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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781504973489 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 01/27/2016 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 254 |
| File size: | 5 MB |
Read an Excerpt
Ball Girl
Sports Scribe in a Skirt
By M.G. Potter
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2016 M.G. PotterAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5049-7349-6
CHAPTER 1
Hey, y'all!
My name is Lisa Patterson, and I am a sports writer.
When you think about it, maybe we should ll be in some kind of 12-step group. But I've never abused substances except for sweet red wine for about two months once, so I guess the best one for me might be "Oversleepers Anonymous."
Anyway, I'm Lisa, and my driver's license reads Lisa Michelle Patterson Parker. I changed it last summer to match my voter card so those idiots at the polling places don't mess with me. In 2016 they're still rying to suppress women's votes, you know.
Well that's actually just my legal ame, but in my heart my fullest name is actually Lisa Michelle Patterson Bernstein Parker. I'll tell you more about that later.
When I look at the really big picture I've been about the luckiest girl I know, although I have been through a lot of rough times. Since I've never met a Nobel Peace Prize winner I can easily list the four most wonderful men I have ever met, and I've been married to half of them. Literally.
First there was my dad, Tommy Patterson, who has been my hero as long as I can remember. Then there was my college sweetheart Josh Bernstein, a young man I still love with all my heart today. And there was Durham State basketball coach LaFonza "Fire Bug" Jefferson, who was almost like a grandfather to this blue-eyed white girl when he died three years ago in his sleep at age 91.
And of course my husband Billy Parker, who has a hard time believing me when I tell him he's still my dreamboat - except on those nights when all the stars line up and I'm finally able to remind him.
All of them are gone now except of course Billy, who has somehow put up with me for 26 years. And he has been a great father to Betsy Lynn, who is now in law school at Wake Forest, and Tommy, who will finish his engineering degree at Georgia Tech this spring.
Now I guess I should tell you why Coach Jeff was so special to me. It's going to be a long story.
I had been working at two small-town newspapers that came out between two and four times a week for three years when I finally got the job at the Courier.
Maybe I was lucky, because I had had a couple of classes at William & Mary with the publisher's daughter Cissy. We were friendly, but our circles didn't really intersect much. But it turned out that she and my freshman roommate were going through rush for the Alpha Kappas - they were kind of the soccer girls' sorority and I ran into him in the lounge at the end of the hall.
I was just going to pass though, but I gave him a little smile and a nod and said, "Hey!"
Everybody with any connection to North Carolina knew who R.B. Spellman was. He had run for Congress in the Sixth District when I was 16. He lost the Democratic primary by about 114 votes after that long recount and they eventually got two more years of that racist fool Louie Dickerson, Jr. "Little Dickie," as we used to call him, was just like his stupid father Sheriff "Big Lou" Dickerson, who had stood in the schoolhouse door in Yadkin County to prevent the only three Black kids in town from attending the only local high school.
But getting back to the point, Mrs. Spellman had run away with her husband's campaign manager two weeks before the primary and had somehow gotten the Dominican Consul in Charlotte to assist in getting her a quickie paper divorce.
She had been Miss Tennessee USA when she was young, and I think she had been in a "Girls of the SEC" thing in a 1962 Playhouse Magazine that had Jayne Russell on the cover.
"What's your name, young lady?" Mr. Spellman asked.
"Lisa. Lisa Patterson."
"What are you studying?"
"I'll probably end up in history or sociology ... something like that, anyway."
"So you want to be a teacher or a professor in a few years, huh?"
"No, I actually I want to work for a newspaper. We don't have journalism classes here, but I have written one story for the Beacon already and the editor said he thought it was good."
"What was it about?"
I laughed, "About the co-ed intramural volleyball tournament during orientation. It turned out it was the first time anyone could remember that the freshmen had beaten the sophomores."
"Well, good luck with that," he said with a chuckle.
And then he kind of squinted.
"It's just crazy, but you kind of remind me of Cissy's mother when she was your age."
