The Fall of Fleming

It may have truly been the last day of fall in Eastern Colorado.  Blue skies, bright sun and warmth covered the fields and grasslands of the plains in a last gasp of autumn's goodness.  Winter waited just beyond the western mountains to sweep in with snow and wicked, skin biting wind.  But this day no dirt devils danced among the corn stalks and the empty fields showed a hint of green winter wheat.  A group of horses played on a large pile of dirt along the edge of the highway.  On the road heading east is a well-worn classic Cadillac convertible.  The driver sports a black shirt, shades and sweet Elvis-like sideburns. We slide slowly by him, our minds struggling to capture this slice of the 1970s and its place out here on the prairie.  Passing someone at all turns out to be no small feat in a VW Westfalia van.  As the road unwinds before the tires, the snow covered brilliance of the Rockies slowly recedes in the rear-view mirror.

The Westy belongs to my brother-in-law.  The passenger list includes my almost four year-old twin nephews, their grandpa, my brother-in-law their dad and yours truly.  We were following what is quickly becoming a familiar refrain around this blog; going east toward the forgotten parts of Colorado for another taste of 6 man football.  Oh but I had ulterior motives.  How would city kids do in the other America?  What would they do when a kid wearing cowboy boots yanked their football and wouldn't give it back? How do you react when you get stuck on the highway behind a loaded, heavily fouled cattle truck? Whats are fries and shakes like from a legit roadside burger shack?  What is is a grain elevator?  Ah; so many questions that needed to be answered.

As an E Pluribus consumer you have no doubt read with great fascination about some of my previous forays into the world of 6 man high school football.  So I wont subject you once more to the minutia and nuances of the game.  It's vital however that you understand the magnitude of the struggle we were hoping to witness.  Our recently adoptedfavorite Fleming Wildcats were set to face off  against their hated foe - the Eads' Eagles.  The 10-0 'Cats were up against the 9-1 Eagles for a spot in the Colorado 6 man state championship game to be held a week later.  So not quitethe game for all the marbles but important none the less.

And now a few words about the buzzing metropolis of Eads, population 609.  Well that's it really, their is nothing more to say.  OK sure it was named after a railroad engineer, is almost in Kansas and I saw quite a few cowboy hats on their sideline.  Sorry no semi famous people.

We did stop for hardcore road trip grub in Keensburg at Benny's Burgers.  The fare is is mostly fried, wrapped in waxed paper, heart attack-inducing goodness.  Gramps amazingly put away two cheeseburgers, fries, Sprite and a shake.  The rest of us set an around-the-clock stroke watch on him and settled for shakes.  Needless to say by the time we trundled into Fleming the festivities were well underway.

The crowd around the Mike Sonnenberg Memorial Field had swelled considerably since my last visit. All of Fleming and the surrounding farms seemed to be represented, and the visitor stands were full of the purple and gold of the Eads faithful.  Three hours is never to far to come to root on our boys they seemed to announce.

By the time we had peed in a field behind the van and squeezed through a hole in the fence Eads was up on Fleming 24-16 in the second quarter.  Both teams "marched" up and down the field with varying degrees of success but the score remained the same at halftime.  Hordes of kids, my nephews included, rushed the field for impromptu battles of their own while the tiny Fleming band wobbled through a couple numbers.  Grandpa sat in the warm sun and ate a huge soft pretzel with mustard. Would we need a body bag to bring him home?

No one could have known that the game was already over.  In the second half Eads stymied Fleming with suffocating defense while adding to their own tally.  Fleming briefly brought a swell of hope to the home stands with touchdown, but the Eagles answered with one of their own.  As the time ticked down the hopes and dreams of one small town withered on the bright windswept grasslands.  But with each death comes life and championship hopes to another tiny hamlet.

The Eagles mercifully put the 'Cats season to rest with a couple gentlemanly kneel downs as time expired. There was prayer, handshakes and many hugs from proud coaches and parents on both sides.  The Fleming faithful lingered for a long time at the fifty yard line, not wanting the season to be over.  Kenny Chesney's "Boys of Fall" wafted through the late afternoon air.  One of my nephews tackled the other in the end zone as a man took down the American flag from its perch.  Honestly I could have written a dozen country songs right then and there.

We pointed the Westy back toward the city and the setting sun.  Four of us were hungry and looking for dinner but gramps said he didn't feel good and wanted to go home.