"Where Fillmore County News Comes First"
Thursday, January 29th, 2015
Volume ∞ Issue ∞
- 8:37:09, Jan 28th 2015 - state medalist - Good post, love it! ... [Read More]
- 6:36:47, Jan 28th 2015 - blueberry - With 90 vendors it sounds like there are lots of antiques! ... [Read More]
- 6:33:07, Jan 28th 2015 - penny4yourthoughts - I don't think that they lack good sportsmanship at FC, I just th ... [Read More]
- 1:48:35, Jan 28th 2015 - Harmony Rocks - Whatever....I drove behind the school the other night, and watched a ... [Read More]
- 7:13:43, Jan 27th 2015 - state medalist - Yes u r right penny4for your thoughts....good sportsmanship, that's ... [Read More]
- 8:08:51, Jan 26th 2015 - REDHORSE51 - COACH VIX? NOTHING BUT A CLASS ACT! CONGRATULATIONS AND MANY MORE. ... [Read More]
- 8:35:52, Jan 26th 2015 - doc - Great. Now to get more antiques in there. ... [Read More]
- 6:25:24, Jan 26th 2015 - neighbor - Who do u think you are...fountain farmer....seen your other posts you seem ... [Read More]
- 6:23:31, Jan 26th 2015 - whatever - Fountain farmer because the cops don't care. And want to show how disrespe ... [Read More]
- 1:46:02, Jan 25th 2015 - FountainFarmer - whatever and neighbor, what do you think you're trying to accomplish ... [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.