Now there I was, wearing a baggy sweatsuit with my hair up in a messy ponytail and my backup glasses with the scratch over the right lens. And Emma Jean Smith Spellman may be a witch, but there's no doubt she's got amazing cheekbones, the silicone slut. I wasn't about to point out to Mr. Spellman that at least mine are real.
"Well, if you say so," I said with a silly grin. "Thank you. Now I hear that Bonnie is finally out of the shower."
Of course, my roomie had spent like 2 ½ hours getting ready for the football game and looked like she was ready for a cover shoot.
"It was nice to meet you, Mr. Spellman. Have fun at the game!"
"You too. Lisa, right? And good luck on that sports writing career."
"Ha ha!" I chuckled, knowing there were about three women in the country writing sports for decent newspapers. "I'm probably going to end up writing obituaries and may work my way up to city government."
Then I finally got in the shower myself, and 45 minutes later I was ready to go cheer!
I think he remembered me seven years later when I showed up at the downtown office of the newspaper to apply for that opening in the sports department. I found out later through the grapevine that he had told the sports editor Tony Galetti that he had to hire me and see if it worked out. And somehow I survived 12 years of Tony before he got fired for bartering his two $100 tickets to the ACC Tournament that only media could buy for $1500 worth of clothes at Tillman's. That was a great day.
Tony - who would often allude to at least knowing someone who knew someone who was in the Mafia - obviously didn't like the idea of having a woman in his sports department. So, the way I look at it, he decided to haze me, and it didn't work.
Lucius Robertson had been covering the BIAC - that was the black college conference with the famous basketball tournament in Virginia - as a stringer for I think nine years before the argument. I didn't know Lucius much, and I think he was about 50 at the time. But he was kind of a rough-looking guy from the street and I knew it wouldn't be good if he ever happened to come by the office and overhear one of the racist rants that sometimes came out of Tony's mouth.
Lucius had brought in a typewritten story about the Panthers winning a volleyball tournament, and about a minute later I could hear some raised voices and Lucius gesturing. Tony eased the door shut, but right after that Lucius came out the door, yelled, "You honky son of a bitch!" and slammed it back shut. I never saw the man again.
When I got into work the next morning carrying my usual cup of tea, Tony immediately called me into his office.
"I've got a promotion for you!" he said with that stupid grin.
All I had done in that first week was cover the finals of a kids' baseball tournament and started work on some high school football previews.
"I need someone to cover Durham State and the BIAC this season, and right now you're all I've got."
"Well, I've never even been to a game in that conference and don't know much about it. But if that's what you need me to do, I'll do it. I guess football is football and basketball is basketball."
I certainly didn't want to, and was gritting my teeth when I walked out of his office and went to the ladies' room.
And then I looked at my reflection in the mirror and couldn't help laughing. I hadn't been used to getting up that early, and had forgotten to put any mascara on my left eye's lashes.
DSU went 5-6 that football season as I got a heaping serving of BIAC culture.
The Panthers' first basketball game on November 26 was at home against some team called Central Christian College that wasn't even a member of the NCAA. Derek Sitterson scored 47 points that night, and the Panthers won 116-46.
I found out that night from Mr. Robinson that Coach Jeff got his nickname from something he had done in PONY Baseball back in Alabama. It seems he had seen a baseball "bloopers" video where one pro player had set another's shoelaces on fire. So he decided to do the same thing to the starting pitcher - who happened to be the coach's son, of course - while they were sitting on the bench with a 10-1 lead.
The story went that the fire was bigger than he thought, so he and the backup first baseman quickly picked up the bucket of orange drink and poured it all over the other kid's white knickers. Fortunately, nobody was hurt. But a good portion of the juice apparently got all over the coach's right leg, and after the game LaFonza Jefferson was asked to turn in his uniform. He quit baseball and played AAU summer basketball the next five summers, which undoubtedly helped him get his basketball scholarship to Alabama State.
Anyway, the next game was two nights later at St. Daniel's in downtown Raleigh. That school, just coming off a two-year probation in all sports, was in about the toughest part of town, and Cowell Gym which Coach Jeff called a "ghetto box" - looked like the next thunderstorm might blow the place down.
