In the summer of '69, we wondered about our new coach. It was not long before the local paper published a few articles about him. I remember reading he was a key player as a defensive lineman for Weber State's football team. It was an exciting time.An older coach had worked in the school district since the early 50's. He retired in '67. They hired a new coach to do basketball and football, and although everyone thought things would go well, it didn't.
We were excited to see Coach Schmidt arrive.
Shortly before the beginning of two-a-day practices, I began to worry about being out of shape, which is funny--especially considering the amount of work my father and I did on the farm. There was always rocks to haul, fences to fix. Those things required a lot of lifting, so I was in good shape. Our family arrived in Malad on a Saturday night, just before the beginning of practices the next week.
I put on sweats and jogged a fast pace to the football field, where I ran 10 sprints of 100 yards. It was a beautiful night, starry sky and no wind. The temperature was warm, but not anything that seemed to be too severe. I then ran three 400 meter sprints. After resting, I jogged one mile, and then I did a quick dash to our home on Bannock Street. The run satisfied me. I felt strangely euphoric somehow and wasn't tired at all. My parents showed immediate concern, and I remember my dad asking how much I ran. I told him.
He quoted my maternal grandfather's line that you heard a lot in our family, especially when I repeated my tendency to "overdo" things. "You know Jon, you can scratch your ass, but you don't have to make it bleed."
We all laughed. It was late, and we went to bed.
The next morning found me sick with a massive headache. I couldn't move, and I missed the first day of practice. My parents took me to Logan. My knee surgeon was also the Aggie team doctor. He examined me, and even wondered about doing a spinal tap to see if something was seriously wrong, but he decided to see if I would respond to some medication. There was to be no additional practice or working out on my own for that week. According to Dr. Worely, I broke a blood vessel in my brain.
I have a difficult time believing that now. And it's not because I don't listen to doctors, but Dr. Worley--as much as I liked him--sometimes was wrong. I missed practices. It was not a good way to begin my junior year. It was not a good way to make an impression on our new coach, who had a strong work ethic.
For me, it was a year to prove that I could play after reconstructive surgery on my left knee. Getting a chance to play was important to me, and after returning I began at the bottom, but I worked hard.
I finally was able to dress for a game at Soda Springs, but I didn't get any playing time. The next week was a home game as I remember. I stood on the sidelines at the beginning of the game.
"Ward!" I heard Coach call my name. I ran forward. He gave me a play to send into the huddle, one that required me, as an offensive guard, to pull. We went up to the line, and instead of staying in position for the bootleg play, I had in mind that it was a quarterback keep to the left side. The quarterback and right guard stepped once to the left and turned to the right to run. I pulled, running into the guard and knocking the quarterback to the ground. I heard my name again. I ran to the sideline, embarrassed and disappointed at my first try.
"Ward!" I heard my name again. Coach put his arm around my shoulder. He said nothing about my mistake. I felt badly enough for everyone. Two plays happen, and then he says to me, "Are you calmed down yet?" He sent me in. That was the beginning of my becoming a starter on the offensive line as a junior.
The last game happened at Aberdeen. That school never was competitive in football. Still in the first quarter, I blocked a linebacker. He had this huge pads on his forearms. I watched him pull it over his fist, and after our center hiked the ball, I moved forward to block him out of the play. He sidestepped me and struck me with his fist on the back of my helmet and neck. I dropped to the ground.
I'm pretty sure I blacked out for a few moments, but before I could stand to my feet, Coach was there. He yelled at the ref. "That player can't use those pads as weapons." Then he told me to remove my helmet.
"I'm alright," I said. I stepped toward the huddle. Coach wouldn't have it.
"I need you strong for next year," he said to me.
It was upsetting to miss the last game of the season, but it was not many years afterward that I realized how his players were more important than anything else. Our team beat Aberdeen that day.
In my own life, he's one of the individuals, who taught me never to give up.
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