Guest Posts on County 10 are provided by contributors and the opinions, thoughts, and comments within are their own and may not necessarily reflect those of County 10.
High school yearbook sponsors didn’t have the modern luxury of simply dropping photographs and adding text into a template. They had to create a unique product from scratch. Part of that process was acquiring yearbooks from other schools to get ideas.
On a back shelf of the library at the old Wind River High School there was a shelf of them. As a kid, I read nearly every book in that small library.
One afternoon I found a yearbook from a small West Texas school located halfway between Lubbock and Midland. The Lamesa Tornadoes had a 5-4 football season in that yearbook. The faded pages, and unknown heroes of that team struck me, even as a teenager, with the dichotomy of existence in the vast expanse of the Western Desert. The parallels were easy to see.
Call it a milestone, or at least a marker on the path of life. A half-century, 50 full years, has passed since the opening day of my last high school football season. When you speak of water under the bridge, you’re usually talking about a stream, not the Mississippi flowing beneath your feet.
Adding to the distant memory is the field that no longer exists, adjacent to the crumbling buildings of a high school constructed in 1951, that merged with their rivals eight miles away in Pavillion, two decades later.
If you slow down on your way from Riverton to Dubois just before you drive up the rise to Pilot Butte Reservoir you might catch a glimpse of what was once the K-12 school at Morton but known until 1993, as Wind River High School.
Our field wasn’t spectacular by any means. It was shoehorned into the confines of a 330-yard oval track. We didn’t have a standard quarter-mile track because legendary head track coach Leroy Sinner couldn’t get one to fit between the sandstone outcropping to the northeast and the cafeteria on the southwest corner. So, it became a 330-yard, eight-lane marvel of tightly packed cinders lined with crushed limestone for track meets.
For those who played football before the early 1970s, we had heavily padded uprights supporting the goal posts on the goal line until my senior year,
In 1974, the NCAA, NFL, and high school associations across America voted to move the goalposts to the back of the end zone. It made conversion kicks and field goals more of a challenge, and it prevented using the goal post to rub off a defender on an out route into the end zone. It was much safer than running full speed into one, even a heavily padded one.
That might be the only memorable thing that happened that season aside from the Cougars posting their first win over their rivals to the west, the Dubois Rams.
Our coaches were Bob Blackwell, and first-year assistant Bert Oakley, fresh out of Chadron State College after a four-year stint in the U.S. Navy.
To say Bert was a little rough around the edges was an understatement, but we loved his gruff, take no crap attitude.
We started the season with two-a-day practices, something I became familiar with later as a varsity football coach, but an innovation to the farm boys from Midvale, Pavillion, Crowheart, and all points in between.
We didn’t know anything of the West Nile Virus in those days, but if we did, we’d likely have paid more attention to the clouds of mosquitoes that awaited our 7 am practices, and that later descended on the field around 6 pm.
Blackwell was all stick, with no carrot as a head football coach. The slightest infraction meant punishment. Jump off sides run a hill, miss a block, run a hill, do it again and the entire team ran 10 hills.
The hill in question looks unassuming these days with a rusting water town atop above the remains of the classroom wing. It was anything but unassuming for generations of Morton Broncs and later Wind River Cougars.
In one memorable episode, midway through the season, we ran 34 of them, one for each point the Byron Eagles scored on us in a 34-8 loss at home.
Running 34 of these little monsters at practice would be bad enough. We ran them in full view of the Byron team, our parents, friends, and girlfriends in game uniform directly after the loss. They put us in groups of juniors and seniors, and freshmen and sophomores, and timed each one.
If everyone didn’t make it under the mark, they added another hill. Thankfully our older group met the standard and finished with just 34 of them. The younger guys ended up running 44 before they were allowed off the hill.
One of our buddies passed out around 25, and we were threatened with more hills when we pulled him to the side and rolled his face out of the dirt.
It remains the worst example of coaching I’ve ever been part of on either side of the whistle.
