What sports do to you

The AP's quirky story of the day today just goes to show how far sportsmanship takes you: out of the playoffs. The girls of Central Washington literally carried an opposing Western Oregon player around the bases to claim her first-ever home run, a three-run shot that put WOU up 4-2. The CW girls said they weren't thinking about the playoffs. To them, they said, it was about the home run hitter getting what she deserved.

Smith's Promising Coaching Career Just Beginning

Retirement is tough. Retirement often leaves people feeling empty and unfulfilled. Baseball players know these feelings well, especially when they are forced from the game they love and have played since their childhood days.

While many former players of all levels attempt to fill the void left by the end of their playing careers by becoming managers or coaches, a majority of these aspiring coaches will never make it back into the dugout.

Sure, there are many high-profile cases of retired big-leaguers hanging up their spikes for a jacket; Joe Torre, Mike Scioscia and Ozzie Guillen are just a few of the many former major leaguers that now call the big office in the clubhouse their own. Their paths to the pinnacle of coaching were paved long before they stopped playing; these great players were all but ensured they would have a chance to lead their own club one day.

But for baseball players that never make it to the show, the path to baseball coaching is bumpy. Former collegiate baseball players number in the tens of thousands, but significantly fewer will ever help fill out a line-up card.

One of those former players who made the transition from collegiate baseball player to coach is Brian Smith, currently an assistant baseball coach at Washington and Lee University.

After ending his playing career in 2003 at Tiffin University, where he was a four-year letter-winning left-handed pitcher for the Division II Dragons, Smith, a native of Canton, Oh., attended Defiance College, a small school just an hour and a half from Tiffin. Smith received a Master of Arts degree in education while also beginning his coaching career.

W&L assistant baseball coach Brian SmithAt Defiance, Smith got his first shot at coaching as a graduate assistant. Smith remembers his time at the small Ohio school fondly. “My first season as a coach was by far my most memorable,” Smith said. “I came to a school that had never even been to a conference tournament, and we made it in my first year there. It was great to be able to see those guys improve so much and be successful.”

After spending his entire life in Ohio, Smith moved from his home state and landed his first full-time coaching job in 2006. As an assistant coach at Maryville College, a Division III school in Maryville, Tenn., Smith said it was not challenging to leave his familiar Ohio because he wanted to make the move. “I wanted to get south to where we could practice outside in early spring to prepare for the season. In Ohio, we were in a gym until we left for our spring trip to Florida.”

While the weather may have been better, Smith didn’t find the results in Tennessee that he was looking for. His one season at Maryville was a rocky one, and it prompted another move for Smith. “I knew I had to leave after my first season at Maryville because of turmoil within the program. It was time to go,” Smith said.

Smith’s search for another job was short. Smith turned to Maryville’s Sports Information Director and good friend Eric Etchison. “I was introduced to [W&L Head Coach] Stickley by Mike Walsh, who was friends with Eric,” said Smith. Walsh, the former Athletic Director at W&L, quickly made the introductions and shortly after, in the summer of 2006, Smith was announced as assistant coach at W&L.

At first, Smith admits that he was “hesitant” to come to Lexington because of the reputation of the small town. “I knew that I wanted to coach at a good academic school like W&L and was looking forward to the pay increase that this job would be for me, but I first needed to make sure my fiancé, Emmeline DeCristo, could find a job in Lexington,” Smith admitted. Once DeCristo landed a job as a special education teacher at Rockbridge County High School, Smith said the rest of the move to Lexington was “easy.” Smith added, “I get along with everyone here and am having a lot of fun.”

For Smith, the transition from player to coach was not tough. He cites his pitching experiences as one of the major reasons he was able to make a smooth shift to coaching, saying, “During practices, pitchers are so used to doing a lot of standing around and hitting groundballs and fly balls to the other players, which is what I do during almost all of practice as a coach, too.” He added, “The practices are not much of a change from when I was pitching.”

Compared to his days as a southpaw at Tiffin, game days present the biggest on-field difference for Smith. “For me, the biggest adjustment to coaching is the need to constantly think ahead,” Smith said. “I have to have a plan for which relievers to use in certain situations, and I always have to think two to three innings ahead of the game,” added Smith.

His changed mindset has also changed his demeanor on the field. Smith admitted that “I am much more competitive now as a coach, which is tough.” He cites the “limited amount of control over the performance of the players” as the reason for his increased competitiveness. Smith said, “You can make all the right moves and put the players in the right situations, but you only have so much control. It’s up to them to perform, which is frustrating at times.”

While his strategy could have been perfect, Smith knows that poor performances by players will be blamed on the coaches by fans and players alike. “There will always be second-guessing, and if a play isn’t made, everyone will always question the coaches’ strategy.” Even though his strategy may have been right and the players just didn’t make a play, Smith will always take the blame, saying, “I’ll never throw a player under the bus.”

For Smith, the toughest part of coaching comes isn’t on the field, but off of it. “Recruiting is the toughest part of coaching,” Smith said. He also acknowledged, though, that recruiting is “the best and worst part of coaching.” “Recruiting is a constant process and can get tiring because you have no time off. Once you get one class in, it is time to start over and begin looking at the next year’s recruits.” But even though he admits that it is tough, recruiting, which Smith describes as “a process of basically begging kids to come to your school” is, in the end, “fun.”

Smith knows that in order to be a successful coach, he must be a good recruiter. His introduction to recruiting was an intimidating one. “At Defiance, I got a list of 50 names from the head coach and was told to mass-call everyone on the list. I didn’t know exactly what to do, so I had to learn by doing it,” Smith recalled. Recruiting is always evolving and Smith admits that he is always learning. “I’ve gone to recruiting meetings and listened to other coaches make recruiting calls, but it is something that you have to learn by doing, and I’m always trying to learn more and become better at it.”

Recruits aren’t the only ones that get to experience Smith’s abundant personality; Smith consistently has great relationships with almost all of his players. While he credits his role as an assistant coach for his approachability—“Players are reluctant to talk to the head coach about certain things because he is the boss and he makes the decisions,” Smith said—his players know there is more to it than that.

Sophomore Jim Plantholt, W&L’s all-time career saves leader after just two seasons, credits Smith’s character for his ability to connect with players. Plantholt said, “I’m comfortable talking to him about anything, whether it is about baseball or lifting, on-field or off-field issues or even academics.” Smith acknowledges that a strong connection between the coaches and players is beneficial to a team’s success. He said, “There’s definitely an advantage to a team that has good relationships with the coaches. Being able to relate to the players improves chemistry and is good for the team.”

His personality, though, isn’t the only attribute his players like. Smith’s laid-back yet intense coaching style always gets the best out of his players. Senior right-hander Tim Livingston said of Smith, “We can be at practice or in a game, and he talks with you about wrestling or NASCAR or girls, which is great to hear from a coach. He doesn’t act like he’s better than you, but instead acts like a friend. You feel a connection with him and it makes you more willing to listen to everything he says. That being said, he’s out there to make you better, and he always helps your mechanics and really knows what he’s talking about.” Plantholt agreed, saying, “He jokes around but you can tell when he is serious and you know when it’s time to go to work.”

W&L players’ ease that they feel with Smith is apparent in their dedication to the changes that Smith has made to the baseball program. Prior to Smith’s hiring, W&L’s baseball program featured, according to Smith, “few off-season workouts and almost no workout program.” That changed almost immediately; Smith quickly instituted an “in-depth” workout program that includes year-round, seven days per week weight-lifting, throwing and running.

