The Fastest Fighting Cub

During my two-decade college teaching career, experience— always the best teacher — taught me to identify the number-one ability of students whose attitude held them back and do all possible to maximize that ability. Although challenging and not always successful, for some it was a life-changing experience. I know… it happened to me way back in 1961. In high school, I wanted to play football, but weighed only 97 pounds. Just one look at the other players, and I knew I was doomed to be a bench warmer. Their uniforms fit well, but Mama, an expert seamstress, had to cut swatches from my jersey until it fit over the shoulder pads and tapered down my rail-thin torso. She sewed loops on the pant’s top so that a tight belt would prevent their falling to my knees. The helmet was beyond her skills, and after being tackled in practice I often arose looking through one of the ear holes.

Game after game, I waited for the call that never came, but Coach Ben Ruscoe knew how badly I wanted to play. Then, before one of our toughest games, he called a meeting in the locker room. “Gentlemen,” he said, “if we’re holding our own late in the game against the Rolling Fork Colonels, Reed is going in at left half back.” The team was stunned; I knew what they were thinking: One of our most important games, in front of a hometown crowd, and Coach will play Reed? Reading their minds, Coach continued. “Men, who is the fastest Fighting Cub? Reed. He weighs only slightly more than air, has big, strong legs, can zigzag like a jackrabbit, and is fast as a speeding bullet. Y’all make a hole for him, and he’s gone. Nobody on the other team will catch him.” The Leland Fighting Cubs fought the Rolling Fork Colonels to a 14-14 tie at halftime, a score unchanged by the third quarter’s end. When play resumed, Coach roared, “Reed — in at halfback.” His confidence provided all the courage I needed. Quarterback “Brick” Battson called T-24, a straight-up-the-middle play, and reiterated Coach’s words: “Make a hole for that jackrabbit and nobody will catch him.” When I looked at the guards and tackles, they nodded. “We’ll do our part, Reed; you do yours.” They did, I did. The hole was wide, and fifty yards of open field lay before me. When I crossed the goal line and the referee raised both arms, the fans, along with my teammates, went berserk. Ecstatic, I ran off the field with the football, and the referee had to chase me down to retrieve it. What Coach taught me was a life lesson that I used to bring out the best in students who weren’t the smartest in the class, but who possessed some aptitude that might make up for the shortfall. I dealt with them the same way Coach dealt with his players, and I’ve never forgotten what he called me: the fastest fighting cub.