"Where Fillmore County News Comes First"
Tuesday, November 25th, 2014
Volume ∞ Issue ∞
- 8:03:53, Nov 24th 2014 - FountainFarmer - Doc, Why do people like you have to turn stories that don't have ... [Read More]
- 7:13:36, Nov 21st 2014 - FountainFarmer - doc, why do people like you think that every story needs a sense ... [Read More]
- 3:50:54, Nov 21st 2014 - Frank Wright - Does the author of this article realize it is not April 1st? ... [Read More]
- 3:03:32, Nov 21st 2014 - Roberto - That IS a stereotype on Libertarians from extreme right-wingers BTW. See ... [Read More]
- 5:10:46, Nov 17th 2014 - doc - I'm surprised conservatives aren't picketing there for their war on women. ... [Read More]
- 5:09:30, Nov 17th 2014 - doc - Is it illegal to push THEIR snow into the street though? ... [Read More]
- 4:16:40, Nov 15th 2014 - Gudrun - Ralph's burial at Arlington National Cemetery is scheduled for February 12, ... [Read More]
- 4:47:53, Nov 7th 2014 - KingslandGrad95 - Hey winters coming, why don't you take your concerns to that of the ... [Read More]
- 6:43:44, Nov 6th 2014 - winters coming - Tell Fillmore central in harmony that it is against the law to push t ... [Read More]
- 11:34:53, Nov 3rd 2014 - Tom Kaase - First of all, thank you again to Editor Jason Sethre for allowing people ... [Read More]
Fri, Nov 29th, 2002
Posted in Columnists
Posted in Columnists
My family and I made the trip to the championship game last Saturday. My kids, ages three and seven, had never seen the Metrodome. They speculated before our trip about how big it would be, and whether they’d see any Minnesota Vikings or Twins just hanging around.
I don’t know, offhand, the dimensions of the Dome, but we proved that it is big enough to hold the entire community of Rushford-Peterson in just three of its sections. My attention during the game was frequently diverted by trips to the bathroom, and breaking up duels between kids using big, foam #1 fingers as swords. But what a game. I felt so proud of everybody, from the players, coaches, cheerleaders and danceline, to the loyal hearted fans, and I’ve only lived here for three years. I know the names of only a few players. I can imagine that lifelong residents were nearly bursting. I saw a button on a woman that said, “Football Mom.” In a way, we all got to be football moms and dads that day. I thought about how so many of us in my generation graduated from high schools that no longer exist, either due to the wrecking ball, or consolidation of districts. I thought about how these high schoolers, maybe especially the seniors, will talk about this day for the rest of their lives. Your school didn’t just have a good football team, you went to the playoffs. And you didn’t just go to the playoffs, you won! After the victory and presentation of the trophy, many R-P fans stayed to watch the Kingsland game, which I thought was quite neighborly. Since our kids were antsy, we decided to walk to Nicollet Mall and see the Dayton’s (okay, okay, Marshall Fields) animated Christmas display. We waited in line so that the kids could tell Santa Claus (the real one for we were in The Cities) their most urgent Christmas requests. Santa said optimistically, “I’ll see what I can do” just before the picture was snapped. Their faces, above the gold, Rushford-Peterson shirts, radiate their hope that Santa will come through. They slept the entire way back to Rushford. We will all be talking about this state championship for a long time. The following morning in church, Father Kulas began by congratulating the team and coaches.. I knew, without looking, that Coach Reinhardt and his family were seated in their usual spot near the back. Up ahead, I could see the back of Assistant Coach Koenen’s head as he sat with his family. And then I noticed, seated just ahead and to the right, one of the R-P players. I had been focused on this particular player at the moment the game ended because, while all the players were jumping, smiling, and waving helmuts in the air, this player seemed to jump higher, and with more abandon. He leapt and skipped toward his coaches, the mythic hero returning home. If I remember correctly, he even turned a couple of near 360's in the air. Joy personified. I still smile thinking about it. And here he was the following morning, in church. I wanted to walk over and hug him for those high leaps in the air. But he is not so old that he shouldn’t still be leery of strangers, maybe grabby women in particular. So instead, I hug my own son who, miraculously, is able to resist his three year old urges to shove and struggle for just a moment, and he hugs me back. I whisper, “thank you,” and he answers, “you’re welcome.” Thanks for allowing us to experience that pride, coaches and players. And in a world too often filled with reminders of sadness and the evil humans are capable of visiting upon one another, thank you, Number Eighty, for reminding us about joy.