What a lousy day.
I just couldn't get on it today. I had intentions of going to Ed Couch-Elsa High School to meet with the director and students from Llano Grande, a program that provides tutoring, mentorship and an advanced sort of college preparation. After spending an hour and a half patching not one, not two, but three inner tubes, I finally made it to the high school.
Nothing really materialized from the meeting, however. I spent hours half-working, half-waiting for an opportunity to speak with the director that never came to pass. That I could handle. What drove me nuts was the ride southward to Weslaco soon after. About four miles away from Elsa, I ran over a nail--and not just any nail. No, this was a bloodsucking vampire nail with bulging red eyes and horns.
This nail sliced clear through the inner tube and, within seconds, my back tire was a flopping mass of vulcanized angst. After a few more turns of the wheel, I stopped, got off my bike and started to patch the tube. I thought that I was doing pretty well (I had both sides covered up quite securely, thank you) until I discovered that vampire nail had left not two bite marks upon the hapless victim but about eight--one for each revolution past the initial puncture.
To make this long, overwrought story short, I tried to McGyver another few patches with a piece of rubber from an undisclosed source. Keep in mind that I had all my belongings with me at the time. Along with an athletic tape jimmy, I had the tube functioning until I found out that there was a gaping hole underneath the nozzle of the tube as well. That damn vampire!
I walked to a gas station and waited for about an hour and half until a true saint gave me a lift back to the place I had stayed the night before. This was after two other people had pledged to me their undying allegiance--that they would go to their inner sanctums (homes, I guess) and soon return with inner tubes lathered in onions and patches sprinkled with holy water. I never saw them again, vampire cultists.
I arrived at the Llano Grande house soon thereafter, jumped on the computer, and promptly threw away two hours of my life until one of the guests offered to take me out for dinner.
I had a really good dinner. The company was really nice.
If I ever see that vampire nail again, I'm going to lop its head off.
What a lousy day.
The rub of it was that there was so much going on in the high school and community that I failed to notice. The school was almost literally buzzing, with everyone dressed in their black and yellow and talking about the "big game.” The 4A Ed Couch-Elsa High School Yellowjackets were playing a 5A team from Corpus Christi in the first round of the state football playoffs. Apparently whatever the high school officials had put in the water to help the students academically had also affected their football skills. Not only were their young scholars making headway into Ivy League universities but also their football team was undefeated, two years running.
This football game was a big deal. The district let all of the students out early for the day. When I say all the students, I don't just mean those in the high school. I mean the junior highs and elementary schools as well. The district had to coordinate bus schedules for the band, cheerleaders and football team, so they let everybody out hours earlier than usual.
Administrators might not have had to make these changes if they had played a game in the Rio Grande Valley, which would have make sense: the Valley is large enough to provide "neutral" stadiums halfway between each town. So, of course, somebody decided to play the game in Laredo instead--about sixty miles west of Elsa and a lot farther from Corpus Christi. From what they told me, opposing teams were afraid to come into the Valley and play. The people here take football that seriously.
An example: while I waited in front of a gas station for someone--anyone--to rescue me from Vampireville, I eyed an older couple that could have been sympathetic to the cause. After pitching to them a desperate plea, the driver just laughed at me. "You see, we can't take you that way," he said. "We're going this way. We're going to the game." We're going to the game? Couldn't he see that my very soul was being sucked dry at that very moment, waiting in that perilous netherworld? "Sorry. We're going to the game."
Consider also the guy with whom I spoke at a Little Cesaer's. He graduated from nearby Donna maybe ten years ago, but he could tell you everything you ever wanted to know about the only team from the Valley to ever win a state football title: the 1961 Donna Redskins. He knew the quarterback (his former coach), a running back (a relative) and the many players to come (more relatives). Football is a family affair in the area--a tradition, an heirloom passed from generation to generation.
Everybody goes to these games. Students, teachers, aunts, grandparents and the folks above. The convoy from Elsa to Laredo wasn't a spirit chain: it was an exodus. Back at the high school, a fire alarm continued uninterrupted for an hour after everyone had left. The whole school could have burnt down while everyone was at the "big game.”
At least they'd still have their football.
In the words of one woman, it's the only thing they have in Elsa. Week in and week out, the Friday Night Lights become the center of their social universe. There's nothing else to do.
"And what happens when those lights go out for the season?" I asked her.
She looked at me and laughed. "Basketball season."
I imagine that some students take a stab at their books too. Now if only they could do the same with vampire nails...
The Yellowjacket of Ed Couch-Elsa High School. That weekend the 'Jackets were victorious in their playoff battle against the Porter Cowboys, 35-28.
No comments:
Post a Comment