Of Tigers And Indians And Football, Oh My!

Dear Boo and Bubble,

We have entered an exciting new phase in the world of football – the very first playoffs between the top four teams in the country.  This year Alabama will face Ohio State and Oregon will battle Florida State for the right to play in the inaugural national championship game early next year.  (I, for one, am glad to see this system and hope that it will be expanded to eight teams in the future.)  Already the intensity is building as fans of these schools begin their boasting and taunting on social media outlets – and, conversely, the supporters of the schools that almost made it publicly decry their unfair fate and lick their wounds.

There is no doubt that football, of all the sports viewed in the U.S., produces the most rabid of fans.  One only needs to experience the last Saturday of the regular season, now aptly dubbed “Rivalry Weekend,” to understand this phenomenon.  In my life, I have lived in two places that would be considered a hotbed for such crazed people – Greenville, SC, the major population base for the Clemson University Tigers and your mom’s birthplace, Gaffney, SC, home of the Gaffney High School Indians.  On any given Friday night or Saturday afternoon, a distinct amount of irrationality pervades these two places which accelerates with every win and can only be tamed by a loss.

Great Granddaddy Schaefer wrote about this very thing over 20 years ago.  Before I share his words with you, there are a few things you need to know:

1) Granddaddy went to Furman University in the 1930’s when their main rival was Clemson.  At the time, Clemson had not yet exploded into the behemoth of a place that it is today.  The student bodies were more comparable and the athletic teams very evenly matched.  Granddaddy played basketball for Furman and his years of competition with the Tigers left him with a disdain for Clemson that was so strong he passed it down genetically to his children and grandchildren – one being your mom.  (Your dad, however, is doing a good job leveling the genetic playing field with the two of you.)

2) Thirty-three years ago, in 1981, Clemson won the national championship in football by beating #4 Nebraska in the Orange Bowl by a score of 22-15.  The Tigers were voted #1 by the both the Associated Press and United Press International polls, the method used back then to determine the champion.  This was a very proud moment for the school – one which fans will never forget, nor let anyone else do so.

3) IPTAY is the athletic booster organization for the Tigers.  The acronym originally stood for “I Pay Ten (Dollars) A Year,” back when $10 might have bought something other than a Starbucks Latte.  Who knows…… with inflation today it probably translates into “I Pay a Thousand A Year.”

4) Clemson is a member of the Athletic Coast Conference which includes doormat teams (at least at the time this article was written) of Duke and Wake Forest Universities.

5) Earl Clary was a Gaffney native and contemporary of Granddaddy Schaefer’s who played running back at the University of South Carolina.  Captain and I lived with your mom and Aunt Bee in Gaffney for almost ten years. We spent many a Friday night in the throngs pulling for the Indians.

6) I don’t think your dad, or any of my other Clemson friends, will mind me sharing this with you now.  The Tigers beat the Gamecocks so resoundingly this year, nothing can hurt the feelings!

Rabidness of Football Fans Remains Constant

The Greenville News

January 24, 1993

When a friend is grieving, he needs to be consoled.  I have a short, fat friend, who is deep in the valley of the shadow of gloom.  He has not lost a loved one, his business isn’t threatened with bankruptcy; in fact, his family is healthy and doing well, his business is flourishing, and he is shooting three strokes under his handicap.

So, what is the source of his grief?  His beloved Clemson Tigers had a losing season on the football field.

Now that’s that kind of grief I can really help him with.  To comfort him, I told him he should be proud of the Tigers; that they did something this past season that was unbelievable.  He wanted to know what.  And I told him it takes real talent to be last in a football league that has both Duke and Wake Forest in it.  (As I said, that’s the kind of grief I can help my friend with.)

This is the same friend who introduced me when I gave a talk to the downtown Rotary Club.  How he did build me up!  In glowing terms he described all of my supposed accomplishments; how I had enriched this community; how I had practiced law with great integrity; how I taught at Furman for 50 years; how Mary and I raised three outstanding children.  You would have thought he was blowing up the Goodyear Blimp, of which he is perfectly capable.

But, he said, I had been cruelly denied the one academic achievement I had striven for the most, the one thing I desperately yearned for and coveted.  He paused for pragmatic effect; the Rotarians were breathless with anticipation.  “Schaefer wanted above all else to be tapped for membership in IPTAY, but was denied the honor because his SAT scores were too low!”

Leaving my prepared talk, I told the Rotarians I recently had a dream that I was living in the year 3500 A.D.  It was unbelievable how things had changed.  Cities were under atmospheric bubbles that made the temperature constant year around.  There were no shopping malls; with purchasing done after viewing the merchandise on television-order computers.  There were noMcDonalds, Hardees or Starvin’ Marvins; a balanced diet was compressed in a pill so no time was wasted eating.  There were no highways as the automobiles were jet powered, so there were no billboards.

I saw not one familiar thing – with one exception.  On one of the space cars was a bumper sticker that read, “Clemson, 1981 National Champs!”

Football fans come in all sizes and denominations but have one thing in common, they are rabid.  You think Clemson is bad with all those cars headed to Mecca on Saturday morning with their little flags of Tiger Paws.  But Clemson fans are mild compared to those of the Gaffney High Indians.

Several years ago my daughter and her family lived in that town which produced the storied Earl Clary and his siblings.  Mary and I were visiting Beth and John, and since it was Friday night, we all went to the football game.

It was more than a sell-out, so many people that everybody only got ¾ of the regular space on the bleacher for a seat.  Squeezed in next to me on my right was a grandmother who was into the game so intently I asked if she had a grandson playing.  Not taking her eyes off the field, she held up two fingers.

It was a close, hard-fought game and my granny seatmate fought the hardest.  With only two minutes to go, Gaffney was behind 6-0.  The opposing team punted, and the
Gaffney receiver ran the ball back 75 yards for a touchdown.  The resulting roar that erupted rolled up I-85 as far as Charlotte.

The teams lined up for the extra point.  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched my octogenarian seatmate.  She crossed her fingers, she crossed her arms, she crossed her legs and sat there as tight as a Congo drum waiting to be beat.  The ball was snapped, placed to the ground, the kick went straight through the uprights.  She looked heavenward, and passionately whispered, “Thank you, Jesus.”

I wondered what the grandmother on the other side of the field said.