by Neil Hayes
The Eagles recover a De La Salle fumble at midfield on the next play. Linemen are sliding around in the muck. A promising pass play is foiled when an open Eagles receiver slips and falls on his back before the ball reaches him.
“No dancing today. Just get upfield,” Eidson tells running backs and receivers on the sideline.
Drew squirts through a hole and rambles 61 yards before being caught from behind late in a scoreless first quarter. Players look at each other with puzzled expressions. Nobody can remember the last time a healthy Drew got caught from behind. He scores three plays later.
The Spartans lead 6–0 when teams switch ends of the field after the first quarter. The song “Splish Splash” plays from speakers mounted on either side of the press box.
Panella approaches Ladouceur on the sideline early in the second quarter. Panella’s hat, as always, is pulled low over his eyes.
“Are you going with the sprint draw?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Ladouceur says dryly.
Panella nods, spits, and watches as Jackie Bates takes an inside handoff, cuts to his left, and finds himself running down touchdown alley. A 50-yard run and the ensuing 2-point conversion make it 14–0.
Spartan center Cole Smith is running downfield moments later, chasing Drew, who is en route to a 54-yard touchdown, when Smith is nailed in the back by a defender, prompting an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty on the Eagles.
“That’s the third time they’ve done that,” a disgusted Panella shouts at the officials. Aliotti pulls John Chan, Sandie, and Smith together on the sideline as the defense takes the field.
“I told you they would do that,” he tells them. “It’s a cheap shot. Let it go. If you retaliate you’re out. Let it go. If they spit in your face or call you names just tell the referee.”
A shanked punt nets minus-5 yards for Clayton Valley. Britt Cecil connects with a wide-open Terrance Kelly on a 25-yard touchdown on the next play to make it 28–0 late in the first half.
“Putting up 28 points in the goo is good,” Ladouceur tells Blasquez when players are finally allowed in the locker room at halftime.
Players sit atop rows of chest-high lockers. There’s not much to discuss. They’re dominating the game on both sides of the ball. The score would be even more lopsided on a dry field.
“I understand your frustration with cheap shots,” he says. “It’s the lowest point of humanity. But we’ve talked to the refs and now they’re looking for it, so if you retaliate you’ll get tossed and you won’t play next week. If you’re a senior that means you won’t play in your final home game. Turn the other cheek. That’s the way it goes.”
De La Salle coaches maintain that their players are the target of cheap shots from frustrated and resentful opponents. Some opposing coaches think that the aggression Ladouceur demands results in the Spartans playing overzealously. The issue came up after the first game of the season. Archbishop Mitty coach Dave Brown was surprised and angry by what he considered dirty play by the Spartans and the officials’ reluctance to flag them for unnecessary roughness. He even promised to send a tape highlighting the infractions to the officials’ organization.
“If that’s what it takes to be the number one team in the nation, I don’t know if I’d want my kids going there,” Brown said a few days later. “I was expecting something different. I was so disappointed.”
Ladouceur noticed the plays in question while reviewing film with the team the morning after that game, and he castigated his players for it. The three players guilty of late hits or unnecessary roughness were required to write letters of apology to the player they fouled and to the opposing coach before they could return to practice.
Now Ladouceur holds a marker board in the Clayton Valley locker room, but there are only a few adjustments to make. Players spend the rest of halftime talking amongst themselves.
“If you get pushed or shoved and guys are talking to you, it’s part of De La Salle tradition not to retaliate,” Ladouceur says in the way of last-minute instructions. “You’re talking on the field right now with your blocking and tackling and running. That’s what this game calls for. If it continues like this, they will get more frustrated, and that’s the only way they know how to retaliate because they can’t do it on the scoreboard. Keep playing De La Salle football. Let’s go.”
You can’t see the scoreboard from the parking lot at Clayton Valley. More fans are showing up now, and those in blue-and-red jackets carrying seat cushions under their arms walk briskly, hopefully, until they can peek at the scoreboard. Then they sigh and slowly make their way up the bank of metal bleachers. Some stand on either side of the end zone to watch the game and visit.
The wind turns cool and blustery but, amazingly, there is no more rain as the third quarter comes to a close. There is a lot of talking on the field, and De La Salle players constantly complain about Clayton Valley players pushing and shoving after the whistle.
A De La Salle second-string lineman is called for a late hit on the Clayton Valley sideline. There are offsetting unnecessary roughness penalties on another play as the officials attempt to maintain control.
The Eagles reserves are driving early in the fourth quarter when Ladouceur walks up the sideline toward the porta potties. As soon as he closes the door behind him, the Clayton Valley running back fumbles and Spartan Matt Kavanaugh picks up the loose ball, anticipating a long return.
An opposing player grabs him by the ankles, however, and Kavanaugh goes down still trying to yank his legs free. A moment later a Clayton Valley player punches Kavanaugh in the facemask. The De La Salle sideline erupts in protest and grows even more animated when the official rules the whistle had blown and the Eagles will maintain possession.
