The Holdout

by Gracjan Kraszewski

  All those tents laying around campus on Thursday and Friday bud like flowers early on Saturday morning. There are literally thousands of these portable tents and when they’re raised and set up they hold, in addition to a bunch of people, tons of food, TV’s and sound systems, endless drinks, lawn chairs and nicer chairs, sometimes pets, always footballs, usually old weather-beaten footballs, and just tons of stuff. Game day in Starkville, like anywhere in the SEC and most places in America, is a whirlpool, if not a cesspool, of endless stuff, things packed together and on top of another, with people in the middle of it all as a kind of thrown-in bonus toy kids play with for ten minutes after eating their lunch and then discard into the driver’s side seat pocket.

  Our tent is near the MSU soccer fields not far from the football stadium that is the heart, and in the center, of the campus. Across the road from our tent (the soccer fields are behind us) is the road that leads to Humphrey Coliseum, Dudy Noble, and the Sanderson Center. Somewhere in the middle of this, somewhere between the football stadium and the basketball stadium is the school’s College of Architecture. But who cares, right? This is the SEC and we’re talking about priorities here.

  Konrad, A.C., and I walk away from the College of Architecture and away from the stadium, past Barnes & Noble, and make a left onto Bost drive. The tents are as thick as the next section everywhere on campus. There seem to be more anti-Ole Miss signs than pro-MSU signs. All kinds of parodies on Hotty Totty, some clever some not, a sign depicting a bulldog eating bear meat (ridiculing Ole Miss’s PC implementation of the “Rebel Black Bear” as a mascot), and some jokes about Ole Miss women; I’ll admit that I don’t understand half of them. Don’t worry, Mississippi State, we don’t have a little brother Napoleon complex with Ole Miss. We’re not obsessed. I wonder if you can find all types of anti-MSU signs in the Grove in Oxford on non-Egg Bowl game days? This is an impossible question for me to answer because I’ve never been. I hate Ole Miss. I wouldn’t be caught dead in the Grove.

  We keep walking straight, cross over a road, walk past the on-campus amphitheater and keep walking until we’re at the Landscape Architecture building. I have some friends who set up their tents here: the Lamoreuxs. Gary and Melanie Lamoreux are both very good looking people. He comes from old money New Orleans, the Garden District, and is the son of a French-Louisiana father and a Nicaraguan mother. He has dark hair, dark eyes. He is a doctor in Columbus, specializing in foot and ankle.

  Melanie is from Dayton, Ohio. You wouldn’t guess this either because she has the loveliest, and most natural sounding, Southern accent. The kind debutants in the 1930s would have acted unladylike for. She is blonde, has blue eyes, and works in Student Affairs on campus—recently promoted to Director of Student Affairs as a point of fact; that’s why she and Gary live in Starkville.

  Melanie met Gary at MSU over a decade ago when both were undergrads and she, per many a story, makes it known that she had to fend off a veritable cohort of young ladies vying for Gary on her way to eventual conquest at the altar; a modern tale of Veni, vidi, vici sure to be soon picked up by the Hallmark Channel. But, c’mon, if anything’s true it’s that while Gary is a “10” Melanie is also a “10.” Tens marry tens, so goes that maxim. Of course, sometimes male twos marry female tens if specimen-example two has a few billion Deutsche Marks or so in a bunch of vaults somewhere over the rainbow.

  Gary and Melanie do well for themselves but they are as down to earth as Tolstoy’s peasants. They are above all humble and gracious; the positive stereotypes of Southern royalty come to life in the best light. They live in a normal house in town on normal Saint Charles Avenue. A nice house but not the type of mansion they certainly could afford—what with the combination of Dr. Gary’s salary and Garden District heir Gary’s family fortune and Melanie’s own earnings over at Student Affairs. They live simply. I’ve never heard them bad mouth anyone, family or otherwise, and I’ve known them for over three years now. They actually asked me to be the godfather for their month old baby girl, Harper. Harper’s getting baptized at St. Joseph’s next Sunday. The Lamoreuxs also have a four-year old son named Paxton.

  I introduce my brothers.