We’d lost to those same Eagles 30-24 at Byron in the opening game of the season, so a four-touchdown loss four weeks later was unforgivable.
Practices weren’t designed for blocking schemes, defensive alignments, or skill development. Instead of fundamentals, we did three-man monkey rolls, ran sets of ropes, hit the sled, and tackled heavy sand-filled dummies, in between conditioning with sets of hills throughout practice.
We joked that if we were a cross-country team we’d be in the best shape of anyone in the state, but we were a football team with a limited number of offensive plays and not much creativity on defense.
It amazes me to look back on those times. Maybe everyone played and practiced that way, but I doubt it.
We lost a few players after that post-game punishment session. I was one of them. No one quit, but I ended up at Riverton Memorial Hospital with a nasty stomach virus. I wasn’t a giant by any means at just 175 pounds, but my weight dropped to 143 in just three days.
I listened to my buddies blow out Shoshoni on the radio in our homecoming game in the hospital room just before I was released. Several other guys had the same ailment.
We all limped back to finish the final two games of the season against Basin and Dubois.
It’s all mostly a blur from five decades ago, but I remember the effort our running back Wally Westling put into that final game.
Wally was fast, strong, and hardnosed. If you didn’t open a hole for him, he made one over the top of you. I had a Charlie horse with five little bruises from Wally’s cleats on my right calf when he ran up over my back when I was locked up with a guy from Basin.
Wally had over 300 yards rushing against Dubois in that final game. The score was 0-0 late in the final period. Every time we threatened to score, we either fumbled or had a holding penalty.
With a first and goal at the three-yard line, they sent in a play from the sideline. It wasn’t for Wally and the linemen revolted. They called a time-out to chew us out for insubordination, but we stood our ground. Either Wally scored, or we ended up tied at zero.
It didn’t take much for the seniors to revolt, we didn’t have any more practices, but the underclassmen had one or two more seasons.
We broke the huddle, Wally scored, and we had a 6-0 win in our final game.
Not exactly a Hollywood finish, but one I’m sure everyone on the team remembers.
Football is different today. No low blocks, no crossbody blocks, no blows to the head, no face tackling, and no blind side blocks.
It’s a safer game than it was, though fewer and fewer boys play it with each passing season.
Here’s to fading memories from long ago.
Call it a milestone, or at least a marker on the path of
life. A half-century, 50 full years, has passed since the opening day of my
last high school football season. When you speak of water under the bridge, you’re
usually talking about a stream, not the Mississippi flowing beneath your feet. Adding to the distant memory is the field that no longer
exists, adjacent to the crumbling buildings of a high school constructed in
1951, that merged with their rivals eight miles away in Pavillion, two decades
later.If you slow down on your way from Riverton to Dubois just
before you drive up the rise to Pilot Butte Reservoir you might catch a glimpse
of what was once the K-12 school at Morton but known until 1997, as Wind River
High School.Our field wasn’t spectacular by any means. It was shoehorned
into the confines of a 330-yard oval track. We didn’t have a standard quarter-mile
track because legendary head track coach Leroy Sinner couldn’t get one to fit
between the sandstone outcropping to the northeast and the cafeteria on the southwest
corner. So, it became a 330-yard, eight-lane marvel of tightly packed cinders
lined with crushed limestone for track meets.For those who played football before the early 1970s, we
had heavily padded uprights supporting the goal posts on the goal line until my
senior year,In 1974, the NCAA, NFL, and high school associations
across America voted to move the goalposts to the back of the end zone. It made
conversion kicks and field goals more of a challenge, and it prevented using
the goal post to rub off a defender on an out route into the end zone. It was much
safer than running full speed into one, even a heavily padded one.That might be the only memorable thing that happened that
season aside from the Cougars posting their first win over their rivals to the
west, the Dubois Rams.Our coaches were Bob Blackwell, and first-year assistant
Bert Oakley, fresh out of Chadron State College after a four-year stint in the U.S.