Smith recognizes that changing Stickley has been difficult because of Stickley’s over 20 years of experience at the helm of Generals baseball. While Smith said Stickley “was willing to let me make some changes,” Smith knows that it’s not his program and he doesn’t have free reign. That’s why, Smith said, “I knew I had to pick my battles with Stickley. I didn’t ask him about the off-season workout program. I instead just sent it out to the players.”

Once the program was in the players’ hands, Smith said, “I haven’t heard of any resistance from the players. In fact, most of them keep coming to me wanting me to add more to it.” Smith wanted to make a major change that would help improve the baseball program. He said, “I wanted to get the program in place with the young guys in order to change the culture of the program. Once the young guys buy in, the work ethic will be in place for every class that comes to W&L.” Smith’s strategy seems to be working. Plantholt said, “I didn’t show any resistance to the workout program and I love it.”

Smith understands that the academics at W&L are time consuming, but knows that the players want to do whatever it takes to win. Plantholt echoed Smith’s sentiments, saying, “The in-season workouts can almost be too much with the academic workload, but if you’re committed enough to play, you have to be committed enough to get better.”

And better they have gotten. Supported by Smith’s intense workouts and unique coaching style, W&L’s pitchers have improved dramatically since his arrival. In 2006, the last season under former pitching coach Eric Brookes, W&L’s staff amassed a 5.46 ERA, posting 126 walks and an opponent’s batting average of .321. Smith’s first season, the 2007 campaign, featured a pitching staff comprised almost entirely of returners. Under Smith’s hands, W&L’s pitchers lowered their ERA to 5.09, walks to 100 and opponents’ batting average 38 points to .283. The success has carried over to 2008 as well; through 25 games, the staff has compiled a 4.71 ERA, 84 walks and just a .272 opponents’ batting average, all while replacing Clayton Edwards, the team’s 2007 ace. Pushing his players to work harder throughout the year has affected their performance, a tribute to Smith’s instruction and motivation.

Smith hasn’t found just collective improvement by his staffs at W&L; individual pitchers credit him helping them get better over the past two years. Senior left-hander Jeff Pharis admits that Smith’s coaching style has helped him improve dramatically on the mound. Pharis said, “Coach Smith is able to let us be who we are as a pitcher, only making minor adjustments and tweaking little things that help us throw better. He never tried to make a major adjustment to my mechanics, which is great because that usually results in failure.” Added Pharis: “Coach Smith always told me ‘do whatever works for you,’ and that is a great way for coaches to let the pitchers continue to throw the way they always have while working to make them better on the whole.”

Even though his fingerprints are all over the improved pitching staff at W&L, he knows that his role as an assistant coach is limited. “One of the most difficult parts of being an assistant is not having the final say, especially when it comes to who is playing and what plays to be put on during games.” While he hasn’t yet been in the position to make the ultimate decision, he has seen his role in strategy increased over last season. “It took a season Stickley and I to get a feel for each other and for him to gain trust in me, but this year I have had a lot more say in strategy. Because I’m with the pitchers for almost all of every practice, I know them better than Stickley and that has helped increase my role as an assistant.”

Despite an elbow injury this past summer that almost ended his career, Pharis credits Smith for helping to keep him healthy enough to make 13 appearances this season, second on the team. “Not only did he learn the tape job that I need to get before every time I throw, but Coach Smith made sure to talk to Coach Stickley to make sure I wasn’t pitching too much and hurt myself seriously,” Pharis knew that his arm could not handle the multiple-inning appearances that Stickley was accustomed to from Pharis’s previous seasons, and, according to Pharis, “Smith was able to influence Coach Stickley’s decisions, which was great.”

In the near future, Smith hopes to be the one making all of the decisions as a head coach, and he wants to do it at another small college similar to the four he has already been at. “I think that being at a small school is much more fun than working at a bigger Division I school. Small schools allow you to get to know everyone, including the administration and students. In ten years, I may want to move to a bigger school, but I’m happy at small schools right now,” said Smith.

Wherever he ends up next, Smith hopes he is able to teach a physical education class in addition to his coaching duties. He said, “Teaching is one of the best parts of coaching at a small school. I like teaching a P.E. class because I get to know the general student population, not just the baseball players.” During his time at W&L, Smith has taught a P.E. golf class at The Vista Links in nearby Buena Vista.

According to Smith, he only will only take a coaching job if it is beneficial both personally and professionally. “I only want to do it if it’s the right situation,” he acknowledged.

According to Smith, the right situation depends on the atmosphere of the school and the amount of money to be paid to his assistant coaches. “The pay for my assistants will be a big factor in my decision. Any school that pays its assistants well cares about the program and will be willing to give additional resources to the program. It will also allow me to attract better assistant coaches.”

Wherever the bumpy coaching road leads Smith next, his ability to building relationships and his player-friendly coaching style will, according to his current players, allow him to quickly win over his players and start them on his short road towards success. Livingston said, “I know that Coach Smith will be just as successful as a head coach as he is at W&L because of the little things he does to make the game fun and help his players get better.” Senior outfielder Andy McEnroe agreed, adding, “I’d be willing to follow Coach Smith anywhere. I’m definitely going to keep up with him in the future and hope to one day be an assistant for him.”

Because of his strong personal and coaching attributes, Smith should be ready to build on his successes at Defiance and W&L wherever his next stop on the coaching road is. He is sure to take a page out of the pages of the great major league managers, imitating the successful head coaching careers of the likes of Torre, Scioscia and Guillen.

Chris Herren

Requiem for a Golden Child: The Rise and Fall of Chris Albert Herren

By any measurable standard, Chris Herren lived a life that most of us can only dare to dream of. He had a talent that made him more than special to many sports fans in and around Fall River, Massachusetts. For his fans, it made him a redeemer. There was no corner he wasn’t allowed to cut, no wrong he could commit in their eyes, and he was never going to be told no. All this at the tender age of only seventeen. Why? What can a seventeen year old have done to merit such adulation; what special gift had he been given? The fact is, Chris Herren could play basketball. He could take over any game at any given time; abuse any opponent than might dare guard him with his sick, freakish athleticism. In basketball-mad Fall River, as the star player of the beloved B.M.C. Durfee High School, this gift was the most precious anyone could ever have. For one year, Bill Reynolds followed Herren and the other members of the Durfee team of the 1993-1994. His subsequent book, Fall River Dreams, chronicles Herren’s saga throughout that, his junior year. Reynolds noticed his elite status early on as he observed, “He is a star in his own movie and he knows it.” Yet, this stardom in Fall River meant very little to the outside world and after he left Fall River, Herren began to live the same life as the rest of us mortals and he was jarred, roughly, into the world of reality of which he was oblivious during his high school days. The years of cutting corners in high school caught up with Herren in the real world, culminating with his arrest in December 2004 on heroin possession. In a little over a decade, Herren fell from his lofty, shining spot on Mt. Olympus and tumbled down into the trampled, dark mud with common junkies. The clouds he alone was privileged to trod upon in Fall River did not follow him to the outside world; he was forced to walk on the hard, unforgiving pavement like the rest of us. Chris proved unable to walk on that road like a common man. I wanted to find out why.