  Gary asks if we want a burger and some beer. Of course. The food is the best part of game days. We leave Gary and Melanie and walk across the road to the tents that fill the parking lot beneath the new history house where my office was for two years. We go and see my friends the DesChamps, Jake and Alice. Jake and Alice are the opposite of Parker and Austin. My cousins are Mississippians who go to LSU and are die-hard LSU fans. Jake and Alice grew up in Cajun country, somewhere down in some bayou, high school sweethearts, and from a family of LSU fanatics. But, after Jake finished school at Louisiana Tech in Shreveport he got a job in Starkville and they are die-hard Bulldogs. Jake teaches in the art department on campus and is a graphic artist himself.

  We chat with them for a little while, we eat red beans and rice. When I think of Jake I always think of the story Alice told me about him when we first met. They were attending an MSU-LSU basketball game in Baton Rouge. Important game, in the SEC tournament, I think. Jake was getting mercilessly harassed by this LSU fan for being an MSU fan. He was sitting right in front of Jake and the whole game is turning around and taunting him with, “T-eye-gah bait, t-eye-gah bait, dawgs gon be t-eye-gah bait.” LSU is leading the whole game. MSU pulls close in the final two minutes. MSU wins on a buzzer-beating three pointer. The crowd is stunned silent. Jake leans forward and whispers in this guy’s ear, “T-eye-gah bait.” Fists fly, old style altercation ensues. Jake got out of there somehow.

  It’s quarter to six. We head back to our tailgate. Brent and David, along with Martha and their kids, are there. Brent and my dad (a poet) are deeply engaged in a conversation about Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot. We hang around some more, eat some more, and then enter the stadium for the game.

  Davis-Wade holds about 55,000 people. Maybe it’s more, I’m not sure. They’ve been doing a bunch of renovations on the stadium, adding seats, so it’s definitely more. Regardless, the cowbells make it sound like double whatever the number really is.

  “Ring Responsibly.” The SEC has cracked down on “artificial noise makers” and, rather than have the beloved cowbell banned from Davis-Wade, the school tries to control the times when they are rung. The video boards tell the crowd when to ring the cowbell and when not to. It is all pointless, of course, for people just ring it and ring it and ring it incessantly throughout the game. When the whole stadium is ringing their cowbells it sounds like a plague of locust, the metallic clanging is gone and the sound, all together, is like a long, humming buzz.

  14-0 LSU at halftime. MSU’s offense has gained a total of 67 yards. Two interceptions and a lost fumble. But the defense has played well and continues to do so in the second half. 17-10 heading into the fourth quarter. MSU kicks a field goal with 13:22 left to make it 17-13. The defense continues to hold. 17-13 with 1:44 left when MSU gets the ball back on their own thirty-yard line. The crowd is past amped. They are absolutely going bonkers. The crowd has been on their feet for the entire fourth quarter. Even if you don’t want to stand you have to just to see the field.

  Incredible fourth down conversion: 27 yard completion down the middle after the LSU safety misses the interception, tips the ball up, and a Bulldog receiver comes down with it at the Tiger 46. He’s tackled at the 43. Next play is a 22 yard run right up the middle, a draw that catches them by surprise, and puts MSU on the LSU 21. Chains set and the clock is running, 0:53, 0:52, 0:51, 0:50, no timeouts. MSU lines up and spikes it with 0:47 left.

  Second and third down are two incomplete passes. 0:34 left. Fourth down another incredible conversion. The QB’s scramble takes a lot of time off the clock but he manages to hit the tight end who somehow is wide open inside the LSU 10 yard line as he is hit by two LSU defenders. The tight end is tackled at the three-yard line; another frantic scramble to get to the line and spike the ball. The nervous energy in the stadium is so great I can
not even begin to describe it. Imagine being a parent and your son or daughter is walking a tightrope across the Grand Canyon with no safety net. With each stop and start, with each gust of wind, your heart skips a beat. It’s like that. We, the fans, die a thousand deaths with each failed opportunity and are ready to party like world peace has been achieved if MSU wins. The bulldogs manage to spike it with 0:05 left. LSU takes a timeout. The cowbells erupt throughout the stadium. I don’t think anyone is shaking them with more vigor than Konrad and A.C., both of whom have that glazed over look in their eyes, that rabid psychotic stare that dog trainers call the “red zone.” Whoa, he’s in the red zone, he may bite, you can pet the Rottweiler later, Johnny. Not now.

