with no manners and aggressive yet unimpressive football tactics; never as good as our Hatters.

As a geeky student council member, I had job of presenting roses to the Homecoming Court, a group of pretty girls voted on the court for being pretty; a strange competition in its own rite. All this, while contending with stare downs from the meat head boyfriends who escorted them to the 50 Yard Line; another ritual.

UM had their prettiness competition too. Supposedly their girls were escorted on-field not by meat heads, but by ex-cons. I didn’t start that rumor, though I wish I’d thought of it. The story went on one year that the other side’s Homecoming Queen was knocked up.

Our school killed the Homecoming Court years ago, which is probably a good thing. So now there is no superficial pageantry, no distractions, just football. It was all about the game. But back then, the trash talk was its own tradition dished out from both sides; and that was one tradition I always took part in.

UM took control of this game for the first 40 minutes of this muddle-through in the mud. They scored the majority of the points, a whopping two touchdowns, that were well earned and clinically, albeit slowly, executed. The Hatters managed to get close a few times, trudging with effort down the field, only to get stopped each time.

UM’s 14-0 score line held for a while. Within the last quarter the Hatters made it 14-7 with the extra point after a shaky ball barely got through from the kicker’s foot up to the wind between the upright posts.

Sure, the score did not impress anyone, really. This was all about a contest of wills between a group of 17 and 18 year old boys who, from my vantage point on the side line, fought like men. Maybe fulfilling tradition had something to do with it.

At one point, I looked behind me right after the Hatters had fumbled the ball. The band played some annoying, peppy tune, doing their usual rom-pom-pom, and I caught with my eye a block of about 100 disgruntled HH fans looking their way in unison with a disapproving glare.

Clearly the scowls weren’t looking forward to turkey and mash potatoes right now… Maybe just an opportunity to save face and get the ball again.

And the Hatters did.

Somehow they got the ball again after UM had dallied around for a few plays, amidst their overconfidence that this game was theirs. Near game’s end, 45 seconds sat on the clock with an opportunity for HH to fill or kill.

Within two plays, HH came within a point with a touchdown pass. Then the Hatters went for the two-point conversion, which I’ve never seen in a high school game, taking the score to 15-14.

The Hatters did more within the last 20 seconds, picking off a last chance UM pass to seal the deal.

Afterward, the band rolled onto the field, while fans stormed it. And as the tradition goes, the coach got soaked in ice water and Gatorade. Good thing it was an untraditional 58 degrees out.

The thought crossed my mind, that is must be moments like these that get every fan to the game on a holiday. What better way to warm up to the thought of an 18 course meal and boring TV shows to come.

So what are the nuts and bolts of Football’s appeal? A good win. Suspense. The challenge of a match up and the twists and turns that remind us of every day life, etc. etc.

I don’t know if that’s it, since every sport has suspense. However, there’s something about American Football that makes people engage in rituals like the tailgate before game even on much colder days.

After all, what suspense and holiday excitement can you find better than a last minute win for your home side? For me, conveniently, this great ending came as a homecoming gift upon my first return in 17 years. What a nice welcome home.

I guess I’ll have to consider coming back year after year, making it a tradition maybe, to find that suspense again and again. And if next year doesn’t carry the tradition of suspense and a big win, there’s always the next 16 after that.