To understand Chris Herren, you need to know where he comes from. For him, the past refuses to stay put where it belonges, behind him. It manifests itself daily and refuses to let “Chrissie” live without its heavy load pressing down upon him. Every time Herren stepped out onto the court, a great Durfee bloodline stepped out with him. Herren’s father, several uncles, and, most significantly, his brother Michael all starred for Durfee in their own times. Michael held Durfee’s all-time scoring record and guided his team to back-to-back state titles and a record forty-six consecutive victories. Every shot Herren took, every word he said was carefully weighed against those of his elder brother. As Reynolds says in his book, “He is not just another high school junior trying to find his own identity.” Fall River made Herren’s identity for him long before he ever played his first Durfee game; he was ordained as the Next Great Hope for Durfee basketball and he spent his whole life trying to meet that lofty standard.

Fortunately for Fall River, yet unfortunately for Herren, ultimately, he was able to meet and exceed that standard. He broke Michael’s scoring record and won his own state title his senior year. This success bred in Herren an attitude, one that he flashed constantly. On the court, “He loved to trash talk. He liked nothing better than to belittle opponents.” Even his iconic coach, Skippy Karam, a legend in Fall River, a 600 game winner who had coached Durfee since the 1960’s wasn’t above his attitude. Karam always found himself fighting Herren “the little rebellions . . . Herren will often talk back to him.” Even the coach must be forced to play a supporting role to his own player; for in Herren’s own movie, he is the unquestioned star. As Skippy himself told Reynolds, “Thirty years of coaching and that’s what it’s come down to. I’m Chris Herren’s coach.” Make no mistake about it, Herren was bred to be a Durfee star; he had the pedigree, the hunger, and the dreams of a whole town behind him. They were all supposed to come together in the perfect combination to make him into a stud. Yet, for Chris, the magnificent life of basketball greatness that was supposed to be his eluded him, quite by his own doing. The stud that was supposed to be let out to a green, grassy field after a long, winning career had everything fall apart around him. He is now reduced to wasting all his spirit and talent that could have taken him to the top of the world by pulling a wagon.

How differently Barry Machado lived as a Fall River star in his own right. Machado excelled at baseball and basketball for Durfee and played on Skippy’s very first team. Machado, unlike Chrissie, was also gifted student and used his brains and athletic ability to escape Fall River for the Ivy League world of Dartmouth and later graduate school for history Northwestern. He then entered academia and spent a long, successful career teaching at Washington & Lee University in Lexington, Va. During the course of our phone interview, it became clear that Machado’s Fall River and Herren’s were two entirely different worlds. When asked if he and his teammates expected any special treatment during their playing days, Machado responded, “No, not in my time. I was blessed to play with a group of kids who didn’t expect any special treatment. It was only later, when the sports teams became more successful that newer players began to expect things.” As Machado’s background indicates, he took academics very seriously and credits his time at Durfee for steering him down that path, “First class teachers influenced us. These teachers, mostly Irish spinsters, made a big impression on us that getting an education and going to college was important.”

By the time Herren entered high school, Durfee had changed for the worse. The teachers who had so impacted Machado had “passed on” and no one who shared their same enthusiasm for education rose to fill their void. As Machado said, “When teachers don’t set a serious approach to academics and don’t stress the importance of getting an education, the kids pick up on that.” No kid more so then Herren. Machado attended Durfee 1958-1962, bridging the gap between two legends, Skippy’s predecessor, Lukey Urban, and Skippy himself. While both men were excellent coaches, they viewed the role of schooling very differently. Urban took academics seriously, and sent his own son to Columbia University where the boy excelled at both academics and athletics. He always stressed to his team the importance of getting an education. Skippy Karam, however, did not share his mentor’s enthusiasm for schoolwork. Even in the short time he played for Karam, Machado could sense the paradigm shift regarding education at Durfee, “Karam had little regard for academics. His attitude rubbed off on the guys. From Urban to Karam there was change in mindset in regards to academics.” It is in Skippy’s world and under his example that Chris Herren grew up. Of no help was that Herren also lacked grounding from the two principal institutions that defined Fall River: strong families and the Church. When asked if the Herren family was religious, Reynolds responded, “Not likely.” Herren’s family itself also had an ugly underbelly. According to Machado, during his one year stay in Fall River, “Billy [Reynolds] fell in love with Herren’s mother. I think they may have even dated for while.” When the author of the your own book is dating your mother, your home life is not going to be a reliable refugee from the pressures of your life outside.

I tracked down Bill Reynolds himself and sought his opinion on Herren. “The first thing you have to know,” he said, “is that in the time I was there, Fall River was a dying, old New England textile city. The only measure of pride they had was Durfee.” Conditions in Fall River were perfect for creating Herren. The town was struggling, Herren was a member of Durfee basketball’s First Family, he was a wizard on the court, everything came together to create a dream world in which Herren could float along free from molestation. Reynolds continued, “Times were different when Machado was there. Machado came of age in a time when everything was more put together. By the time Chris Herren got there, everything had unraveled, the school, the town, everything.” Fall River was broken, Durfee was broken and the people turned to Herren and his bright promise to mend everything and heal the hurt of a town gone belly-up. As Reynolds put it, “They saw him as their savior.”

Machado thinks the elevation of Herren by those in Fall River is not a unique situation, but rather another manifestation of a broader cultural shift in America as a whole. “Chris Herren,” Machado continued, “is an example of a change in American youth. He fell prey to pop culture that told him that because he was a star he could cut corners.” Although Fall River is certainly a unique sports culture, both Machado and Reynolds felt strongly that, as Machado put it, “Mass culture made Chris Herren, not Fall River or Durfee.” Sadly, this is all too true. I can remember very clearly several years ago picking up an issue of Sports Illustrated and there on the cover was a 16-year-old high school junior from Akron, Ohio named LeBron James. No less an authority than ESPN.com’s Senior National Sports Columnists Gene Wojciechowski has noticed this shift as well. In an interview with the class, Wojciechowski, affectionately known as Wojo, discussed at length how ESPN has contributed greatly to the spread of the cult of the high school sports star by its new policy of airing live marquee high school football and basketball games. This, he said, creates an heightened sense of importance and focus on young athletes who are not equipped to handle the attention that comes with all that coverage. This cultural obsession with high school athletes found its genesis at the same time Chris Herren began his Durfee career.

Machado feels most strongly that the Chris Herren’s of the world are being ruined by their own celebrity. “I don’t think we are doing America any favors by glorifying high school sports. It is a sad, sad thing to peak in high school and now with the message we are sending to high-schoolers that their athletic achievement now is as good as it is going to get, I see it more and more.” He continued, “I think it is a sign of cultural madness. I have no respect for a society that views high-schoolers in this way. Society gave Chris Herren a sense of entitlement and it ruined him.” Reynolds makes the point that while Herren certainly made his own choices, it is hard to blame him for acting the way he did. It would be impossible for most any impressionable seventeen-year-old not to think they were especially exempt from the laws of normal society when everyone he interacted with told him that he, in fact, was. So while Chrissie played for Durfee, he was a prince, he was everyone’s Golden Child. Yet even a Golden Child must grow up and begin to view his life objectively. Tragically for Chrissie, objectivity was not something he possessed after a lifetime in Fall River.

