There are a lot of great things about covering high school football. Every week, every game, you are liable to see the unexpected. Emotions run high and that lends itself to some great theatre.
Plus, you never know where the post-game interviews will take you. Happy coaches, happy players, hacked off coaches, etc.
But there’s a hidden gem in there that only a few know about, and perhaps it’s better that way.
To truly get an idea of the complete picture of what goes on at a game, you need to come with me and sit in the press box. Unless you have sensitive ears, in which case if might be a better idea if you stayed outside.
In a typical press box, you’ve got the usual suspects – the P.A. guy, the clock operators, the music guy who doesn’t know when to stop, the scoreboard operator and maybe a hanger-on or two.
But the true magic comes when the assistant coaches make their way upstairs and set up shop.
It’s time to strap in for an experience like none other.
In the old days, I found them so distracting that I would often rather sit outside with the commonfolk than have to listen to all of their wailing and gnashing of teeth.
These days? I post up as close as I can possibly get. Unadulterated joy is about to commence.
This doesn’t happen at an NFL stadium because the coaches are literally on a different level. Or at a college stadium, where the coaches are in a soundproof booth as if they were worried that the KGB were listening outside.
The set-up at a few of the local high school stadiums puts the visiting coaches just down the doorless hall from the rest of the press box occupants, so it’s a verbal free-for-all in there. And it’s actually better to be closer to the visiting coaches, because they are usually wound a little tighter, being in an unfamiliar location with the home crowd all around them.
One game this year, I went down to check on the ID of a player and there were eight – EIGHT!! – coaches in the box. Thankfully they all weren’t yelling at the same time.
Most teams will send two, maybe three, assistants upstairs but let me assure that a little goes a long way.
“We have got to be the dumbest team in the country.”
“Coach!!! Find somebody else! He don’t want to play!”
“We’ve got 12!!! We’ve got12!!!”
“Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!”
If I may interject here … why is he screaming at the runner? (1) The player can’t hear him and (2) I think the player understands the concept of trying to score a touchdown.
“Late hit! Late hit!”
“Coach, that’s a terrible spot!”
There is not much being said over the headset that could be called a conversation in a normal tone of voice. Everything has an understood exclamation point and is liberally sprinkled with “Coach!”
Oh, and there is the cussing. Lots and lots of cussing. I left out the “****” in the above examples, but feel free to mentally inject them wherever you like. I can promise they apply.
Especially in this case.
Quite a few years ago, there was a game at a local faith-based school, where the coaches are stationed on top of the press box in an open-air environment.
The assistant coach for the visiting team – who was never known to be soft-spoken – kept screaming into the headset “Get him the *** out of there!” over and over again. He was referring to one his own players, not the officials or a member of the home team.
The home side fans of the faith-based school starting turning around and pointing up to the top of press box and yelling at him to stop. The coach never noticed and just kept right on. “Get him the *** out of there!”
It wasn’t long before he got the tap from a member of the faith-based school administration and the coach cooled it. For about two minutes.
Another visit. Another tap.
This time he stopped, due in great part to the fact that his team was now down by about 40, so they didn’t have to worry about getting him the **** out of there.
Contact JJ at johnjamesmarshall@yahoo.com