We almost lost photographer Bob Minenna to the sport of high school football.
Yeah, he’s several decades beyond eligibility and it’s quite likely all manner of chaos — along with a lengthy investigation — would have ensued had he tried to take the field. But Bob was ready, inspired by the fiery words of legendary NFL coach Bill Cowher.
You see, Cowher traveled to Middletown last week to meet with the young Mustangs. Football coaches are expected to rally their players with a few well-chosen words before each game and again at the halftime break — although honestly some prove better at this than others.
We remember the likes of Knute Rockne (“win just one for the Gipper”), Bum Phillips (“Go out there and give it everything you’ve got, then just a little bit more”), Tony D’Amato (“On this team we fight for that inch”) and Herb Brooks (“This is your time. Now go out there and take it”).
OK, OK — Brooks was a hockey coach, and delivered his lines before the U.S. team faced off against the Soviets in the 1980 Olympics. And D’Amato is fictional, played by Al Pacino in the film “Any Given Sunday.” I couldn’t remember any locker room speeches by football coaches other than Rockne and Phillips.
Well, at least any that fit within community standards of decency.
But clearly whatever Cowher told the Middletown squad and our photographer rose to Rockne-D’Amato decibel levels. Bob called from the practice field anxious to suit up. Two days later, the Mustangs broke a losing spell, edging Kelseyville.
That’s the power of a speech, a lecture, a few stirring words.
Over the weekend I read that efforts to end the traditional classroom lecture now extended into history and the liberal arts. Critics of the practice refer to it as passive learning and wish to nudge students to more “active” forms, which generally involve computers or problem solving groups. Yet the study of history involves bits of evidence woven into arguments that often require extensive and nuanced explanation. Words, in other words.
And, we should all know the power of mere words, delivered without graphics, apps or a musical score — if not from the locker room, at least from our brushes with the past. Who in this country isn’t moved when they hear “We hold these truths to be self-evident,” “The torch has been passed to an new generation,” “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!” or any number of other “passive” calls to action?
George Washington — not known for oratorical skills (perhaps because of a spotty smile) — quelled a potential rebellion against Congress among his officers with an incisive speech. Before battles, kings or queens would ride along the line setting the cause for battle in terms calculated to spur men to inspired deeds. Elizabeth I at Tilbury before the Spanish Armada comes to mind, as does the terse reminder offered by Leonidas to his 300 Spartans before the final clash at Thermopylae.
Sunday was St. Crispin’s Day or the Feast of Crispian on the old Medieval calendar. William Shakespeare crafted a rousing declaration for Henry V before Agincourt, ending with “And gentlemen in England now a-bed / Shall think themselves accursed they were not here / And hold their manhoods cheap whilst any speaks / That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.”
When Kenneth Branagh delivered those lines in the 1989 film, I was ready to grab a sword and launch myself at the French knights.
It’s a good thing I didn’t join Bob for Cowher’s speech. If it was as powerful as he said, I might have reached a helmet — and been carted off the field shortly afterward in immediate need of reconstructive knee surgery.
But these are just lectures, words spoken by one person to a supposedly passive audience listlessly absorbing the information.
Clearly Henry V, Ronald Reagan and all the rest would have found greater success if they formed their audience into groups and pointed to Wikipedia.
