A Few Yards Shy of Heaven
by
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The emotion and gravity of the situation coursed through the South Heaven fans. Both sides, visitors and Rangers, stood on toes, probably praying to the Lord for salvation, yelling encouragement, or simply ingesting the aura. As soon as the clock dragged to the half minute mark, Young Robinson took the second down snap and rolled past the tackle box to his right. “Ah Lord, here we go,” chimed Old Man Schmidt. Squaring his shoulders to the line of scrimmage, with Knause only steps away, Young Robinson fired toward the back of the end zone. A collective gasp from the South Heaven faithful shook the Summit, as the pass sailed over its target. South Heaven was still alive…and I was near wearing out my welcome. "Wally, I knew this two and naught record was too good to be true.” The ruckus resumed as Young Robinson brought the Monarchs to the line on third down. He surveyed a 4-4 defense, and appeared to begin an audible. I suggested play options to Young Robinson. Knause and his men held their ground, failing to bite on the quarterback's change of plans. Robinson took the snap and darted for right end; a sprint option with Rust as his pitch man. A seam appeared at the void, granted by the Ranger defensive backer, and the quarterback assumed the advantage, planting a cleat and tucking the ball. We lost sight of Young Robinson and the ball. Our eyes shot to the line judge…no touchdown signal. Fourth down. For those of us whose heart, mind, and soul had been punished by the pounding waves of emotion, Coach Brewer signaled for a stoppage of the clock. His staff attempted frantically to retrieve the Monarch players who had stormed the field in anticipation of raised arms by the referee. Ten headache engendering seconds remained in a game of two separate halves. South Heaven, the team that the second half had abandoned, had boots in the seawater, protecting precarious inches of beachhead they called home. Dexter, with either a make-up change or butt-chewing under their belt, charged out of the locker room and was one yard away from not only completely owning the second half but winning the battle and justifying Old Man Schmidt's belief in the curse. No one sat. Young Robinson brought to the line two tight ends and a full house backfield. He faced an odd eight man front harboring three linebackers within feet of the line of scrimmage. Two bruising formations of football years past were set to do battle; two foes whose participants dug their cleats deeper and deeper into the chewed turf of the trenches. Staring down the defense, Young Robinson's head bobbed with the cadence calls. I could feel the overwhelming thud of my heart rattle its cage. The noise bursting from the home stands had grown atrocious and overbearing, as hundreds of feet thumped the concrete and cowbells poisoned the air. Suddenly, a commotion stirred in the center of the line. Young Robinson scoured the turf in search of a loose football, as the ends of the lines collapsed into a heap. The pigskin became lost, until out of nowhere emerged the boy who would become the hero of the night for the Rangers. Like a devastating earthquake, a roar vibrated Gottmann Field. Chugging and churning, bumbling and stumbling, Blaine `Teddy Bear' Manning, the largest member of Coach Waddell's team, had a pair of blockers with him and turned the entire sidelines and grandstands into one lump of mass hysteria. Without height and at two hundred and sixty-five pounds, Manning had the physique of a swollen water balloon. He carried the ball like a ticking bomb, and had to be pushed along by teammates. "Good God Almighty, Bear's got the ball!” By the time any Monarch sensed his surrounding, it was far too late. "We're gonna win! We're gonna win! Teddy Bear stole the ball!” I was certain Blaine had never run farther than the length of the diving board to complete a cannon ball. By the time he reached the Dexter thirty, Manning was being held up by his lead blockers. "He's at the twenty!” Once he reached the fifteen, Manning's only pursuers had relented, but his teammates on the bench were streaming down the sidelines with helmets swinging in the air. "He's at the ten! He's…at the five! Touchdown! Touchdown! Touchdown Manning!” Wally was done. The moment Manning crossed the goal line, he fell to the turf. The entire South Heaven team leaped on the big boy in celebration. From every corner of the stadium, fans flooded the field.
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About the Book
A Few Yards Shy of Heaven smothers the canvas with a litany of hues that convey the mastery football has on its fans, players, and coaches. Beyond entertainment, the game possesses the ability to completely altar rational thought. Although it crosses various levels of achievement, the heart of the game beats strongest at the high school level, where pageantry is by-product of town identity. A Few Yards Shy of Heaven details one aberrational championship football season for the people of South Heaven, Ohio. In 1980, South Heaven is struggling to overcome hardships and a deplorable economy that is forcing family-owned business to close, pushing unemployment to record high levels, and creating a general malaise of sorrow. The people find resolute escape in the unexpected and amazing success of their hometown Rangers. Melvin Wright is an outsider and young reporter assigned by a large Cleveland paper to cover South Heaven. Although his professional task is to write a story on the closure of the auto plants, Wright allows his personal agenda to overwhelm logic; expressive resentment toward the people of western Ohio. Wright holds the people responsible for his recent assignment to nowhere, and possesses an awkward sympathy for those in South Heaven desperate to leave. Mostly from spite, he develops an appetite for the surreal fascination the South Heaven faithful have in their team, despite a lack of a viable economic future. As days turn into weeks, Wright cannot avoid misfortune, and as such, cannot leave western Ohio. He is forced to endure a football season in small town America. However, as those weeks turn into months, Wright is transformed spiritually and begins to wallow in that same surrealism, only he discovers that the fascination is not about football but more about the sensation of home and small town life.
About the Author
Immensely proud of his Ohio heritage, Kevin has always had a desire to study the history of the Buckeye state. Beyond the written word, though, he knew the true history of Ohio could only be found in the recollections of its people, first hand. Thus, Kevin undertook a project to visit and explore all 88 counties. However, Kevin is as much a fan of football as he is a history buff, and before setting the project in motion, decided to combine his two passions. Knowing of and having experienced the tradition of high school football in Ohio, Kevin ventured from village to town to city, throughout the state in search of those citizens who knew and adored the game. From fans of all sorts and articles from small town newspapers, he collected anecdotes and tales of yester year on the game's greatest and most interesting players, contests, coaches and traditions. The greatest of stories in Ohio amateur sports will forever revolve around the overachievement of the underdog. As a first-time author, Kevin has an emotional commitment to the sensation of being an underdog. He parlayed all of the various true accounts of unforeseen and implausible success and pride into one fictitious team and town and their improbable season.