  The crowd goes deathly silent as the Bulldogs line up for potentially the final play of the game. Shotgun snap. The QB plants, looks right and then to his left. I can see the play, right there before me as it’s unfolding. MSU had lined up trips right, a decoy. The target is the lone receiver on the left. He’s running a simple five yard out. Stick two yards into the end zone and head for the pylon. The QB releases the ball. The receiver’s route is perfect, crisp and tight.

  At the last moment the LSU cornerback steps in front and makes the interception. It’s a great play, a great read and great instincts. Great ball skills. The crowd lets out a collective groan. A groan that sounds like a thunder clap. There is nothing but open field in between the cornerback and the end zone. As he’s gliding across the forty, the thirty-five, the thirty, I look up at the scoreboard clock: 0:00. He strolls into the end zone untouched and not a MSU player within fifty yards.

  LSU 23, MSU 13.

  I look down for my coat. Time to leave. Then, a massive cheer goes up in the stadium. What? Immediately I think: flag? Could it really be? Yes! It seems—and this really is crazy, I mean I have never ever, in all my years of football seen this before—that the LSU head coach (an eccentric fellow known for offseason ‘getting my mind right’ ‘voyages’ to East Asia for ‘experimentation’ with ‘assorted synthetic and naturally occurring stimulation agents’) was on the field during the play. During the whole play, from start to finish! And not a little bit, either. For some reason he was standing on the field five or ten yards in, yelling and jumping up and down, and the side judge flags him for unsportsmanlike conduct. Two MSU fans next to me burst out in laughter as the call is announced. Another starts weeping tears of joy.

  Cowbells twice as loud as before. Ball spotted half the distance to the goal, on the one and half yard line. LSU calls their last time out. Crowd into a crazier frenzy. One fan rips his shirt apart, just rips it right down the middle with his bare hands. “Let’s gooooooooooooooo!!!!!” he screams, and begins slamming his cowbell as hard as he can against his bare chest, over and over and over.

  Deathly silence again. Half back toss to the left. LSU has it read perfectly. The running back is going to be creamed for a five-yard loss. Game over. Then he pulls up and readies to throw it. A half-back pass! What a call! The QB is wide-open in the end zone and everyone in the stadium sees it. What a time it would be for the running back to show why he’s not a quarterback. For him to air mail it over the wide-open QB’s head or panic and throw a wounded duck that skips to his target’s feet. He does neither. The throw is perfect. A tight spiral, soft as a pillow.

  MSU 19, LSU 17.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “What name have you given your child?” Father Will asks Gary and Melanie.

  “Harper Alexandra.”

  “What do you ask of God’s Church for Harper Alexandra?”

  “Baptism.”

  “You have asked to have your child baptized. In doing so you are accepting the responsibility of training her in the practice of the faith. It will be your duty to bring her up to keep God’s commandments as Christ taught us, by loving God and our neighbor. Do you clearly understand what you are undertaking?”

  “We do,” Gary and Melanie say, perfectly synchronized.

  Father Will turns to me, the godfather, and Gary’s younger sister, Delphine, the godmother, and asks us “Are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duty as Christian parents?”

  “We are.”

  Father Will motions for Melanie to bring Harper over the baptismal font. He pours the holy water over the baby’s forehead gently, the first drop causing her to stir a little but otherwise she just rests in her mother’s arms as the water trickles over her closed eyes and down her nose. “I baptize you in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  Gary, Melanie, and Father Will are all smiling. I think I am smiling too. There are about twenty of us here. The baptism has taken place after the 9:00 Sunday Mass. Many of us, like the Lamoreuxs and myself, are Catholics and St. Joseph parishioners. Others, like David and Martha and their children, are Protestants, friends of the family. David, in fact, has known Gary for more than a decade. They were fraternity brothers at MSU.

  Father Will leaves us with some parting words on the Sacrament. “Friends, I encourage you, I strongly encourage you, I implore you, to get baptized yourself, and your children baptized, if you have not already done so. Anyone who has been baptized in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, has been legitimately baptized. You cannot get baptized again. You cannot be re-baptized. There is but one baptism into Christ’s Church. This is the key, however,” Father Will pauses and looks around.