I made sure I got there when it was still light out and I took my seat in the gym 45 minutes before the women's game started. We hardly wrote anything about women's basketball back then, and DSU's team was just awful.
The men's team came into the gym with about five minutes left in the first half of the women's game and St. Danny's up 30-10.
Coach Jeff looked at me and chuckled.
"I see you came back, little lady!" he exclaimed.
"I did," I replied with a smile. "Good luck tonight, Coach!"
"We might need it in here."
By the time the men's game started, that rathole was about 200 over capacity. And I was about to get some major culture shock.
The P.A. announcer asked everyone to stand for the National Anthem, and then the tape started playing an unfamiliar song - at least to me. I figured it was probably the Black National Anthem I had heard about. Now "Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing" is a beautiful song I can now sing by heart. But I had no idea back then.
About 20 male students scattered around the gym were raising their fists in a "Black Power" salute during the song. And when it ended the two referees headed toward the circle for the opening tip. I guess nobody was going to do The Star-Spangled Banner. I sometimes wonder if that song is played too much anyway, considering how many crackly tapes and off -key solos I've heard over the last 40 years. But anyway, I suddenly noticed I was the only white person in the building.
With 8:57 left in the game, DSU was up 71-67 when Sitterson was fouled pretty hard. How it wasn't a two-shot foul was beyond me. But he missed the second of a one-and-one to leave him with 29 points, and in the scramble for the rebound somebody - I swear I saw a No. 43 even though there was no 43 on St. Danny's roster - elbowed Derek above the right eye and blood started rushing down his face.
The benches emptied immediately, and so did the home student section on the other side.
Coach Jeff noticed me out of the corner of his eye and pointed to both of his managers. "Get this young lady out of here!!"
The two guys took me by the arms and practically sprinted to the DSU locker room before closing the door and wedging a rusty folding chair against it.
Fortunately, nobody followed us. But the room had no windows, and we were all three dripping with sweat when things finally calmed down out there and we heard Coach Jeff beating on the door.
The 6 p.m. news the next day said that 18 people were arrested, 13 taken to the hospital and four were admitted overnight. And the police were trying to determine if a fatal shooting around midnight on Capital Boulevard had anything to do with the fight.
The BIAC and the NCAA decided to cancel the score from the game and have the two teams play a full game eight days later at an undisclosed location. Coach Jeff told me we were going to be riding for a while and to follow the team bus in my beat-up primary red Chevette. Six police cars prevented anyone else from DSU from leaving campus. Apparently the same routine happened at St. Danny's.
The teams met at Barton College in Wilson, and they played the game with nobody watching other than five female cheerleaders from each school and me. There was good sportsmanship all around, and DSU ended up winning 85-62. Derek apparently wasn't hurt that badly, because he played 32 minutes and finished with 16 points and nine rebounds.
The next Monday DSU was ranked No. 19 in Division II. They made the semifinals of the conference tournament and got a surprise NCAA bid, but they lost in overtime by two points to Maryland Tech in Salem, Virginia. Tony wouldn't let me make the trip, the jerk.
Sadly that summer Coach Jeff 's wife Erma, a really pretty, and really very large lady died unexpectedly. Miss Erma was a Deaconess at the Fifth Street AME church, and she sang the national anthem at DSU a couple of times each season. The whole DSU community was shocked when Miss Erma had a massive heart attack and died the night of July 4. That time I was glad Tony, who was always looking for attention, stepped on my beat and covered the funeral. I went home for the weekend.
I was over at the football office in late August that year. When I got there I saw Coach Jeff walking down the hall and quickly clip-clopped my way down the hall to catch him.
"Hey, Coach Jeff !"
"Well, hey there, little lady! I see you're still around," he said with a laugh.
"I was so sorry to hear about Miss Erma."
He took a deep breath and said, "Thank you, little lady. I lost my mama three years ago and my wife this summer. I really don't know what I'm going to do."
"Well, let me know if I can do anything. ... Oh, I wanted to ask you something - everybody around here calls you either 'Fire' or 'Coach Bug.' Which do you like better?"