When he left Fall River for a basketball scholarship at Boston College, Herren became just another freshman. For the first time in his life, Herren was forced to live his life without his special status and he was woefully unprepared for the consequences it would bring him. During his very first game for BC, one in which he started, Herren injured his wrist on a drive to the basket. The injury was severe enough to cause him to miss the rest of the season. It was this injury that catalyzed the downfall of Chris Herren. Reynolds revealed that, “At BC, after the injury, for the first time in his life, he didn’t have basketball to fall back on. And it ruined him.” Without basketball, “Herren quickly seemed to lose his focus at BC, missing too many classes and showing little interest in his academic work . . . his friends from Fall River were visiting him at BC, his grades were declining and he couldn’t seem to put his hometown behind him.” The old siren song of the special life he lived back in Fall River reached him in Boston and he could not pull himself away and bear upon himself the responsibilities of life in the real world. After his flameout, Herren retreated far, far away from Fall River into arms of Jerry Tarkanian at Fresno State in California. Life in California as Bulldog was worlds apart from anything Chrissie had ever known in Fall River as a Hilltopper. Here, Herren began to use drugs heavily; in 1999 he held a press conference announcing that he was leaving the team for a time to seek treatment for his substance abuse. While playing for Fresno, Herren was also involved in a federal investigation into points shaving.

Herren was eventually drafted into the NBA and played several very unspectacular years as a bit player for the Denver Nuggets and Boston Celtics. His draft class featured such players as Elton Brand, Lamar Odom, Rip Hamilton, and Manu Ginolbili. They all made it . . . Herren did not. As Reynolds puts it, “He failed in the NBA not because of a lack of talent, but because of his self-destructive behavior.” In December of 2004, this behavior led Herren to a place no one had ever thought the Golden Child of Fall River would ever be. One early Friday morning, at a drive-thru of a Dunkin’ Donuts in Providence, Rhode Island, Herren was found unconscious, slumped over the wheel of in his car with empty dime bags of heroin strewn all around the floorboard by his feet. The irony that Herren’s ultimate downfall came not ten minutes away from where a decade earlier, he had been a living legend is a cruel sting. Herren’s police report looked ugly, like something from a bad gangster movie: driving while intoxicated, driving while in possession of a controlled substance, possession of a controlled substance, driving with a revoked license, and refusal to submit to a drug test.

The saddest part of his story is that even now, Chris Herren has yet to find a way to make himself whole again. Reynolds became friends with Herren during his time in Fall River and today the two still keep in touch. When talking about what his friend is doing now, Reynolds spoke in a pained voice. “He lives in a tiny town in Rhode Island, not far from Fall River. He works for the University of Rhode Island at a sports institute of some sort working with their athletes.” He continued, “Chris is struggling. He has a wife and two kids, but he is still struggling. It is much more difficult for Chris than I ever thought it would be. All the problems he has now, he had when he was a kid in Fall River, but basketball masked them.” Without the masquerade of the basketball court to hide behind, Herren was left to his own devices. With nothing else to fall back on, no family, no faith, no academics credentials to speak of, Chris Herren fell into ruin. And I could not be sorrier.

Epilogue
The Fall River of today is a far cry from the Fall River of Herren’s day, let alone Machado’s. Reynolds and Herren go back to Fall River every now and again and watch a Durfee game. Gone are the names that used to be synonymous with Durfee basketball: Herren, Karam, Attar, Machado, Pavoa, Callahan, names that can be traced back through the generations of Durfee basketball. Today they have been replaced, Reynolds says, mostly by African-American kids from outside of Fall River who grew up ignorant of the proud Durfee tradition. That old, magical connection between the town and the team is now gone. Skippy’s retirement following the 1995 season served as the last hurrah for the Durfee fondly remembered by so many. The teams today are “awful,” said Reynolds. The chemistry that the boys of old displayed from growing up and playing together in the youth leagues has been replaced by a selfish, individualistic ballhogs who can think only of their next dunk. The town itself has changed to; it is unrecognizable to Reynolds from when he first came in 1993. Machado puts it best when he said, “Fall River is a city without a center and constantly changes. I go back and there is nothing to hold me anymore.”

Leaving The Game

When I called around for this story, I got a few answering machines, a few frustrating days where I did next to nothing. More than a few of those actually. But I suppose that’s what you get when you're trying to learn something of your future from someone else's past. Those few moments of self-reflection were fitting, even if I didn't understand why. But, finally, that distinctive voice reached my ear from over the phone, saying, oh, yeah I got your message last night, what's this you’re doing? Things were booming, just booming, back in Morgantown. Construction's going well, the town's growing, his son was having fun at football practice.

It was my old coach, Jeff. I called him to see how he had dealt with leaving football. I know my own career is ending soon, and I wanted to see what it was like for him to leave the game he loved, the game he grew up with. The game he, like so many other people, grew up watching with his older brothers. Cheering for the Steelers and Chiefs on during the first half, then going out and playing the second half in the backyard.

He played football with his brothers until seventh grade, when he took his game from the backyard to the gridiron. The season only lasted two games, but it must have been a great two games, because he never went back to the backyard. At least not until his own playing days were behind him.

Jeff went on to play football in high school, along with a couple other sports at Conemaugh Township, a small single-A school in southwestern Pennsylvania. There were so few single-A schools they had to play up a division, and Jeff got to play organized ball with his younger brother for three years.

"Just being able to play with him," Jeff said, "that was great."

Funny story about that, when he was a junior, Jeff started at quarterback. When he was a senior, they didn’t have a tailback, so Jeff moved there and his brother played quarterback. He was a Parade all-America at linebacker that year, got recruited by some big time Division-1 schools, Stanford, Notre Dame, Penn State.

But his recruiting experience wasn’t really about the football. Jeff was a Mennonite farm boy from Pennsylvania, it was the first time he had really traveled around these United States. Jeff took a trip out to Stanford to see the sun set in the Pacific. He saw Notre Dame in the Midwest, mostly because they were playing his favorite basketball team, UCLA, at the time.

Jeff ended up staying close to family, close to those who first introduced him to the game. His two older brothers went to Penn State, so he chose to play for Joe Paterno and the Nittany Lions over those other storied football programs.

Football became a year-round thing for the first time in his life in college. In high school, Jeff said he’d prepare maybe a few months before the season began, but in college, the preparation began a month after the last season ended. He ended up transferring to West Virginia University, a little closer to his southwestern PA home, where he got the opportunity to play quarterback for a couple seasons.

Jeff played alright in those two seasons, leading the Mountaineers to victory over the ninth-ranked Oklahoma Sooners in his first game as the starter. But he felt the biggest challenge with all the expectations, all the commitment, was keeping up on your schoolwork.

"You really had to make sure you used your time extremely efficiently," Jeff said.

It's tough on a young man, coming from a high school where you played with your little brother, with your friends, to a college where "you’re a medium fish in a tank full of big fish." Even when you made the team, when you solidified your position, there was always someone breathing down your neck, Jeff said.

Even a school like West Virginia proved to be a far cry from the small high school he grew up playing for. Where he could switch off to tailback because his team needed him to, where it was more special to play with your little brother than to win.

"Playin' in front of 60, 70, 80,000 people and being judged, with your self-worth attached to how well you played," Jeff said. "As a young man…you had to figure out ways to convince yourself that that wasn't the case."

Everyone on the team was supportive of one another. It was a big family, he said, they all looked out for each other. And everybody got along with everybody else, even while competing against each other, like brothers.

