So much is completely unique to Texas, yet I’ve found nothing to
compare to the weekly Friday night festival of stadium lights, marching bands,
long processions of “yellow dog” buses and hundreds of trailing vehicles driving
deep into the clear night, with school colors floating in the evening breeze.
Some Texas high school football is played with just six boys on a side
in places like Cotton Center and Lazbuddie and in the middle of unknown places
like Runge, Premont and Progreso. In Texas, even teams from small towns can
play on the same turf as the Baylor Bears, Texas A&M Aggies, North Texas
Mean Green, or Texas Tech Red Raiders. Games might be held in the San Antonio
Alamodome, AT&T Stadium (Cowboys’ home) or Reliant Stadium in Houston; it’s
all part of the experience.
Rural coffee shops sparkle with talk of anticipation in September and
examination in November. Cheerleaders spread their spiritual message on
shopkeeper’s windows with white liquid shoe polish. Florists create distinctive
pieces of art (called “mums”) in a variety of school colors.
When I think of Texas football, and its power and magic, and the
strange things it influences, I drift back to 1978 and the very East Texas town
of Splendora, in rural Montgomery County. While most of that area has taken the
shape and form of northern Houston and Harris County, in 1978, Splendora was
fiercely independent from “progress creep.” Klan rallies were rumored to take
place and boys learned how to fish, hunt and dip Skoal at an early – pre-teen –
age.
Splendora was a well-known speed trap along U.S. 59 (the road from
Houston to Lufkin) and once employed a police chief, who actually pulled over a
moving freight train for exceeding the town’s 30 mph speed limit. A book bearing
the town’s title has a murderous transvestite as its central character.
But somehow it didn’t seem out of place.
In 1978, the Splendora Wildcats were district favorites and one of the
better Class 3A teams in the Houston area. They would lose in the bi-district
round to a team from Sealy led by a player named Dickerson (Hall of Famer Eric
Dickerson for the uninitiated).
The team’s star was a 170-pound running back-defensive back named
Donald Moore, who would try to play at Texas Tech for a season before disappearing
from the gridiron scene. But back then, Moore was the town’s gridiron knight in
shining armor.
The season opener was at home against the Tarkington Longhorns, a team
of inferior quality, but the ‘Horns had a good shot against highly-ranked Splendora
because of a chair in the Splendora Cafe. This typical small-town cafe had it
all – peeling linoleum on the floor, red plastic glasses for iced tea, and a
menu ranging from chicken fried steak to chicken fried catfish to different
version of the same hamburger.
On the afternoon before the game, Moore and his brother were enjoying
conversation and banana cream pie. Another “gentlemen” entered the fray and
began arguing with Moore’s brother, something was said about the man’s
parentage, when Donald stepped in to be a mediator.
For his troubles, Donald Moore received a cafe metal chair on the side
of his head, as in cold-cocked. Four hours before kickoff, an ambulance whisked
the Wildcat star to the hospital, in a half-conscious state.
News of the incident reached Splendora’s colorful head coach Billy “Red”
Mitchell; he reacted in his usual manner, with language that would have made
sailors blush. Red Mitchell was a unique individual in a sport that carried
more than its share of characters. He stood (relatively speaking) 5-8, weighed
230 pounds, and had this patch of shocking red hair to match his constantly
blushed and flushed cheeks.
Mitchell always wore a jacket and tie on the sidelines, but the
shirttail was always disheveled and pulled out, the tie was askew and the
jacket was tossed to the bench when kickoff arrived.
He also ate grass during the game … he’d bend over to see the play
before him, reach down, pluck blades from the turf and pop them in his mouth.
Honest. Who’d lie about a thing like that?
Kickoff time arrived and Moore was AWOL, but not DOA. In fact, Moore
appeared on the Wildcat sideline midway through the first quarter, and he
handed Mitchell a set of x-rays showing he had sustained a concussion in the
incident.
On the field, Splendora was rudderless without Moore and Mitchell knew
his team needed a special boost at halftime. He asked Moore to get into uniform
to “give the boys some hope and let them know you’re OK.”
All the while, Mitchell clutched those x-rays and returned to the sideline
in the third quarter with Moore in uniform, but unavailable to play. Or so you
thought. Splendora did nothing with the second-half kickoff and was forced to
punt to Tarkington, trailing 14-0.
Mitchell took out the x-rays and held them up to the stadium lights, like
a surgeon about to go into the operating room. He glanced back at the action
for a few plays and looked at the x-rays again. And again. And again.
Midway through the quarter, Mitchell looked hard at the films, squinted
real hard and exclaimed, “By God, I think that injury just healed itself.”
He ordered Moore into the game and the star responded by returning a
punt 77 yards for a touchdown. He intercepted a pass for the tying score and
ran 53 yards for the winning points.
All the while, Mitchell waved the x-rays like a twirler’s baton.
Texas football has a healing power all its own; and the playoffs have
begun!
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