"You can just call me Jeff . And by the way, I wanted to say I've been reading your baseball stories all summer. I think you're one of the best writers I've seen around here for a long time, Lisa."
He alternated calling me "little lady" and Lisa for the rest of his life.
Then for some reason, he hugged me and kissed me on the forehead. And the hug from the big man really did feel good.
Jeff it is.
CHAPTER 2Genesis
Now that the intro is over, I guess this would be a good time to tell you more about my family.
My brother Justin is two years younger than I am and we were pretty close growing up. So, he just turned 55 (I called and gave him grief about that one!) and can get discounts in restaurants when he takes his wife Mary Ann, Jessica and Justin Jr. out to dinner.
I don't know how a boy who probably never took a bath and brushed his teeth on the same day until he was 15 managed to do it, but he's married to a great girl who has taught fifth grade at the same elementary school for 23 years.
Betsy Lynn was a little bit like him in the hygiene department when she was little. Until her 10th birthday when I was finally done and told her she needed to be responsible for herself, I would get into the shower with her every other day for a good hair washing. Me of course stark nekkid, jiggly wet Irish ta-tas and all. I was pretty ticked off about it at a lot of the time, but at least the routine always seemed to lift Billy's mood. Anyway, the girl didn't change her underwear without prodding until she was 8, when she finally started after I needed to have an eyeball-to-eyeball about treatments for possible infections in her lady parts.
Mary Ann and Justin have always had more money than Billy and I do. Back when we were kids, Justin always wanted to be outdoors while I was inside simultaneously reading a book and listening to Chicago or Linda Ronstadt. And when Mary Ann's grandmother left her $17,000, she and Justin apparently put it to pretty smart use. They now own three boating, fishing and camping stores in the Greater Springfield area, and his online commercials with his family are always a hoot!
My baby sister Lucy, who was born when I was 13 and always had a head full of luxurious chestnut hair, got really lucky with money. The summer after high school graduation she was working at a chain restaurant called "Boomers" where all the girls wore pink tanks and hot pants as mostly 40-something men consumed too much bar food and guzzled beer. The marketing scheme was that there was a $5 membership fee per person per day folded into the check, and all women of any age along with men under 16 or over 25 had the $100 minimum waived. Anyway, I guess it came from Granny Flo, but needless to say none of the women in my family have any trouble filling up a bra. So she was Queen Bee in that place.
Lucy had barely turned 19 the night of the College Football Championship when 24-year-old Lawrence Joel "Trip" Richardson III, whose dad had inherited $82 million after his own father the restaurant billionaire died, walked in all ticked off that his snobby fiancée had just broken up with him. Lucy said his eyes were still red from crying - he had had only one tall pour of dark Irish beer - at 1:15 a.m. when they had to close up.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Ball Girl by M.G. Potter. Copyright © 2016 M.G. Potter. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Dedication, v,Foreword, ix,
Introduction, xiii,
Chapter 1, 1,
Chapter 2: Genesis, 13,
Chapter 3: Exodus, 23,
Chapter 4: First Peter, 35,
Chapter 5: Acts, 43,
Chapter 6: Luke, 49,
Chapter 7: Bartholomew, 55,
Chapter 8: Titus, 59,
Chapter 9: Jonah, 69,
Chapter 10: Daniel, 75,
Chapter 11: Lamentations, 87,
Chapter 12: Amos, 97,
Chapter 13: Song of Solomon, 103,
Chapter 14: Numbers, 117,
Chapter 15: Matthew, 125,
Chapter 16: Nehemiah, 133,
Chapter 17: Mark, 143,
Chapter 18: First Corinthians, 147,
Chapter 19: Second Corinthians, 155,
Chapter 20: Romans, 163,
Chapter 21: Esther, 171,
Chapter 22: James, 179,
Chapter 23: Leviticus, 189,
Chapter 24: Ruth, 193,
Chapter 25: Revelation, 199,
Appendix A: Mike Potter's favorite columns, 205,
Appendix B: M G's adult life in pictures, 221,
Appendix C: Marissa Kastanek's life in pictures, 225,
About the Author, 233,
Acknowledgments, 235,