Jeff played well enough at WVU to get invited to a combine. There were two at the time. He got paraded in front of everybody in his gray NFL shorts, shuffled through like a piece of meat in a process different from anything he'd ever experienced. Jeff did alright there, too, and was predicted to go in the first round. Experts determined that the first quarterback selected would either be him or Boomer Esiason. Jeff ended up getting taken after Esiason, by the Giants with the second pick of the third round.

"It's real frustrating," he said. "You just want to get drafted and move on to the next step in the process."

Jeff realized pretty quickly that the NFL was a lot different from college. There's no security in the NFL, you weren't competing for a position, like in college. You were competing for a job, a livelihood, and it was intense. But once you made the team, Jeff said, there was plenty of camaraderie. You become a family, joking around during practices. After the competition of training camp there's a friendly atmosphere around the team.

But the NFL is a job. If you don't work all year to keep up, you're cheating everyone. There are bigger, faster, younger players coming into the league with each draft. But it was the mental aspect, the amount of preparation that goes into each week, that was Jeff's biggest challenge. There wasn't any school work to distract you from the game, you were either in season, training to get in shape for the season, or in mini-camps and training camp preparing for the season as a team.

It was when the year-round season mentality began to take a physical hold that Jeff knew it was time to step back. His body wasn't able to recover from last season before the next one began. Then, the desire to put in the time to be mentally prepared began to slip. And when you aren't prepared for the NFL, you cheat everybody involved, and the guy who grew up playing with his brothers, looking after his college teammates, wasn't going to cheat his extended family. So Jeff stepped away.

Jeff's last name is Hostetler. It's okay if you don't recognize it. Few, if any, of my friends in college do. They only know him by what I tell them, stories of my old coach. That old guy, who still has an NFL-build, who challenged 17 and 18-year-olds to races and throwing contests, winning all of them. The guy calling me slow, throwing footballs at my helmet while I tried, fruitlessly, to pick it up before practice. Huddling us up before the half to draw up a two-minute drill in the palm of his hand (we scored).

They don't know about how he was a Parade all-America, about his spot on WVU's all-time roster, or his place in NFL history, how he lead the New York Giants to a Super Bowl victory in 1990 in one of the closest Super Bowls ever.

And that's what it should be: the past, a fun thing you were pretty good at back in the day, not your defining characteristic. It's just a game. Sure, it can be transcendent, but that's for people outside the game, who don't know the camaraderie of the locker room. Because that's what you miss. Not the flashbulbs and the rings. They're great, but you remember that time you caught a snapping turtle before practice and almost put it in one of your teammate's helmet, or putting an "I’m gay and proud" sign on Howie Long's license plate and watching him drive around Los Angeles without noticing.

Sometimes I wonder about how I would answer the question, who are you? Without fail, one of the first things that come to mind, after my name, is that I play football. I had hoped to talk with Jeff about how he dealt with losing that part of your life, that part that defined him for so long, too. But we got so caught up talking about different pranks and old stories that I didn't even have time to ask him that question.

Jeff's a busy man now, running a real estate development company, Three Arrows Development, Inc. The name comes from a passage in the Book of Psalms, about kids being a blessing like arrows to a warrior. Jeff has three sons, hence the name Three Arrows.

When I was interviewing him, he was at the airport, going somewhere, on business, vacation, I didn't ask. But he had to go before he could answer me. Now, going back on the story he told me about his life and his experience with football, I don't think he had to. He left football because his body couldn't take the punishment any more. He left, but football didn't leave him, because he never let football define who he was. Playing was always a just a game, what defined him was something deeper. It was the family. It was a brotherhood that was with him from his first day in the backyard until the last time he shut his locker.

And I think if he had answered me, he probably would have just smiled and given me a stock line about how it's just a game. You can't really explain what it is, what it's like to leave it. It's personal, the experiences and memories are to be treasured, but not displayed. Much like Jeff's ubiquitous moustache, it's a part of you. People can see it, you can't hide it. You just smile, and tell them it's just a game.

The Virginia Horse Center

Driving into the Virginia Horse Center in the middle of the American Quarter Horse Association East Coast Championships can be a daunting task. There is row after row of trailers, and how their separate owners tell them apart is incredible in itself because they all look suspiciously similar. Screeching to the necessary 10 miles per hour speed limit, the raw smell of horse waste sweltering in the heat fills any open-window car with a regrettable odor.

Careful where you step! And please, feel free to help shovel!

Such beautiful, graceful animals these horses are.

Everything Under the Sun Related to Horses

Quarter Horses are one of the three primary equine disciplines, along with Arabian Horses and Hunter and Jumper Horses. (Quarter horses are an American breed of horse that derives its name from its ability to sprint short distances; generally they can top other breeds in races of one quarter of a mile or less.) Shows featuring these horses usually require weeklong events and can feature anywhere from 500 to 600 horses. These events command time from virtually all staff, ensuring that the stalls are above average and the footing is good in the arenas. After all, exhibitors paying money to board their horses at the Virginia Horse Center want to know that their horses are well-taken care of. The staff works hard, too: beginning at the end of February, there is an uninterrupted string of weekends with something going on until Thanksgiving.

On such a busy day, the Virginia Horse Center is full of people hustling and bustling (yet somehow remaining slow-paced) and going this way and that way (although people at both ends are doing the same thing, namely carting their enormous pets around). Sometimes a dog walks alongside the horse and its owner, and sometimes a horse unfamiliar with that dog and its habitual barking will suddenly stop, let out a short grunt, and slightly haunch its legs as though it wants to buck. People sit and talk, or walk and smile past one another (competition!), or just sit and pretend that they are not bothered by the incessant barking of that dog. Out of nowhere, an older man whizzes by on a yellow… cooler? A motorized yellow cooler: the pinnacle of drinking and driving.

The Virginia Horse Center is set up like a small town. The residential area, or stables, are on the left when entering through the front gate. The area is riddled with one-way streets and stop signs. The separate stables are of various dimensions and quality. The commercial area, or trailer shops, are smack dab in the middle. It is a tiny community of its own, featuring the stylish last-minute necessities for every serious rider. The entertainment area, or event arenas, are on the right when entering through the front gate. The path is winding here, and people look focused on nothing other than winning by thinking of ways to make their horse's trot pattern more fluid.




The Stables

The Silverbrook Barn, donated by Helen K. Groves, features only the type of people that are sitting and talking. They are responsibly drinking beer, just laughing and reminiscing about the day’s events. In the back are horse showers, very similar to the ones in a high school locker room but just a little wider for its larger occupants. Birds fly in and out of the building, twirping and tweeting but bothering no one.

In a separate building slightly across the way, there are perimeter horse stables. Inside some, horses eat away at bags of feed or just stare outward with their muzzles resting on the middle bar of the caged doorway. Two showers are in the back of the room, and in the middle is a decent private practice ring littered with hoof marks. The room is so quiet that the sound of a horse lightly grunting on the opposite end of the room can be easily heard. Inside of Woods Hill (In Honor of Sol W. Rawls, Jr.), things are strikingly similar as before; the only difference is the lack of a private practice ring.

The Trailer Shops

There are four notable trailer shops in the middle of the Virginia Horse Center. They are temporarily set up at these championships to seek profit. They are, in no particular order:

Show Diva Designs: Exquisite Show Clothing. The letters are written on a black sign with bright pink letters, reminiscent of a fine gentlemen's club.

The Hitching Post Tack Shop, featuring shoes, saddles, and Hunt Coats at 75% off!

