 "My First Ram Game--Such Stuff as Dreams
are Made On ...Prelude"- By Rammed for Life(12/22) Part 1 of 4 |
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Early winter, 1967. I was in
7th grade and playing basketball in the Park District Jr. High league at the Village Hall
in Homewood, Illinois, 182 blocks south of Chicago's Loop. After the game, I stopped at
the Sweet Shop Caf� for what passed in the 1960s for the sort of nutritious meal young
athletes could grow on: a cheeseburger, fries and a Coke. While waiting for my meal, I stepped over to the newsstand to look at sports magazines. One had a feature article on the LA Rams' Fearsome Foursome. "Oh yeah--I saw those guys on TV! Man, look at those horns! Those are boss! Look at this Deacon Jones guy, and Merlin Olsen. Roosevelt Grier? What a keen name! How many sacks do they have? Wow! Those guys are cool!" In 1967, the Bear fans among whom I lived were experiencing the let-down that came from the winding down of the Sayers and Butkus era. The Rams were better--and cooler--than those tired Bears. I became hooked. But I lived more than 2000 miles from the LA Coliseum where the Rams played. The Bears were on TV every week; the Rams maybe 3-4 times per year. Once in a while, they played the Bears, and my cousin could NOT understand why I rooted for the Rams. My parents had an old, 16" Black and White TV. For years, I honestly didn't realize that those cool horns were blue! My parents subscribed to the "Chicago Daily News," which spent little time covering the Rams--just a random blurb here and there. The Rams were one of the league's "good" teams and they played in a major market, so I heard about them some. But there just wasn't all that much information available. I lived for the playoff, because then I knew I could see the Rams play! Then came 1969. The Vikings finished stronger than we did and everyone said that no one could run on Eller, Page, and Co. I disagreed. I bet a friend at school an enormous amount of money that the Rams would win: $.25. At half time, we were dominating and I delightedly called my friend to chortle. Thirty minutes of game time later, my heart was broken. For the first time. Not for the last. In 1972, I went off to school at Bethel College in St. Paul, MN. Viking country. Except for about 2 years here and there, I have lived here ever since. Surrounded by purple, I lived through all of those humiliating losses to Fran Tarkenton. Then, our fortunes reversed. I still have the Minneapolis papers from the Monday morning after we finally beat the Vikings in the playoffs. In 1979, I sat all by myself watching a 12 inch black and white TV, howling with delight as Vince Ferragamo shocked the Cowboys and took us to the Superbowl--at home in the Rose Bowl. "Yes, yes, yes!" I screamed at the little red TV as the gun ending the big game's third quarter and the O SPRINTED from one end of the field to the other to score the TD that would give them a comfortable lead ... Bradshaw and Stallworth broke my heart again. Not for the last time. In 1982, I married my dear wife Meg. She has a hard time understanding the amount of energy I invest in the Rams. I always said we had everything we needed--except for a QB. Then we got Everett. He came in when we were losing a Monday night game and brought us back from a deep hole to take a lead--that the D did not hold. When Everett got us the go-ahead TD, I turned to my wife and roared, "There he is--the Rams' Savior!" My daughter was born in 1983, my son in 1984, my other daughter in 1986. Just about the time that my son was old enough to have some inkling of what a football game was, the Rams rose again to prominence. A young guy from LA who worked for my wife's company got an Everett jersey for my son. We had a VCR by then, and we taped the 2 big playoff wins in 1989 against Philly and New York. Up through last year, I would still take that tape out now and again to watch. The Whiners broke my heart again. And then came the dark decade, the misery of wasted draft picks, chaotic offenses, and pathetic efforts. The Rams became a league laughingstock. Through it all, I never wavered. And I lived on a pittance of information. As the Rams slipped into ineptitude during the 90s, they vanished from Monday Night Football and from nationally televised games. I rarely saw them play. Not wanting to lose sleep over yet an other gut-wrenching loss, I would sometimes go to bed on Sunday nights without checking the score. Then, with my heart literally pounding away in my chest, I would fearfully check the box scores in the paper at work, generally subsiding into disgust as they dropped one after yet another. I rarely saw