I sit here on the back porch this morning ready to celebrate some more. I am still enjoying the fact that the North Harrison Cougars last night beat the Salem Lions for the fourth time in a row, a feat never accomplished before. I have my sturdy cup of coffee in a beat up mug that declares “New Hampshire Runs on Dunkin”. I wish I could run to New Hampshire at this very moment. I wish I could run to Wilmington, North Carolina. For no other reason than to look at the newspapers of the day.
No, I am not wanting to get off my porch. I want to read a newspaper that has real actual stories and capsules of high school football games that were played last night. It is Saturday morning in Southern Indiana where we are relegated to taking the largest daily that comes from another state, one that does not know if a football is filled with air or stuffed with feathers, one that does not allow one to enjoy the fruits of Friday Night High School Football, one that used to be called “One Great Newspaper”. I call it the “Once Great Newspaper”.
It got the “One Great…” moniker after the evening addition of the paper went dark. This was a very long time ago. But, not so long that I can’t remember going off on a Saturday to find the evening addition to see what else it had to say about the game I played in the night before when I was in high school. This was before the internet. This was before folks had a news center in the palms of their hands. It was possible that on the same piece of newsprint I could read about a game I played in or my friends at other schools played in and our names would appear on the same page as someone really important in football like Doug Flutie or Bo Jackson. I digress.
I just know that when I called high school football games on the radio, my partner Gus and I tried to get every name called out that we could. There is still a grandma and grandpa out there thrilled at the prospects of seeing their grandchild’s name in print.
I am not with it. Go ahead and tell me. A colleague yesterday looked at my cell phone, an Alexander Graham Bell model, and I was told I need to get an upgrade for I have nowhere to downgrade. Still, I like my antique cell phone. It is handy and not unwieldy. I don’t need a TV in my pocket. I have no malice, though, to anyone carrying one around. Good for them. I know I will be there one day. I am just trying to stave that day off.
Money, I suppose, is behind the lack of print coverage. I don’t know how else to explain it. It must cost the paper more than it is willing to pay to put a story in print about a game played the night before. YOU CAN, however, find the coverage ONLINE at the paper’s website. I don’t want to do that. Why do I get a daily paper delivered to me? So I can read about where I can find the news?
Your old Uncle Dan can remember when there were multiple stories with pictures and capsules (short paragraph narratives) about the other games not being covered by live reporters. These capsules were the result of coaches of the home team calling in and giving their best unbiased account of what happened. Highlights were included even if they were made by the other team. And get this, a guy at the paper was talking to a coach after the game and transcribing the speaks from the coach. I bet all that was not very cost efficient. You know, paying people to work past nine o’clock so your paper means something the next day.
Last night as my Dad and I were sitting on the hill at The University of Ramsey, along with Stevarino Hawkins, Brother Darrell, sister-in-law Emily, and of course my dear wife, Carrie, and hundreds of others, Dad and I were talking about North Harrison making a trip to Scottsburg to take on the Warriors next week. The last time we played at Scottsburg, Dad was the head coach and I was a 9th grader that did not make the travelling squad. This was 1982. Scottsburg has not played varsity ball since 1983 and are trying it again.
Only one freshman did make the travel squad and that was Old Porter, Mick Rutherford. It was the only travel game I did not dress for when I played. But I was in the locker room that night at the half and I reminded Dad last night of how he was ripping them a new one even though we were ahead 14-0 at the half. We won 38-0. Point taken.
I have an archive account of the same daily I loath. I just peeked at what that paper looked like the Saturday after the opening game of the 1982 high school football season. This is what I found:
There was a feature story with photos on the Floyd Central-Clarksville game. Floyd won 20 -0.
There was a feature story with photos on the Jeff-Providence game. Jeff 21-0.
There was a feature story on Charlestown-Paoli. Pirates 40 Rams 6.
There were capsules and/or line scores that featured score by quarter and who did the scoring on the following:
Perry Central-Corydon North Harrison-Scottsburg
Salem-West Washington Columbus East- Bloomington North
Jasper- Southridge Bloomington South- Indianapolis Washington (in Indy)
Martinsville-Bedford N. Lawrence North Daviees- North Central
And somewhere I hope Madison’s Deron Rucker is still talking about the interception he made and ran back for a touchdown against Seymour that night in the third quarter. Final score was Madison 7 Seymour 0.
Our ways and means of communication are endless these days. And today’s local metropolitan daily indicated in print that the games ended too late to appear in print. That my friends is lousy stuff.
Let me take this time to reflect on and thank from the bottom of my last syllable the work that is put in and the effort that comes out of the work done by my friends at our county weekly paper, The Corydon Democrat. We still have sportswriters. Thank God we still have them. They still know how to fill pages with action and meaning in photos and in verse that makes me want to read them over and over again.
I salute you: Brian Smith, Wade Bell, and Ross Schultz. Keep up the good work. Grandmas and Grandpas are out there counting on you.
Speaking the rights…
Danny Johnson