“Calm down or I’ll throw the flag!” the official tells complaining players and coaches, many of whom have taken several steps onto the field to argue.
Moments later the flag lands at Eidson’s feet, although the penalty is not on him specifically. He quickly spins around, banishing every player who isn’t in the game—which includes every starter at this point—to the track, far away from the field of play.
“I’m in shock,” Kavanaugh says. “The guy takes a swing at me and the ref is right there and we’re the ones who end up with the penalty.”
The door to the porta potty swings open and out steps Ladouceur. He has missed the entire sequence.
The teams shake hands at midfield without incident after Ladouceur’s 270th career victory, moving him into the top five all-time on the state’s career victory list. He won’t be aware of his milestone, however, until reads the morning paper.
The scoreboard operator changes the score to Clayton Valley 99, De La Salle 0. “At least somebody has a sense of humor,” one Eagles assistant coach grumbles. Then Clayton Valley principal John Neary addresses the team, telling players to be proud despite the lopsided 42–0 final score.
“You played hard like I knew you would,” defensive coordinator Jerry Coakley tells them. “I’m proud of each and every one of you.”
Coakley is a leather-faced former Marine who has spent the past forty years coaching various sports in the area, mainly football. As he turns away from his players he spots a reporter standing on the edge of the crowd.
“Fuck them,” he says, motioning to the De La Salle sideline. “Write that.”
★ ★ ★
Seniors are sorting through feelings of finality and preparing for their final game at Owen Owens Field.
It begins at the chapel service. Seniors want to give something back to the juniors. Reinforcing the theme, senior lineman Garth Gorrall passes out lyrics before playing the Queen song “The Show Must Go On.”
Cole Smith reads a column by Sports Illustrated’s Rick Reilly about a mentally disabled football player who practiced every day with the Northwest High School team in McDermott, Ohio, but was not allowed to play in a game.
Jake Porter made national headlines when the Northwest coach and the opposing c
oach agreed to let him run the ball with five seconds left in a 42–0 game. The opposing coach told his players to get out of Porter’s way and let him score. A grinning Porter ran the length of the field for a touchdown as players and fans from both teams cheered him on.
His coaches and teammates told Porter that he had scored the winning points.
“This football team is about being successful and putting plays together, but it’s also about much more than that, things like brotherhood and community,” Smith says, explaining why he chose the reading. “Letting Jake score was about more than football. The message of today’s chapel is passing it on to the juniors. That’s what you guys have to do. It’s not just a game. It’s much more than that.”
“I liked Cole’s reading because it wasn’t about football,” Matt Drazba says. “It’s about being a human being and doing the right thing.”
“The game of football alone is so stupid when you think of it,” Erik Sandie says. “But there’s so much more to it. It’s all the things you do to get there that make it so great. There’s a lot more to football that people just don’t understand.”
No one has felt the yoke of responsibility that comes with being a senior at De La Salle more profoundly than John Chan. He has taken his role as captain seriously—too seriously, some of his teammates believe. They try to get him to loosen up, to have some fun, but Chan has put so much pressure on himself to have an outstanding senior year, to lead this team, that joking and having fun with his teammates have become a foreign concept.
When he and his offensive linemates struggled early in the season, he put even more pressure on himself. Chan hasn’t been as dominant as he hoped, and it is gnawing at him as he steps carefully over his teammates on his way to the lectern, where he clears his throat before reading the poem “Success” by Ralph Waldo Emerson:
To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.
Ladouceur sits on a wooden pew in the back of the chapel and is touched by the words. When players share such sentiments and assign a value to them, he refers to it as a “victory” for De La Salle.
“The readings you guys brought in today were well done,” he says. “A lot of times I go out in the community and am asked to talk about the secret of De La Salle football. I have run down many reasons for our success. I say the kids know how to make a commitment. When they say yes to playing football at De La Salle, they say yes to entering into a relationship with the coaches and with each other, and with that comes a lot of responsibility. I hear it all the time: ‘Does so-and-so play for you?’ I say, ‘Yeah,’ and they say, ‘He’s such a great kid.’ The assumption is that you all are. But we don’t do things so we look good to other people, but because our mission is to be better people, players, and coaches.”
The chapel service typically ends with players embracing in the sign of peace. Today Eidson has a new twist, since tomorrow night is seniors’ night. The seniors will offer one another the sign of peace first. Only then may juniors approach the seniors for an embrace.
“This is symbolic,” Eidson explains. “This is a way to thank the seniors for all they’ve done. We always talk about playing for yourself and for each other, but this is their last home game. You juniors need to think about that, too.”
The seniors’ embraces are emotional and heartfelt. This team hasn’t shown much emotion this season, but it’s starting to surface here. The juniors wait quietly for them to finish, then they approach the seniors one by one for another round of embraces and hushed thanks.
Then Eidson and Ladouceur hug each senior as well.
★ ★ ★
A thin layer of fog hangs in the air above the field on an otherwise clear night beneath a three-quarter moon. It’s the last home game of the year, but it’s strangely quiet. The moisture makes the stadium lights at Owen Owens Field glow and soaks up the sound.
