This is one of those rare years in Alabama when summer actually left the building when it was supposed to. Normally, autumn would be hanging around outside, twiddling her thumbs, while summer barricaded the door, continued to wreak havoc, and refused to leave.
The cooler weather certainly makes for much better carnivals, festivals, and parades, but the main reason I’m always glad when cooler weather gets here is for football. I’m not talking about the fans, although I’m sure the folks in the stands enjoy it. I’m glad for the players wearing all those pads and stifling helmets.
I played football from pee-wee through varsity, and I hated practices in the summer. We played on the old field at Sylvania, before the new one was built, and there hadn’t been grass there for years. We called it the “Dust Bowl.” You could literally stare out over that dusty terrain and watch the heat rising from the ground like the ghosts of summers past.
In those days, the varsity players stayed after school and fed us before the game. It was always the same meal: some kind of processed cube steak and veggies. While the other players complained about the meat-by product, I loved it. The veggies, not so much. But I had never eaten out, so this was the closest thing to it.
As we ate, the coaches went around and set a huge orange pill beside each person’s tray. It was a salt tablet, and we all had to take one. They always set two by me because I inherited my dad’s ability to sweat in a snowstorm. But it was the loss of salt that everyone back then, including doctors, believed was dangerous. In fact, we were always instructed not to drink too much during the games. Of course, we now know it’s the loss of fluids that can kill you.
It’s amazing that it took doctors this long to understand dehydration. It reminds me of that scene from the short-lived spinoff sitcom, That 80s Show, where the doctor is examining a 12-year-old boy. The doctor is actually smoking a cigarette during the exam, which makes the boy cough. The doctor looks alarmed and says, “I don’t like the sound of that cough.”
By the time games and practices were over, I could pour liquid from my shoes. When my uniform dried, it looked like my jersey had been drug through the Utah salt flats. That still happens. But I make up for salt in too many ways. After my kidney stones, the doctor told me to lay off sodas and salt. To which I asked, “How am I going to have my peanuts and Coke?”