Navy. To say Bert was a little rough around the edges was an
understatement, but we loved his gruff, take no crap attitude.We started the season with two-a-day practices, something
I became familiar with later as a varsity football coach, but an innovation to
the farm boys from Midvale, Pavillion, Crowheart, and all points in between.We didn’t know anything of the West Nile Virus in those
days, but if we did, we’d likely have paid more attention to the clouds of mosquitoes
that awaited our 7 am practices, and that later descended on the field around 6
pm.Leroy Sinner Field, at Pavillion, the modern home of the Cougars
has mosquitoes of epic size and aggression and rightfully carries the West Nile
nickname until the first frost hits in late September or early October.Blackwell was all stick, with no carrot as a head
football coach. The slightest infraction meant punishment. Jump offsides run a
hill, miss a block, run a hill, do it again and the entire team ran 10 hills.The hill in question looks unassuming these days with a
rusting water town atop above the remains of the classroom wing. It was anything
but unassuming for generations of Morton Broncs and later Wind River Cougars.In one memorable episode, midway through the season, we
ran 34 of them, one for each point the Byron Eagles scored on us in a 34-8 loss
at home. Running 34 of these little monsters at practice would be
bad enough. We ran them in full view of the Byron team, our parents, friends,
and girlfriends in game uniform directly after the loss. They put us in groups
of juniors and seniors, and freshmen and sophomores, and timed each one. If everyone didn’t make it under the mark, they added another
hill. Thankfully our older group met the standard and finished with just 34 of
them. The younger guys ended up running 44 before they were allowed off the hill.One of our buddies passed out around 25, and we were
threatened with more hills when we pulled him to the side and rolled his face
out of the dirt.It remains the worst example of coaching I’ve ever been part
of on either side of the whistle.We’d lost to those same Eagles 30-24 at Byron in the opening
game of the season, so a four-touchdown loss four weeks later was unforgivable.Practices weren’t designed for blocking schemes,
defensive alignments, or skill development. Instead of fundamentals, we did three-man
monkey rolls, ran sets of ropes, hit the sled, and tackled heavy sand-filled
dummies, in between conditioning with sets of hills throughout practice. We joked that if we were a cross-country team we’d be in the
best shape of anyone in the state, but we were a football team with a limited
number of offensive plays and not much creativity on defense.It amazes me to look back on those times. Maybe everyone
played and practiced that way, but I doubt it. We lost a few players after that post-game punishment session.
I was one of them. No one quit, but I ended up at Riverton Memorial Hospital with
a nasty stomach virus. I wasn’t a giant by any means at just 175 pounds, but my
weight dropped to 143 in just three days. I listened to my buddies blow out Shoshoni in our
homecoming game in the hospital room just before I was released. Several other
guys had the same ailment.We all limped back to finish the final two games of the
season against Basin and Dubois.It’s all mostly a blur from five decades ago, but I remember
the effort our running back Wally Westling put into that final game. Wally was fast, strong, and hardnosed. If you didn’t open
a hole for him, he made one over the top of you. I had a Charlie horse with
five little bruises from Wally’s cleats on my right calf when he ran up over my
back when I was locked up with a guy from Basin.Wally had over 300 yards rushing against Dubois in that
final game. The score was 0-0 late in the final period. Every time we
threatened to score, we either fumbled or had a holding penalty. With a first and goal at the three-yard line, they sent
in a play from the sideline. It wasn’t for Wally and the linemen revolted. They
called a time-out to chew us out for insubordination, but we stood our ground. Either
Wally scored, or we ended up tied at zero. It didn’t take much for the seniors to revolt, we didn’t
have any more practices, but the underclassmen had one or two more seasons. We broke the huddle, Wally scored, and we had a 6-0 win
in our final game.Not exactly a Hollywood finish, but one I’m sure everyone
on the team remembers.Football is different today. No low blocks, no crossbody
blocks, no blows to the head, no face tackling, and no blind side blocks. It’s a safer game than it was, though fewer and fewer boys
play it with each passing season. Here’s to fading memories from long ago.