Seniors and their parents are introduced over the public address system. They carry a rose with them to midfield, where their parents and guardians are waiting.
Mothers wear their sons’ jerseys and tears puddle in their eyes as they give their sons loving hugs. Fathers offer a quick handshake or an awkward embrace in a uniquely American scene that is played out every season on high school football fields throughout the land.
Ygnacio Valley players wait patiently on the visitors’ sideline. The Warriors have won four straight BVAL championships, but with a 4–5 record they are out of contention for a fifth crown.
They wear white jerseys and yellow pants, and their helmets are almost identical to those worn by the University of Michigan. They are always a tough, physical team. No school wants to beat De La Salle more than Ygnacio Valley. The two schools share a common boundary, their campuses divided by a weed-infested canal guarded by a cyclone fence.
For De La Salle seniors, the focus this week has been the beginning of the end of a four-year journey. That’s not to say that they don’t hold the Warriors in high esteem. No opponent is ever taken lightly. The scouting report for this game is as thick as it was for Long Beach Poly.
That they will win their regular season finale, sweep through the playoffs, and play for a North Coast Section title for the twentieth consecutive season is an unstated yet foregone conclusion. It’s not a matter of “if” so much as “how” they will finish their season and how they will be remembered.
That was Ladouceur’s theme for the team meeting the night before.
Do you want to go out in a flurry, or do you want to struggle? If you are what you say you are and what you brought to the prayer service today, it will reflect on the field and on how you end your season, because you’ll play not just for yourselves but for your school and each other. That’s how all the outstanding teams we’ve had ended their seasons. They went out like bulldozers, mowing people down. And they did it for each other as a group. “This is who we are.” It was something they could look back on and say, “What a season, look what we could do.”
You’re down that home stretch, just past the fourth turn. Here we go. It’s exciting because you’ve put yourself in position. We’re playing good football right now. You’ve trained well, you’re in great shape, you’re practicing well. It’s all mental from here on out. How much do you mean to each other? Are you what you claim to be, a team, a real team? It’s been a long journey. We’ve had ups and downs. We started out going, “What’s going to happen with this group?” We all thought that. We don’t think that anymore. We’re headed in the right direction, no doubt.
This is it for you seniors. Done. Three weeks. Over. Some of you won’t play anymore. Some of you will, but you may not finish your college careers. It won’t be any fun. You won’t want to play anymore. Some of you will have four-year college careers, or five. Not many. If you talk to any one of our guys who have gone on to play college football or pro football, they’ll say their most memorable football experience was at De La Salle High School, without a doubt. I’m giving you a heads-up on that. You’re going to get involved with so many more important things than what you’re doing right now—I hope. You better be. But you’ll want to look back someday and say, “Those were the days.” It’s fun when you’ve got all forty-eight guys doing it together. No one is going to touch you. No way. But you have to be thinking and feeling the same way. You have to be thinking and feeling as one to do it.
Ygnacio Valley runs a variation of the antiquated double-wing offense. The double-wing incorporates a deceptive combination of fakes, laterals, and pitches and creates a mass of humanity along the line of scrimmage. This is football in its most basic form, linemen fighting over a few inches of sod. This is rugby with helmets and
shoulder pads.
Maurice Drew takes a handoff deep in the backfield on the third play of De La Salle’s first possession and races 51 yards for a touchdown.
The double-wing incorporates simple blocking rules and unbalanced formations that force the defense to constantly adjust. When executed properly it produces the type of long, time-consuming drives that Ygnacio Valley coach Mike Ivankovich believes are essential if a team is to have any hope of slowing down De La Salle.
“The only way you can stop them from scoring is if they don’t have the ball and you don’t turn it over,” he said matter-of-factly.
The Warriors put together a nine-play drive that consumes much of the first quarter but nets only 35 yards before Erik Sandie recovers a fumble. Britt Cecil makes it 15–0 with a 3-yard run early in the second quarter.
“We all joke about how we’re going to have all this free time when football is over, which is something we haven’t had for four years, but the reality is we’re just going to watch TV,” Cecil told his teammates the night before in a rare display of emotion from the senior quarterback. “I know that’s going to get old after about a week, and we’re going to realize how important this four-year period was. I just want to make the last three weeks a great memory, because in three weeks this team will be a memory, and that’s the scariest thing for me.”
Cecil sat down and leaned forward in his chair, his face in his hands, crying softly. Drew, sitting next to him, rubbed his teammate’s trembling shoulders comfortingly.
The Warriors manage to put together another time-consuming drive, a few yards at a time. They are moving the ball but are no threat to score. Another nine-play drive ends 25 yards from where it began.
“They’re running harder than we’re tackling!” Eidson yells at his players at halftime. “This offense gets you complacent. They do the same thing over and over. If they have success they’ll start blocking harder. Football is about momentum. We’ve got to get it back.”
Ladouceur is on the other side of the room, talking to his linemen. “Why aren’t the counters working?” he asks, curiously.