It's all just one long ride Originally published December 14, 2015
Last week the University of Kentucky football team suffered a humiliating loss to their cross state rivals, The Louisville Cardinals. The line score tells the tale. Up 24-7 at halftime, the Cats managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. I started thinking about their bus ride home after a loss like that. Yes, the long, somber ride home with nothing to do but think about how badly you'd stunk it up. My mind wandered back decades to the many, many nights I sat on the losing bus. And one night stood out above all other others. I've kept this incident quiet over the years -- and I know one man who even took it to his grave: Bob Schmitz. He was the last kid in the locker room that night -- he knew what really happened.
So as through a glass and darkly
It was a Friday night in early November, 1968. It was the night our football
coach erupted into his infamous 'Party Boys' hysterics. Bill McDonough was there
and of course Kerry DeChant, Chris Spahn, John Wamser, Mark Rukavina, Charlie Schumacher -- well the entire football team really. The night a very large man had an explosive meltdown.
Instinctively, most of us put our helmets on - unusual inasmuch as we were inside the locker room.
You see, it
was our last game of the season and Mike Piotrowski's father had bought bags of McDonald's
burgers and fries for the team to enjoy after the game. I had just stashed a
bag with a couple of cheeseburgers in my locker. I thought I'd eat them in the bus on the way home. And it was just as I was
doing this figurin’, that Coach, with his assistant in
tow, came storming out of their office. He stomped up to the
blackboard, grabbed a fistful of chalk and hurled it at us! Kids ducked as shards
of chalk ricocheted off the lockers. That
was when we put our helmets on. The erasers were next. Look out! Rukavina's been hit! MEDIC!!
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FUTURE WALL ST. MANIPULATOR
SHREDS WHITE KNIGHTS IN OPENER
Here’s a rich kid from University
School looking tough.
Watching from the
sidelines, sensing the humiliation
and futility of their
upcoming season are:
#21 Kerry DeChant, #70 Hugh
Murphy
and #40 Dave Rinehart.
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To put things in perspective, our football team was inept. Not bad - INEPT. We lost all eight of our conference games, plus one non-conference game! We were shut out four times and scored a mere thirty-one points the entire season! Not a typo: 31 points in 9 games! A record unequaled in the history of the Milwaukee Catholic Conference!
Our coah, Mezzy, had been a decent college lineman, turned incompetent high
school coach.
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Coach Mezzy
"Youse guys open yer books to 'dat page -
'da one wit doz pitchers." |
Make no mistake; We knew we were
hopeless two games into the season. And you remember Denny Sweeney? What a character he was! During games,
he'd saunter back into the huddle and complain that he was wide open on a pass
route, but wouldn't get the ball thrown to him. I remember it was
during the Messmer game when Bill McDonough finally had enough of his BS and said, "Shut the hell up you wiener!!" So naturally
from that day on, every chance we could, we called Denny, "Wiener". He hated it. In the afternoon PA announcements I'd always add
something like, "Will Dennis
D. Wiener please report to Mr. Synold's office? Thank you!"
Synold's office was in the boiler room. He couldn't hear the announcements. He always wondered why Denny would show up some days at 3:30!
I mentioned Bob Schmitz earlier. Schmitz was one loony SOB.
He also happened to be the football
team’s student-manager. He was the kid responsible for taking care of salt tablets, footballs, tape, whistles, chin straps and uniforms. You needed a Band-Aid? You
went to Schmitz. You wanted an extra towel?
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BOB SCHMITZ
Note: this isn't Bob Schmitz.
It's Pete Walthers.
I lost Schmitz's picture.
I think he'd approve though |
You were nice to Schmitz. He also brought treats for the bus rides to games; candy bars, oranges and towards the end of the season...a little
something extra!
Contrary to urban legend, it was Schmitz, not Joe LaGalbo who brought the bota bag onto the bus (though you can't be faulted for thinking it was Joe!) Once our season was kaput there was no rule worth following. You wouldn’t think a Catholic high school
football team needed a “No Drinking Wine On The Bus” rule. But ours did.
And by the time we were 0-5 that unwritten rule was ripe for the breaking. There was a small group of players who always sat in the back of the bus
when we traveled. Head Coach Mezzy and his Assistant always sat in the front row. Nice guys like Sweeney also sat up front –
close to the coaches. On the way home from the last few games, Schmitz
would sit with us in the back and we'd pass around his bota bag. When we
sang "Moon River", you could be certain of two things: the Mateus Rose had kicked
in and someone had pressed ham against the window of the bus!
All of this really bothered Mr. Wiener, who wasn't welcomed in the back. Denny
would be a real pain in the ass about it. He’d walk up the aisle, glaring at
me, chastising us, threatening to tell, etc. etc. Words were passed like,
"You're gonna get it!" All this led up to the last game of the
season, which we lost -- big surprise. We lost them all that year! Oh well, no scholarship to St.
Norbert’s for me! So down the road back
home we go, bouncing around in the big, yellow school bus, laughing and ducking
down behind the back seats to squeeze off long gulps of wine from Schmitz’s
bota bag. Mr. Wiener was not pleased.
When at last we arrived back at Dominican there was
Mr. Piotrowski with the bags of burgers and fries. We had just finished a
humiliating season, but this night just kept getting better!