  “Baptism makes one a Christian. Baptism is the entrance into the Faith. Baptism gives us a share in the divine life of God. We become part of Christ’s Mystical Body the Church, we become adopted sons of the Father, able now to call Jesus our brother for we receive what Our Lord has by nature, we become sons and daughters of God. When you have been baptized, whether by a Catholic priest or a Protestant minister, as an adult or as a child, as long as it is in the above Trinitarian formula, you become a Christian. The guilt of Original sin is washed away and you enter into Christ’s mystical Body the Church. Just as Christ is One and His Church is One so there is only one Baptism, one one-time entrance into the faith.

  I cannot stress to you enough how important this is. For those of you that are perhaps Protestant Christians permit me to briefly address as few points. If you have questions you can stop by anytime to talk, email me, I’m always here. But permit me a few brief points.

  Baptism is necessary for salvation. Our Lord tells Nicodemus, in the third chapter of John’s Gospel, that unless a man is born again of water and the Spirit he cannot enter the Kingdom of God. Many Protestants are great about the second part, of possessing born again faith and praise Jesus! Faith is essential. But Christ Himself says that we are not saved by Faith alone, we need Faith and Baptism—belief and physical immersion into Christ’s Body, the Church. If you have further doubts about the inextricability of faith and baptism I direct you to the closing chapter of Mark’s Gospel: ‘whoever believes and is baptized will be saved.’ It does not say whoever believes will be saved nor just whoever is baptized but both, both are needed.

  But, Father, you ask, why do Catholics baptize babies? That’s not biblical, you say. Wrong. St. Paul makes clear, in Colossians two verses eleven and twelve, that baptism is the new circumcision. Jews entered the Covenant by being circumcised, Christians through baptism. And when were Jews circumcised? As infants. Our Blessed Lord Himself was circumcised as an infant. The necessity and importance of baptism is found in great quantity throughout the Scriptures. Paul, in the sixth chapter of his letter to the Romans, tells us that by baptism we are baptized into Christ’s death, buried with Him via baptism so that with Him we may rise to a ‘newness of life.’ On Pentecost, that great Feast of the gift of the Holy Spirit, the birthday of the Church, the day that Scripture tells that three thousand were added, those same people asked Peter and the Apostles ‘what are we to do, my brothers?’ in response to the Good News that Jesus is the Messiah. ‘Repent and be baptized,’ Peter said to them, ‘every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ, for the forgiveness of y
our sins; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.’

  Well, Father, why did Jesus get baptized as an adult? I ask you how could he have been baptized otherwise? He, Our Lord Jesus, is the One who makes Baptism what it is. You remember, when Jesus was baptized by Saint John Scripture makes clear that the baptism of John is inferior to the new Baptism that God Himself instituted, personally. Only after Christ instituted the Sacrament could it be received by the faithful. The Church has always baptized infants. Holy Scripture makes clear that Baptism is the new circumcision and there are references in the New Testament, such as “he baptized the whole household of Stephanus,” in Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, that imply infant baptism. A household of that time with no children? Please. For those of you that consider yourself ‘Bible Christians,’ Scripture makes patently clear the necessity of Baptism and that it is, under normal circumstances and without delay, to be given to the youngest of our believing community. Like precious Harper here, who has this day become a Christian.”

  Father Will coughs and then clears his throat. “A final note. Don’t tell me you want your son or daughter to choose Baptism themselves, that’s why your waiting until they are twelve, or sixteen, or who knows. That they need to understand what Baptism is first. Would you not feed your infant until they understand what nutrition is? Would you not give your child a necessary vaccine until they understand the medicine, the science, behind it? Yet if they need ordinary food and ordinary medicine for a good life, rather to be alive at all, how much more do your children need spiritual food and spiritual medicine aimed at the health of their eternal soul?”

  Father Will asks us to gather around for a final prayer and blessing. Outside the church I talk with Martha. Her and David’s oldest son, Hunter, comes up behind me and socks me in the lower back. A great punch, I must admit. He laughs. “Got’ya, Uncle Rhett.”