Football

First-year Eagles player is a champion at last

Hernando Times police reporter Duane Bourne, a Hernando Eagles rookie, is keeping a diary of his season. This is the last installment.

By DUANE BOURNE
Published May 6, 2005

As a kid, I got my start dodging tacklers and gypsy cabs on the streets of Brooklyn, N.Y.

A mediocre high school running back, a so-so college cornerback, I walked away from the game I loved without experiencing the ultimate glory.

Now, four years later, here I was, in the biggest game, on the biggest stage of the Southern States Football League.

Last Saturday night at the Florida Citrus Bowl in Orlando, the Hernando Eagles semiprofessional football team held the Miami Magic City Bulls scoreless until the fourth quarter. But after a late flurry of touchdowns, the Eagles found themselves trailing the city boys 15-14.

The clock ticked down to a few seconds - just as it does in every boy's gridiron dream.

I had waited an eternity for this moment, and it had come down to this: I crouched down at the 40-yard line; a pudgy kicker with, literally, a golden boot (a gold Nike cleat) lined up behind the ball.

In those frozen moments, under the stanchion lights, bodies baked in what felt like a sauna.

For one team, the shouting was about to begin, but at this particular moment everything went silent.

I closed my eyes. Then came the thud. My eyes opened just quickly enough to see the ball float through the uprights.

Yankees broadcaster John Sterling could not have called it better. "The Eagles win. Theeee Eagles win."

Game over, 17-15.

My teammates beat their chests, marking their turf. They flapped their combat-worn arms like wings.

A champion had been born. The Eagles had stolen the magic and won Rice Bowl V. Not the Super Bowl, but the experience was stratospheric.

During warmups, the trash talk had begun at the 50-yard line. The unbeaten Bulls, in their Deep South accents, proclaimed that this day they would vanquish the "country boys" from Brooksville.

Seven months of practices and 10 games were all behind us. No more finger-pointing about missed workouts or warnings that "the offense better put up some points this weekend."

Game on.

The DVD player in my head was recording the defensive stands and stalled offensive drives. There were many of each, I'll tell my kids someday.

After deciding last fall to resume my lackluster football career, I learned that dreams are dreams only because they haven't happened yet. This was a dream no longer.

I learned what it takes to become a champion.

I hustled to make 7 p.m. practices. The transition from mild-mannered cop reporter to super bench-warmer/special teams player probably would have gone smoother had my bat phone not rung so frequently with questions from editors.

I wrote an occasional diary about the season on the sports pages. In it, I came to grips with my limited role - 8 minutes in 10 games, plus time on the field with special teams. I counted.

The Eagles were a loose team, full of veterans determined to win before retiring from the amateur circuit, and a coach - former Houston Oilers receiver Ernest Givens - who coined slogans like "Scared of success."

The Eagles miraculously came together as the season stretched through close games, bad calls by referees and me being knocked into a fetal position by a player named Juicy.

Everyone was tagged with a nickname: PYT (Pretty Young Thing), Lurch, Sleepy, Bubba and One-Yard-Line Joe. The Three Stooges manned the offensive line. I answered to St. Pete Times, perhaps to remind my teammates that I was more adept at chasing stories than wideouts.

The fact that defensive coordinator Rick "Milk Dud" Munford refused to stop calling me that name for "blown coverage" is all destined for memory now.

Chances are this euphoric feeling won't go away soon.

I keep replaying the winning moment: I open my eyes, drop my helmet and raise my hands triumphantly toward the heaven.

That's when the shouting began. "Da champ is here! Da champ is here!"

Finally, a champion.

[Last modified May 6, 2005, 00:38:16]