Harris Leather & Silverworks of State Road, North Carolina. Here there are a variety of goods on display outside, including boots, saddles, canvas pads, and stirrups.

Custom Tails: behind you all the way! (An assortment of multicolored pseudo horse tails hang from racks and give off a creepy vibe.)

The Event Arenas

At the J. North Fletcher Schooling Ring, casual-clothed people ride around at various rates of speed. Many are on their cell phones while riding, which seems begging for a nasty collision. They are riding for fun—either forgetting about a long day or just smiling and enjoying the pleasures of riding. Outside of the ring, people lean against the white railing and talk to one another. Every few minutes a horse brushes by so close that the observers can feel the small gust of wind created by its movement. Because the riders are riding for fun and form is not important, the sound of squeaking leather saddles can be heard from throughout the ring. With no roof, riders can also enjoy the pleasures of a beating and unremorseful sun.

Right next door is the Moore Arena, Dedicated by George and Emily Moore & Jennifer of Fincastle, Virginia. The roof combined with the cool breeze make it comfortable to sit and watch the practicing riders. These riders are wearing the full regalia: black show helmets, dark-colored coats and complementing light-khaki breeches, finished off with dark riding boots. For the most part, each rider is on her own and is practicing technique and warming up her horse's muscles. Then a woman yells from the entrance to the ring:

"Very nice and square, Emma, wow!"

She continues to casually but firmly throw instructions at Emma. Emma is hiding her embarrassment from the other riders as she continues to circle the ring.

"Good, that's better!" shouts the mother-coach.

The horses are extremely polished, beautiful animals. Most are light brown, a couple are gray with hints of black, some have braided hair and some simply have neatly-brushed hair. The other riders switch from trotting to walking, occasionally joking around with one another and ignoring the mother-coach's constant instructional showcase.

"Elbows by your side!"

The sound of hooves gently parading over the soft, crushed dirt is barely audible, but the sound has a certain touch of gracefulness that the riders can be proud of after years of practice. With each step the horses take, a small cloud of smoky dust rises, only to be carried away by the wind. Thanks to the shade that the Moore Arena roof provides, none of the riders appear overheated in their dapper attire. Sometimes the riders pass one another and throw quick glances at their competition as if to say "Hmmph, my form is farrr superior to yours."

Not to be outdone by the mother-coach, the sassy dad-coach begins to pace around inside the ring.

"Be smart about it! That's all you have to do!"

He is carrying a bag that is eerily similar to a man-purse, and his metallic voice sends a general feeling of uneasiness through Moore Arena.

The confines of the Howard P. Anderson Coliseum provide a welcomed sanctuary from the instructionally aggressive parents outside. It is cool inside, and the country music plays soft (but there’s nothing, really nothing to turn off). The dirt inside the ring is very smooth, soft, and light brown. The horses’ hooves cannot even be heard trampling over the footing, which is surprising given how dismally empty the 4,000 seat arena looks. There are four orange cones outlining a square in the middle of the ring. For this Amateur Exhibition event, the riders start at one corner of the square. They walk diagonally across the square, and proceed to a slow trot to the neighboring cone before walking diagonally across the square once again, ending at the fourth and final cone. The horse stops at this cone, walks a few steps backward, and then proceeds through the cone and lines up against the wall. The loudspeaker then instructs the riders to trot around the perimeter, shouting occasional instructions like "Walk your horses, please," or "Canter, please," and back to "Walk your horses, please," and finally "Thank you, exhibitors! Please line up, tails to the rail." The riders then guide their horses to the wall and face them toward the middle of the ring, waiting to hear the judges' scores.

"First place goes to Exhibitor 552, Potential Melody! Second place goes to Exhibitor 803, Easy To Be First!"

Emma, the rider from Moore Arena, placed fifth. She should have paid more attention to the endless instructions.

And so closes an eventful day at the Virginia Horse Center. The various exhibitors will fill the Lexington area with their presence, slowing the general flow of vehicle traffic and creating waiting lines at favorite local restaurants. And the horses, those magnificent and graceful creatures that potentially win their owners prize money, will wait through the night, confined to their cages, their only company being the orchestra of crickets playing in the grass fields of the fine 300 acre rural setting.

Coach Stickley

Stick loves baseball.

The office, small and quaint, is full of evidence: from the grey, framed picture of past players on the walls to the small collection of off-white baseballs resting on the desk, baseball is everywhere.

On this crisp, misty Tuesday morning when most of campus is still asleep, Coach Stick is already in his office on the fourth floor of the Doremus gym.

Stick. Coach Stick. Or just coach - but never Stickley. In fact, for as long as anyone can recall, he’s always been Stick. No one seems to remember that his name is Stickley – actually, it’s Mervin – Mervin Stickley. Coach Mervin Stickley has been here for 22 years now.

8:11 AM.

Coach Stick is always early to work. And on this particular Tuesday, he’s preparing for a road game to Bridgewater College, his alma mater.

"I’ve been asked this time and again," he said in a slow and calming southern drawl, "it doesn’t matter to me that we’re playing Bridgewater. We’ve played there many times – we won some and lost some. It’s nice to be back but I don’t care." And that’s exactly how Stick operates. As head baseball coach at Washington and Lee, as a P.E instructor, as a colleague and as a father – he’ll tell you exactly how it is and exactly what he thinks.

Unless it concerns himself –

He’ll say he "just wants to make the ODAC tournaments," and that he "coached for a few other places too." But there’s so much more to Stick than just that - his modesty tends to overshadow things.

As chairman of the Old Dominion Athletics Conference (ODAC) baseball coaches committee, he stands as the winningest baseball coach in the school history with 293 wins thus far. In addition to helping the W&L Generals to nine straight winning seasons, he has also led them to the ODAC tournament the last five years. He was named ODAC “Coach of the Year” in ’96, ’99, and ’03 and managed three players who went on to play in the minor leagues of the Atlanta Braves, Pittsburg Pirates and San Diego Padres.

One Michael Hanson, who is amongst the three drafted to the minors, recalled an argument he had with Stick while still at W&L: "he told me, he said 'Feel free to come to my office anytime. Come tell me what you think, I’ll tell you what I think, and we’ll do what I think.'"

"Stick is the best coach I’ve ever played for on any level," he continued. "He never lost sight of the big picture – he is the funniest, nicest and most consistent."

Stick is consistent, alright.

Stick only has two rules for his players and he is consistent about them: come ready to play and play hard. And that means: going to practices, tucking personal matters away when on the field, no drinking 24 hours prior to games and no mental mistakes.

He hates mental mistakes.

"Stick really doesn’t tolerate mistakes, especially mental mistakes," explained W&L senior and catcher, Dan Harris. Harris, hailing from Longwood, Florida, has been with Stick for four years. "The mound visits can be pretty intense, I’ve seen a lot of them – that’s because of his intensity towards the game, though he has only been thrown out of the game three times in his life - and he always defends his players. As long as you don’t break the two rules and disrespect the game, you’re fine."

Last season after the Generals swept a doubleheader at an away game, Coach Stick gathered his players together before the bus trip home. But before praising them and recapping on the wins, he decided to address something else first: he had heard rumors that some of the players had been drinking the night before and wanted to remind them of the rules, of the consistency he expects out of them.

