The Rites of Autumn

It is with fond reverance that I recall the days of my young adulthood, when the coming of the fall meant that I would be watching football all weekend long! It started on Friday nights, when my high school team would play its home games at a nearby community college. There was something about watching these kid footballers playing this game in a place where grown men also played. It made the players seem bigger and it made the whole prep school football scene seem more mature. The cheerleaders were young and oh-so-enthusiastic. The popcorn at the concession stand was fresh. The Associated Student Body or the Parent-Teacher Association would be selling authentic school souvenirs. And, oh yes, the team, the Kearny High Komets, was usually pretty good on the field.

Saturday nights were reserved for watching the Aztecs play at San Diego Stadium. (I still can't call it any other name!) During these years, San Diego's pro team, the Chargers, had fallen on hard times. It seemed that everyone who was anyone had "stepped on up" to watch the winning major college program. Don Coryell had long since departed to coach the NFL's Cardinals, but Claude Gilbert's troops were still winning 9-10 games each year. Some people still think that firing Gilbert was the biggest mistake the Aztecs ever made, although switching the games soon after that to daytimes, and changing the home uniforms from black to scarlet did not help.

Eventually the games played on Sundays became more enjoyable, as the Chargers began to stockpile talented young players. In 1975, they drafted 3/4 of a defensive line, in the persons of Gary Johnson, Louie Kelcher, and Fred Dean. Five years later, all three of them were starters for the AFC in that year's Pro Bowl. In the same draft, the Chargers added a starting cornerback (Mike Williams), a starting safety (Mike Fuller), a starting offensive tackle (Billy Shields), and a starting running back (Rickey Young) who led the team in rushing three straight years before being dealt to Minnesota for an all-pro level starting guard (Ed White).

I was all of 15 that year. By the time I was grown and could afford to buy season tickets, this talent nucleus had coalesced around a maturing quarterback named Dan Fouts. Awesome targets for Fouts came when Charlie Joiner arrived in a trade with Cincinnati in 1976, and John Jefferson (Arizona State) and Kellen Winslow (Missouri) were drafted in 1978 and 1979, respectively. Don Coryell returned to San Diego to coach the Chargers offense during the 1978 season, but was promoted to head coach after Tommy Prothro was fired four games into the seaon. There were a few mis-steps, but the team caught fire at the end of the year, scoring big wins in its last three games over Chicago (40-7), Seattle (37-10), and playoff-bound Houston (45-24) to finish at 9-7.

Those Chargers made the playoffs the next four seasons, twice advancing to the AFC championship game. I was at the playoff win following the 1980 season over the Buffalo Bills. The Chargers were trailing late in the fourth quarter. As Fouts released a long pass in the direction of a streaking Ron Smith, I saw Bills safety Bill Simpson start to fall to the turf and Smith move into the clear. I jumped out of my seat and held my hands high over my head, screaming "TOUCHDOWN!" while the ball was still in the air. As the stadium went crazy, the ball settled softly into Smith's grasp. We all watched ecstaticly as he ran the last 30 yards to the end zone! Too bad the Chargers lost to the Raiders in the AFC title game the next week!

Who could ever forget the playoff win the following year, in Miami? Winslow made 11 catches in that game, scoring a touchdown and blocking a field goal to save the game at the end of regulation. The Chargers won on a Rolf Benirschke field goal in overtime. But, again, they lost in the AFC title game, this time to the Bengals in Cincinnati. As the good times for the team again began to fade, I was able to move up the waiting list for season tickets, finally buying them in my own name in 1986. (The previous three years, I'd bought some else's season seats.)

I relinquished my prized season tickets in 1997, after learning I would soon become a father for the first time. The daughter I had that year will soon be 14 years old! I later had a son and then another daughter.

My son shares my name. Last year he turned seven years old. One of my presents to him was to buy season tickets for us to watch Arizona State University football. I am fortunate enough to be able to share the Rites of Autumn with David, Jr., as I never could with my own father, growing up.

Our football days are all-day affairs. We get up around 10 a.m. We have a quick, small breakfast, then drive from the west side of the Phoenix Valley to an area just southeast of downtown, where we park the car and ride the light rail system the rest of the way to Sun Devil Stadium in Tempe. We get there early, so we can be sure to be on time for the Devil Walk, where the players arrive at the stadium and walk through a long lane lined with the blaring band, the shrieking cheerleaders, and the fired up fans!

Next, it's time for the tailgate party, which is held at the nearby basketball arena because it's too hot in Phoenix for anyone to be outside for a couple of hours. David always feasts on a sandwich from Chick-fil-A (saving room for a brownie for desert is a big priority for him). I usually opt for a barbecue plate. We sit in the arena stands and watch big-time college football games being broadcast on big-screen televisions by the major networks. We give each other high-fives for great touchdowns we see, and we root for the underdogs!

With about 20 minutes until game time, we make the long walk into the stadium, where our seats are on the upper level. Last year, our seats were on about the 10-yard line. This year, we are moving to about mid-field. We watch the player introductions. David is really into the Sparky character, and loves to watch the poor guy do all of those push-ups after touchdowns, especially if it's a high-scoring game!

We wanted to go to Los Angeles last year for the game at USC, but we had to settle for going to Tucson to see the annual Territorial Cup showdown with the University of Arizona. It was the last game of the year, and David really got into it. I think he really got a sense of "us-versus-them," being in a foreign stadium and seeing 70,000 Wildcats fans rooting against the 10,000 Sun Devils fans who were brave enough to go. I think he was proud to be there and represent the team he'd been rooting for all year. The fact that the Sun Devils blocked an extra point kick that would have won the game for the Wildcats at the end of regulation, then won the game by blocking another point-after-touchdown in overtime, was that much more gratifying. David actually willed the Sun Devils to victory. Right after I told him that extra points aren't blocked very often in big-time college football, he told me that they could do it. And then, the team went out and did it - twice!

So, this year, we will have better seats and one extra home game to root for our Devils. The Wildcats will be coming to our stadium, so David will get to see the rivalry from the other side. And, this year, we're going to make it to Los Angeles, though it will be at the Rose Bowl against UCLA. The USC Trojans come to visit Tempe, this year.

When the game is over, we ride the light rail (we actually call it a trolley) back to the car. I drive us home. The actual games begin at 7 p.m. or 7:30, so it is approaching midnight by the time we are on the freeway heading west. David is asleep by the time we get to the west side of town. We have been together all day.

These are the Rites of Autumn. We root for our team, win or lose. We talk, man-to-man and sometimes son-to-son. We pick our favorite players and watch their exploits on the field. We count the number of total push-ups Sparky had to do today. We have fun, plain and simple. If it's time-consuming and if it's costly, it's worth every second and every penny. These are the days and these are the times that I so anticipated, when I could only dream of being a father.

And if it's a Saturday night and anyone wants to know where I've been all day, tell them I've gone to the stadium to watch a ballgame with my son!