Did Denny go into Mezzy’s office and cry the blues about the bota bag? I don’t know for certain. What I DO know is a few minutes later we were ducking chunks of chalk! Mezzy was jumping up and down, the veins in his neck popping out screaming, “YOU COST ME MY JOB YOU PARTY BOYS!!” Then he singled me out. Moi? Yes me!
OK, it’s true: On the last play of the game, with us leading by one
point, I blocked the wrong way, letting my man waltz right in and flatten
our QB, Chris Spahn in the end zone for a safety, resulting in a cosmic, soul crushing, one point loss – a loss which did, in fact, cost Coach his job (lol!)
Here's what really happened: Since it was the last game, Schmitz snuck the bota bag onto the sidelines and we’d been taking big slurps on the bench, hidden under our
giant, hooded football capes! I
never expected to play. I was shocked when
I heard my name called in the final minutes of the second half! The
problem was…the wine had worked its way through my system. What I
really needed to do was take a leak. Oh well, no time for that now! I
grabbed my helmet and ran onto the field. We were on our own 3 yard line leading by one
point. All we, ( I ), had to do was not fuck up, time would run out and we’d win!
So I huddled up, listening to Chris call the play. I tried to focus, but all I
could think about was how badly I had to go! Plus, it really bothered me that my uniform didn't have any grass stains, or good game-dirt on it. Now I'd stand out too much. When we broke the huddle and walked up to the
line, (I played left guard), it dawned on me that I had absolutely no
idea what the play was, or my blocking assignment. I looked back at Chris to ask, but his glasses were getting all foggy and he looked kinda freaky -- forget that idea! Taking my official three-point
stance, I figured I had two options: A) pull around right end and lay a crushing block on someone, which would look good to the fans, or B) pull around
right end and just run out of bounds towards the desperately needed porta-potty. I chose A.
Turns out neither of those options was correct. Oops! Who knew?! Game over...we lose! Looks like no
scholarship to UW Platteville for me! But at least now I really could run to
the porta-potty. After which, like I already told you, there
was the bus ride home, more bota bag, the sacks of burgers and fries and then the chalk throwing incident.
So, after his meltdown, Coach and
his assistant holed up in the coaches office, never to be
seen again that night. I was feeling pretty damn low about being
singled out. I just sat in front of my locker for a long while. In the chaos, Mr. Piotrowski and the bags
of food disappeared. That didn't help my attitude because I really
wanted some of those fries. The other guys were already coming out of the
showers and hurriedly dressing by the time I took off my game uniform and tossed it to Schmitz
in the equipment room. I showered and dressed slowly. It didn't matter. My teammates, my amigos, had all left in a big rush -- too embarrassed I guessed, to be seen with me after my bonehead play. [ NOTE: I found out days later they just wanted to get to this huge party, they forgot to tell me about, before the beer ran out. It had nothing at all to do with my play -- phew!]
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Nice play, Murph.
And do me a favor? Don't call me for 30 years. |
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Nice play BF.
Do you have practices to be that bad??
Luv you! |
Schmitz had the radio on in the equipment room, “Those were the days my friends, we thought they’d never end…”. I tied the laces on my desert boots and put on my letterman's jacket. I grabbed the sack
of cheeseburgers I’d hidden in my locker, waved at Schmitz and began to walk
out. I paused when I got to the coaches office. Still feeling rotten, I thought I'd knock on the door and say I was sorry for screwing up. But then, from behind the closed door, I could hear the
two of them cussing about us – and I clearly heard my name!
Really?! Being very quiet, I set
the McDonald’s bag down in front of their office door. I took out my Zippo lighter and put it up to the bag. Slowly at first and
then, WHOOSH! Up in flames it went!
I pounded on the door as hard as I could and hollered,
"WHITEFISH BAY POLICE! OPEN UP ASSHOLES!!" Annnd out the door I flew!
I ran across Silver Spring Drive and into Golden
Chicken where Wheeler was working. Gasping for breath, I told Wheels about the Party Boys incident. I
knew he’d hide me in the storeroom if the cops came. He had the Bucks game
on the radio. We cooked up some chicken and I munched on a couple of tasty pieces while we listened to the game.
When we figured the coast was clear, I ordered a bag of crinkle cut fries for the
road and headed out into the cool Fall night. Walking east down Silver Spring
Dr., I passed the Fox Bay Theatre. They had a double feature all lit up on the marquee; "Thunderball" and “From Russia with Love”. Inside the lobby there was a big cardboard cut-out of Sean Connery.
I got to Winkie's just as the #15 bus was pulling up. I hopped on and casually flipped open my billfold, showing the bus driver my official bus pass - yeah that’s right; I had a bus pass, so what?! He gave me a look like he smelled the fries stashed in the pocket of my letterman's jacket.
I settled in and watched the lights of the suburban houses pass by my window. The crazy events of the evening and what I'd done kept running through my mind and I thought, “That’s exactly how 007 would’ve handled things!”
The bus passed Connie Browne’s house, so I knew it was about time to transfer. There may be some sort of reckoning come Monday morning, but for now there were fries to finish…relaxing in the back of the bus.
THE END
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The Author, (upper left) dropped out of UWM and moved to Florida when told by a Gypsy fortune teller at Sumerfest, "Your future life partner is on your yearbook page."
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1968 Dominican High School Football Team
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