press coverage of any kind. In 1995, I was lucky enough to see Ike's coming out party against the Pack since Twin Cities TV shows Packer games whenever it can. One night, I was driving home late and stumbled across a national broadcast of a Thursday night win when the Whiners still hadn't ruined their year. Then they collapsed the rest of the year and those hopes died away again. Through the gathering gloom, a glimpse of paradise pierced my Ram-starved imagination. I was seeing commercials for a new-fangled device that promised the viewer an opportunity to see ... every NFL game on Sunday, regardless of what was shown in the local market. Now wait a minute--every game? The Rams play games on Sunday! Do you mean I could watch the Rams EACH WEEK, just like normal, local fans? I had to have a dish! So, just before the 1997 season began, I got one. I was installing it with a friend when Vermeil won his first game as the Rams' coach. It looked like the Rams were building and the Saints were collapsing. For the first time in my life, I watched an entire season of Ram football. And while we found some creative ways to lose, we seemed to be on the rise, especially when we won 3 of our last 4. The 1998 season started differently. It was a season of dreams--very dark ones. The Rams lost and lost and lost. They collapsed into ineptitude and indifference. And, with the dish, I was in a position to see it all happen. I was disgusted, miserable. At season's end, I made a personal vow to boycott the Direct Ticket package "until the Rams are worth watching again!" Through it all, I was alone. My son watched the Rams with me a bit in 1989, as I said, but through his real, formative years, the Rams were invisible. Then we got the dish, and they were a joke. He spent his time watching the FSU 'Noles. Other than Chris, I never, ever knew a single soul who paid the slightest attention to the Rams. Not one friend, not one relative, not one acquaintance--except for the young LA guy who worked for my wife's company for a couple of months and then went home. No press information. No TV coverage. No personal contact with anyone but Viking fans. Not one. Until one day in October of 1998. I was on the web, which I had had for about a year, reading the St. Louis paper on-line. Now there was an improvement--actual coverage of my team. I noticed something about a message board for Ram fans. I started reading it. A week or so went by as I gaped at the most remarkable phenomenon: here were actual people who CARED about this team! They talked to each other ABOUT THE RAMS! And, despite the Rams' sorry record and the departure from L A, there seemed to be quite a few of them! Astonishing! Well, eventually, I had to say something. Somehow, I dreamed up a goofy nickname--Rammed for Life. Then, I composed a post. I read it over, edited it, read it over again, edited again, read it about 3 more times, and, with my heart pounding through my ribs, ... I posted it! Someone answered--it might have been GRITS. I had found ... my brothers, my family. I had connected with people who felt what I felt and strove to understand where this team was headed. Good thing, because during the depressing days of December, 1998, the board provided just the therapy I needed. A miracle had forged a bond between myself and people I had never met. And out of the ashes of the lowest season in Ram history arose a sea of miracles: Martz, Timmerman, Green, Faulk, Holt, and the most dramatic 1-year turnaround in league history. My personal boycott was over--just in time for me to watch in ecstasy as we obliterated the Whiner curse. And I decided that it was time for another boycott to end, one I had been only half aware of. It was time to attend a Ram game in person. And it was time to meet some members of the Herd! My good friend RamUK had been gently chiding me for not getting to any games. A native and resident of Derbyshire, England, Tim crossed an ocean several times to see the Rams play, and I, much closer had never made it. A month and a half into the season, it became clear that this was the year to make the effort and go to a game. Looking at the schedule, I focused on the Giant and Bear games, and when Hornfollower put his tickets up on eBay, the stars clicked into perfect alignment. Yesterday, accompanied by my son and by Steve Myatt (Old Hacker) and Scott Howe (ScRam), I entered the TWA Dome. Trailing Hack, who was intent on sprinkling sage in the near end zone, Chris and I plunged through the tunnel and emerged into the inner sanctum. In front of us spread the green carpet with its enormous Rams horns. I had come home. |
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