Rise, Fall, Return

He sat alone in his basement office at the new school. It had been over twenty years since he was fired from his position as head football coach. Coach Mason never imagined he’d be back at the school where it all started.

His rise had been electric. His fall, only a matter of time.

He thumbed through the scouting report and made a few last-minute adjustments to personnel before heading upstairs to the locker room to join his team.

It was Friday night—the first week in September—in a small town that lived and breathed for this moment. Football season had returned to the community of Fairmont. After years of misery as the doormat of their conference, they finally had something to be hopeful for.

Coach Mason was back, carrying with him the promise to restore the pride of the Palouse—the Fairmont Fighting Tigers.

Who could blame them for their optimism? Mason was the last coach—or player—to win a playoff game besides two members of his staff. Twenty years of mediocrity from a program that had once dominated its conference. This was not acceptable to Coach M or the community.

As Coach made his way into the locker room, the players stopped what they were doing. An assistant turned off the music. Coach Mason looked around and barked, “Fifteen minutes for specialists,” then turned and walked out the back door. The music kicked back on and the team resumed their routines and rituals.

Coach Mason began walking out toward the field, the excitement thick in the air. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. As he approached the ticket booth, the familiar aroma of fresh popcorn wafted toward him.

Walking through the gate, he was greeted by scattered calls of “Go get ’em, Coach!” and “We missed you, Coach!” Despite being two hours from kickoff, a small crowd was already gathering near the ticket window. This impressed Coach M. They’d been the shits for two decades, and the town still showed up. This loyalty is what made this town and job so special.

This time—before the madness and urgency of the game—was his. It was always his favorite part. Time alone with the game he cherished. He walked the field with a childlike bounce in his step, despite being in his late fifties. His face was serious and focused—but inside, he felt calm and full.

As he reached the fifty-yard line, he took a seat on his team’s bench. He loved this calm before the storm. He sat with his eyes closed, listening to the hum of the stadium lights—the kind of sound you only hear when the place is empty. He had heard it many times before, as both player and coach—but this time was different.

This time, things would be different. He wouldn’t let the prestige of being a head football coach in a small town go to his head. He had let a lot of people down—and in the process, lost the one thing that had ever truly brought him joy: the game of football.

As he sat on the bench and reflected on his journey, he couldn’t help but feel like this was his redemption song. His chance to get back what he had lost. He could finally prove he’d changed—that he wasn’t the same man anymore. Even after they announced Coach Mason's hiring, the school district took a lot of heat for bringing him back. But as one of the committee members said, "Desperate times, call for desperate measures." Both parties were desperate for change.

He made his way back through the gate and walked to the locker room. When he reached the back door, he gave it a couple of solid raps. The players filed out and formed two lines—part of the traditional pregame routine as the specialists and quarterbacks made their way to the field.

Coach M felt a wave of pride as he walked his players into the stadium. The stands were beginning to buzz with life—the band warming up, the ratcheting click of the turnstile turning as fans came in. It was just as he remembered, except this time, he wasn’t taking any of it for granted.

It was the start of a night full of pageantry, tradition, and schedules—things Coach Mason had always relished. He craved this feeling of excitement and anticipation. His soul had been ripped out of him when he was fired and he never could replace this moment in time. He was a part of something again bigger than himself.

The specialists and staff returned to the locker room for final preparations. Coach walked the room, shaking each player’s hand, letting them know what a privilege it was to go to battle with them on this fine Friday night. He was older by today’s coaching standards, but the players held a deep respect—even reverence—for their coach.

Once final adjustments were made and the players had settled, Coach M stepped into the center of the room. His players and coaches formed a semi-circle around him and dropped to a knee. He loved this part—despite the controversy it had caused years before. This little moment in time in the silence of the locker room, with his players and staff allowed Coach M to feel like himself again.

“Let’s pray... Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…” Coach continued in unison with his team. Their voices echoed as one, slowly reciting the Lord's Prayer, heads bowed, hands clasped together. This was their ritual, their rite of passage to play on Friday nights. He’d done this many times before—but now, it was different. He was filled with gratitude. With hope. With love for the game, for his players, and finally, for himself.