Glansâmaybe getting the team together would make him feel better. He said he couldnât bear to. She suggested going to a bar but that held no allure, either. So there they sat. No music, no drinks. Sweet was the most joyful, lively person she knew. Now it was like the light had been drained right out of him.
What was there to do? In the days that followed, the parents held an emergency meeting in the cafeteria at school, then urged Sweet to help them find a culprit. They wanted to take their case to the board. They wanted to bring down McClard or Sargent. Sweet declined the parentsâ entreaties. It wouldnât change things, he said. They still wouldnât get a chance to play Decatur.
Still, the disqualification gnawed at him. The following week he descended to the equipment room in the basement to organize all the gear and file an end-of-the-year inventory. Only, instead of doing so, he dumped everything in a pile and left it there. Then, when he saw the players that afternoon, he told them to keep their uniforms. The school didnât deserve them back anyway. Besides, if McClard was suddenly so interested in the team, let him buy new ones.
Sweet knew this wouldnât go over well, but he didnât care. He was too angry. Not just for himself but for the boys. Heâd watched them come together and seen their pride in the team and the confidence theyâd gained. Usually, he felt there were important lessons that came from losing. He didnât see much of a lesson here.
9
Long Summer Nights
Sweet needed to get out of Macon. After graduation, he headed to Champaign and got a job painting houses with two buddies, a world away from small-town politics. Some nights, he jumped on his Triumph and cruised the fifty-some miles to Eastern Illinois University, in Charleston, where Jeanne was living in the Delta Zeta sorority house. In the hope of graduating early, sheâd petitioned the school to take twenty hours of summer classes. When Sweet visited, the couple spent evenings driving around the country, he cracking jokes and she giggling. At the end of each night, she walked into the sorority house and he climbed to the top of it, ascending the fire escape to the flat tar roof. There, on a wool blanket, he lay down under a canopy of stars, marveling at the new turn his life had taken.
As Sweet was busy clearing his head and falling in love, the Ironmen players were spending their summer trying not to dwell on the disqualification. For those who remained, an unspoken pact was formed. To get better. To play tighter. To return to the postseason and advance to sectionals the following season. In the thick Illinois heat, the returning players gathered for impromptu games at the old elementary school just north of the Macon Library. Brian Snitker rolled up on his bike, and Heneberry walked from his parentsâ place on Front Street. The Ottas arrived in Daleâs midnight blue 1964 Chevy Impala, the one with the bucket seats Dale was so proud of. Some days they played over-the-line, other times it was home run derby or a full-fledged scrimmage. If only two boys showed up, the pair took turns hitting balls against the brick façade of the high school, the crack of the bat followed by the thud of ball on mortar.
At night, the boys cruised out to Mile Corner listening to Led Zeppelin. Gas was thirty cents a gallon, and nobody ever put in more than a dollarâs worth at a timeâfor a dollar was a lot to the boys back then, and few had more than two or three in his pocket at any given timeâso a trip to Decatur was only for special occasions. Other times, theyâd sit at the Country Manor and tell lies. Each night, it seemed, a different parent hosted dinner. One evening you could have shown up at the Shartzersâ house and found three sweaty kids scarfing down chili and dumplings; the next the house was empty because theyâd all be over at the Snitker place, eating
What was there to do? In the days that followed, the parents held an emergency meeting in the cafeteria at school, then urged Sweet to help them find a culprit. They wanted to take their case to the board. They wanted to bring down McClard or Sargent. Sweet declined the parentsâ entreaties. It wouldnât change things, he said. They still wouldnât get a chance to play Decatur.
Still, the disqualification gnawed at him. The following week he descended to the equipment room in the basement to organize all the gear and file an end-of-the-year inventory. Only, instead of doing so, he dumped everything in a pile and left it there. Then, when he saw the players that afternoon, he told them to keep their uniforms. The school didnât deserve them back anyway. Besides, if McClard was suddenly so interested in the team, let him buy new ones.
Sweet knew this wouldnât go over well, but he didnât care. He was too angry. Not just for himself but for the boys. Heâd watched them come together and seen their pride in the team and the confidence theyâd gained. Usually, he felt there were important lessons that came from losing. He didnât see much of a lesson here.
9
Long Summer Nights
Sweet needed to get out of Macon. After graduation, he headed to Champaign and got a job painting houses with two buddies, a world away from small-town politics. Some nights, he jumped on his Triumph and cruised the fifty-some miles to Eastern Illinois University, in Charleston, where Jeanne was living in the Delta Zeta sorority house. In the hope of graduating early, sheâd petitioned the school to take twenty hours of summer classes. When Sweet visited, the couple spent evenings driving around the country, he cracking jokes and she giggling. At the end of each night, she walked into the sorority house and he climbed to the top of it, ascending the fire escape to the flat tar roof. There, on a wool blanket, he lay down under a canopy of stars, marveling at the new turn his life had taken.
As Sweet was busy clearing his head and falling in love, the Ironmen players were spending their summer trying not to dwell on the disqualification. For those who remained, an unspoken pact was formed. To get better. To play tighter. To return to the postseason and advance to sectionals the following season. In the thick Illinois heat, the returning players gathered for impromptu games at the old elementary school just north of the Macon Library. Brian Snitker rolled up on his bike, and Heneberry walked from his parentsâ place on Front Street. The Ottas arrived in Daleâs midnight blue 1964 Chevy Impala, the one with the bucket seats Dale was so proud of. Some days they played over-the-line, other times it was home run derby or a full-fledged scrimmage. If only two boys showed up, the pair took turns hitting balls against the brick façade of the high school, the crack of the bat followed by the thud of ball on mortar.
At night, the boys cruised out to Mile Corner listening to Led Zeppelin. Gas was thirty cents a gallon, and nobody ever put in more than a dollarâs worth at a timeâfor a dollar was a lot to the boys back then, and few had more than two or three in his pocket at any given timeâso a trip to Decatur was only for special occasions. Other times, theyâd sit at the Country Manor and tell lies. Each night, it seemed, a different parent hosted dinner. One evening you could have shown up at the Shartzersâ house and found three sweaty kids scarfing down chili and dumplings; the next the house was empty because theyâd all be over at the Snitker place, eating
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