Yes, it's that time again. These days, it seems like I make a trek to small-town America to learn about the local team. There isn't an overwhelming amount of talent in the areas I primarily cover these days — the Olympic Peninsula and South Sound. A "big kid" is 6-foot-1, 230 pounds. Coaches implore their athletes to work as hard as possible and strategize to cover their team's inherent disadvantages. Facilities range from modest to dilapidated.
It's a much different scenario than I experienced the last few years in Bellevue. People like to compare the differences between the eastern and western portions of the state, but all you have to do is take a 90-mile drive down the freeway to see how striking they are in the Puget Sound region. On the Eastside, the facilities race that has become so prevalent in college football is readily apparent. I once saw a booster hand a coach a four-figure check so he could pay for the passing machine he just had to have for his wide receivers. There also is the famous $50,000 salary Bellevue boosters paid Butch Goncharoff.
There also was a striking difference in many of the athletes. It's not uncommon to see a 6-6, 280 prospect on the Eastside. Every year I worked at the Journal, there were multiple marquee athletes that UW and WSU didn't want to lose. Some of these kids worked just as hard as the smaller, less talented players outside the area. Others were coddled and wasted opportunities others would love to have.
As to which is better, I'll defer to a player I interviewed today about his team changing leagues: "Football is football."
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OK, first of all, when you marry a copy editor, you should know that she's going to notice when you hyphenate heights and weights when you're not supposed to. Only hyphenate as an adjective. And then once you have learned that, you can go tell the sports reporters at my paper, too.
I am glad you're getting a taste of real football. Watching those little WASPs rolling up to Bellevue High in their BMWs is not the image that comes to mind when I think of high-school football. The schools you used to cover are such "machines" that I have to wonder how much joy the kids really get when they're constantly under the microscope and under pressure to be the best at everything.
Then there's real high-school football. (To clarify, I'm not saying it isn't real in Bellevue or Mercer Island, but it definitely has a diamond-crusted edge to it.) I think of kids, having a good time, getting muddy, making tackles, getting hurt ... when they're not too cool to cry over a lost game or get excited about making it to the playoffs. You know, when football is still for love of the game.
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