Then he went right back to a seat in the front of the bus. Stick always sits in this designated front seat with his walkman, duffle bag, briefcase and a clipboard that he always notches onto the front of his sweatpants. That’s Stick alright – the clipboard in front of the pants – that’s Stick doing his own thing.

The players reconvened in the back of the bus, put on a movie, and revived the chatters. Stick doesn’t care. They played two great games and he said what he had to say. And that’s Stick, in essence – as long as things are taken care of on the field, off the field business means little. That is, until a raunchy scene of the selected movie, "The 40 Year-old Virgin," appeared. Stick got up from his seat, turned it off and offered no words.

Although Stick is strict with his rules, he also willingly seeks other opinions and readily admits to his mistakes.

"The program progressed in a way where better players are being recruited and you can rely on them – Stick trusts his players," said sophomore and pitcher, Jim Plantholt. "He seeks our opinions, especially the seniors."

"During a game, Stick would ask me what I’d think of so-and-so’s performance – especially for pitchers, he’d ask if I thought they have any stuff left, things like that" continued Harris. "He does this with all the seniors, he really value our opinions, particularly the captains of course."

But once, during a particular poor performance, Stick lost it. Be it mental mistakes or just sheer bad luck, the Generals weren’t producing runs and the pitching staff was mediocre at best. For the rest of the game and for the usual post game gathering - out of frustration - Stick reprimanded the team and let out a string of colorful phrases in response to the results of the game. No one was offended and no one was surprised.

The following day, during practice, he got the team together and announced: "I’d like to apologize for yesterday. Now I’m not apologizing for what I’ve said – but I apologize for how I’ve said it." They weren’t surprised about this either. Because that’s just Stick – he knows himself and he knows people.

"Stick really knows how to handle people," said Plantholt. "He understands people, whether it’s players, empires or coaches, he knows how to work with them and get the best out of them."

Former W&L Student Athletics Director, Mike Walsh agrees: "Stick is the most down to earth, unpretentious person. Players love playing for him – he doesn’t let the trappings of athletics get to him, he’s in it for the right reasons."

Aside from the game, Stick really loves his Schlitz, his bluegrass music, and most importantly, his daughter Sarah Elizabeth - who is a prestigious Jefferson Scholar at the University of Virginia.

"Stick raised a genius daughter," exclaimed Walsh. "Stick and Sarah used to watch the Andy Griffith show, Stick’s favorite. And they’d try to figure out the show just from the music."

Sarah, part of University of Virginia’s class of 2011, was an active member of her high school band. Stick went to all of her concerts.

"You really don’t hear much about Stick’s personal life," said Harris. "That’s just not his style. Every once in a while, he’d tell us he’s leaving early to go to one of Sarah’s concerts – but that’s about it. That and he dressed up as a hamburger at the athletics department’s Halloween party this year."

It may not be Stick’s style – but Daphne, his wife, still makes the team cookies. Oatmeal raisin cookies, to be exact. Good oatmeal raisin cookies.

Stick can’t get away from the sport and he knows it. It’s part of his life. It is his life.

When asked what else he’d like from the school considering that a new stadium was recently built for the team, Stick answered the question very thoughtfully after just a brief moment of consideration:

"Lights," he said. "Some lights in the stadium would be nice."

Stick loves baseball.

Rob Lindsey

Three time All-American lacrosse player— Two time captain of lacrosse team— Washington and Lee Hall of Fame Athlete— Freshman Athlete of the Year— Four letters in lacrosse, three in football—These are remarkable accomplishments but they hardly pay tribute to the athlete and person that was Rob Lindsey.
Lindsey came to Washington and Lee in 1972 and was a starter for the Generals in both football and lacrosse. In football he was a hard-nosed running back who gained 598 yards and 10 touchdowns over a three year career. In lacrosse, he was a rugged defenseman who finished his career with three goals, one assist, and 162 ground balls during four seasons. Lindsey’s freshman year he was part of the 1973 team that went through the regular season undefeated and advanced to semifinals of the NCAA Division I tournament. His sophomore year, Lindsey earned Honorable Mention All-American honors, leading the Generals to yet another undefeated regular season and a second NCAA semifinals appearance. The following two years, Lindsey earned First Team All-American honors leading his team to the NCAA tournament for the fourth consecutive season. While these statistics and awards speak volumes of Rob’s athletic legacy, he is mainly remembered for his extraordinary character.
Fellow teammates and coaches remember Lindsey as a hard -nosed competitor. In their eyes, he was truly a special, one of a kind player. Lindsey was able to distinguish himself from other athletes not necessarily based on his athletic ability, but with the overall intensity that he competed with. Chuck O’Connell, assistant lacrosse coach recalls the intensity and toughness that Lindsey played with on the field. “Rob did whatever it took to get the job done. He was very intense, tough-minded player. He was physically and mentally very tough,” O’Connell states. His teammates also recognized this focus and persistence that made Rob the outstanding player that he was. “He was one of the most intense people I ever met. Rob was extraordinarily competitive, whatever he engaged in, he attacked with real intensity. Whatever he latched on to he was going to get it done, and get it done the right way,” comments fellow defenseman Jim Farrar, another Hall of Fame athlete.
Undoubtedly, Lindsey’s greatest attribute on the lacrosse field was his ability to smother an opposing attackman, basically taking him out of the game. His head coach and fellow Hall of Fame inductee, Jack Emmer, describes his suffocating style of play. “He was a great, great defenseman. He was a guy that would take an assignment and do it to the nth degree. Attack-men hated playing him because he was like a bad smell, you just couldn’t get rid of him,” Emmer says remembering how Lindsey used to hound opposing players. Emmer adds that “he could close guard like no other,” and was “better than any other player I have ever seen at shutting down attackmen.” Lindsey’s teammates labeled him a shut-off man. Farrar claims, “An attackman didn’t breathe all day long when Rob was matched up with him. He was quick and had a lot of endurance. It was almost like he was physically attached to him and he just kept on hammering him the whole game.”
Lindsey guarding an attackman from the University of North Carolina
Two NCAA tournament games against rivals John Hopkins at their Homewood Field epitomized the way Lindsey played the game. In the semifinals of the tournament in 1974, Lindsey was matched up against the Blue Jays’ attackman Jack Thomas. Thomas was widely considered the best player at his position in the country and would go on to set the single season scoring record in 1974. Before his election to the National Lacrosse Hall of Fame, Thomas was a three-time first All-American and captain of the U.S. National Team. Although the Generals ended up losing the game 11-10, Lindsey completely locked down Thomas, holding him to zero goals and zero assists. O’Connell remarks, “This was really the benchmark of Rob’s career. To shut down a player like Jack Thomas was really unbelievable.” Farrar and Tom Keigler, a National Lacrosse Hall of Fame athlete and two time first team All-American, were also impressed, but not surprised by Lindsey’s performance that day. “Jack Thomas was easily the best attackman in the country at the time. That Semi-final game against Lindsey was the only time he was ever shut out in his whole career, but knowing the magnitude of that game, we knew Rob would get the job done,” Farrar comments. Keigler adds, “Yeah, what Rob was able to do against Jack Thomas was really remarkable. The amazing thing was, not only did he do it that year, but the following year he did the same thing against another All-American attackman from Hopkins, Mike O’Neil.”
Indeed, in the quarterfinals of the 1975 NCAA tournament, W & L again found itself playing Hopkins at Blue Jays’ Homewood Field. In this game, Lindsey was matched up against Mike O’Neil, a freshman at the time who would go on to become Hopkins’ all time leading scorer, a three-time first team All-American, and National Lacrosse Hall of Fame inductee. And just like the year before, Lindsey managed to hold O’Neil to zero goals and zero assists. Probably the most noteworthy aspect of these unprecedented performances was the manner in which Lindsey was able to accomplish them. “The thing about Rob’s play against Thomas and O’Neil was the he did it in such a way, you wouldn’t even notice. It’s not like he was constantly taking the ball away from these players, they couldn’t even get open to get the ball!” remarks Coach Emmer.
Despite all the praise for Lindsey’s play and competitiveness on the field, it was his overall demeanor and the way he carried himself off the field is what those closest to him remember most about Lindsey. Not only was his work ethic unparalleled, but he was a motivated, team-oriented, and very coachable player. He was always willing to do whatever made the team better, as evidenced by his team’s incredible 49-14 record over the 4 years that he started. He was known as selfless, unassuming player that never sought any recognition. It was this selflessness that stood out most about Lindsey to his coaches and teammates. Farrar explains, “He never wanted to call any attention to himself. It was almost painful sometimes because we were always trying to do something for him, but he would never let us. Lindsey always was trying to do things for other people.” This desire to stay out of the limelight did not go unnoticed by his coaches either. “Rob would do what you want him to do day in and day out and would do it without glory,” says Emmer.
Emmer remembers another incident that was representative of Rob’s selflessness. Emmer came to Washington and Lee during Lindsey’s freshman year, when he was competing for the starting defensive job. Although Emmer did not recruit Lindsey he notes that the two struck up a fantastic relationship almost immediately. “Rob and I really hit it off right from the start. He was such a coachable kid and a hard worker, it was hard not to be appreciative of him,” explained Emmer. By the start of the season, Lindsey managed to beat out returning, upperclassmen starter John Rodgers. While this was not particularly easy for Rodgers to deal with, Lindsey was very considerate of the situation and made an effort to strike up a relationship with John. Although either player could have held a grudge toward the other, they ended up becoming good friends for the better of the team. “Rob really opened himself to John and they were able to develop a great relationship. It really helped John deal with the whole thing and really ended up helping out the team,” claims Emmer.
Lindsey’s dedication to his team was evident all four years as he was both revered and respected by his teammates. He was known as a terrific worker and practice player who always came to work and get himself and his team better. Lindsey was truly a leader who led by example. He was not known for being “rah-rah” or giving fiery speeches. Keigler remembers, “He worked very hard to get the most out of his abilities. He was not the most talented in his stick skills nor his overall field knowledge, but he was extremely focused and determined and consistently gave 100% effort, in practice as well as games. Because of these qualities, his teammates looked up to Rob.” This admiration by his teammates was demonstrated by Lindsey’s status as a two-year captain, a rarity at the time (and currently) for any sport at W & L, but particularly lacrosse. This was just another testimony to the fact that Lindsey was looked up to by both the younger players on the team and those older than him. “For Rob to get elected team captain as a junior says a lot about how much everyone on the team looked up to him, including the seniors on the team. He was really the ultimate team player,” says Emmer.
Lindsey’s unselfishness and commitment to those around him was apparent off the field as well. Those who knew Rob described him as a “quiet leader” around campus. Although his parents could afford it, they made Rob pay for his room and board and as a result, he had a part-time job in the dining hall in exchange for his food and he was a dorm counselor his junior and senior years. His senior year he was the assistant head dorm counselor. These experiences exposed Lindsey to younger students and provided him with opportunity to be a leader on and off the field. Although Lindsey was a social person and member of Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity, he was not particularly known as a party guy. He was popular and well-liked among his peers, but could not be described as an arrogant person. Doug Chase recalls, “Rob was truly a nice person. He wasn’t a nerd or a jerk; he was just a good guy. He was a good looking guy too, with a great smile, but you never saw him playing that up either. He had every reason in the world to be cocky, but you never felt that he was gloating about anything.”
Following his graduation from Washington and Lee in 1976, Lindsey returned to his high school Alma matter at McDonough in Baltimore where he taught and coached lacrosse for two years. Following this short tenure at McDonough, Lindsey dove into the business world and carried with him the same values that led to his athletic success in college. Farrar states, “Rob really showed that there are shared values in athletics that can translate into a good life. His competitiveness and teamwork abilities led Rob to have a successful business career. He was a shrewd businessman and a tough negotiator.” Lindsey demonstrated his tenacity and determination in the business world as he revived two struggling companies. As the chief financial officer for Freuhauff Trucking Company, he took over at the helm for this ailing franchise and helped turn it around into a productive business. Following this venture, Lindsey took over a struggling software business in Northern Virginia and turned it into a very profitable software provider whose clients included IBM, Bell South, and T. Rowe Price. Clearly, Lindsey had an extraordinary sense of determination and intensity that prevented him or anything that he was involved in to fail.
Despite all his successes, there was one thing he couldn’t defeat. As healthy 52 year-old, Rob was tragically diagnosed with non-smokers lung cancer in the fall of 2006. Lindsey’s diagnosis came as shock to most people, especially since he was in good health at the time, even able to go skiing out west shortly after his diagnosis. He received treatment in early 2007, but took a turn for the worse later that year and passed away on November 27, 2007. Yet, even while Lindsey was in the battle for his life, his selflessness and concern for others always managed to shine through. Keigler, who was the last non-family member to visit Lindsey, recalls his sincere compassion for others during his final days, “Whenever I or anyone else went to visit Rob, we would talk about him and how he was doing and his treatment for about ten minutes and then Rob would change the topic of conversation. He always made a point to ask about everyone else’s families and kids, when the focus should have been on him.”
Following Lindsey’s death, O’Connell claims that, “Everyone’s first reaction was to do something in his honor. He was such a great guy; he definitely deserves to be remembered.” During the 2008 lacrosse season, the Generals have sported a sticker with Lindsey’s initials, RFL, on the back of their helmets to commemorate the former defensive standout. Current lacrosse head coach Gene McCabe comments, “Our team is proud to pay tribute to Rob's career at W&L. Each of our players understands the kind of player and person Rob was. The helmet decal we wear is a reminder to us each day of how the game should be played and how each of us should live our own lives.”
Rob Lindsey
Further, with the construction of a new football and lacrosse stadium at Washington and Lee, it seemed only fitting that an anonymous donation in Lindsey’s honor was made for a permanent memorial on the field’s turf. Preliminary plans include a black disk with the Lindsey’s initials and his number, 11, juxtaposed in white. While these are honorable and appropriate tributes to a great player and an even better person, those who knew him best contend that Lindsey would have been against such things. “There is no doubt in my mind that Rob would not want any sort of memorial in his name. He was a very humble person and never sought the limelight or any recognition for his accomplishments,” O’Connell says. Farrar and Keigler both agree as well that the whole idea of a tribute to Lindsey is something that he would never want, but see it as a fitting memorial for such an outstanding person. Likewise, Chase asserts that “Anything that honors the memory of a good and decent person is appropriate, especially for someone who has never asked for it,” referring to the proposed field memorial.
Rob Lindsey was able to represent Washington and Lee as a great athlete and an even better gentleman. With a memorial in Lindsey’s honor, his athletic legacy will certainly not be forgotten. Hopefully his legacy as a remarkable person will not be forgotten either.