Indulge me

Ubi Libertas

2 years ago

I often say that I spent my childhood in the best place possible — Massillon, Ohio during the late 1950s, 1960s and early 1970s. I’ve written here about that gritty blue-collar town, surrounded by farmland and infused with traditional American values. If you’re not from Massillon but know of it, chances are it’s because of football — high-school football.

The Tigers of Massillon Washington High have been synonymous with Friday-night lights in the Midwest for as long as I’ve been alive, winning two dozen state championships and numerous (mythical) national championships. The last time Massillon finished on top was 1970, when I was in eighth grade.

Two years later, championships began being determined by playoffs, not polls. And the fabled Tigers, despite six appearances in the title game, failed to win one on the field.

Fifty-three years of frustration ended last night, however, when Massillon defeated Akron Hoban for its 25th state football championship. The win was, by all accounts, as fugly as the final score (7-2), but the team finished the season 16-0 and exorcised the demons that had possessed the program — and indeed an entire city — for over half a century.

There’s much rejoicing in Tigertown today. You’ll find a little bit of that in Ozarkansas, too.

I grew up outside the city limits. I didn’t attend Washington High. But my father did, around the time that a coach by the name of Paul Brown paced the sidelines, and whenever someone asks me where I’m from, my answer always is “Massillon.” I was raised to honor Tiger traditions, even though I wore another school’s colors.

This morning, anyone who hails from Massillon, Ohio has every right to thump their chest and say, with pride, “We are State Champs.” And to me, 800 miles from the celebration, something just feels better today. It feels right, or more right than it has in a very long time.

The universe is back in balance. We are State Champs.

Now, to put a bow on it, let me ask you this — when the victorious Tigers rolled into town late last night, what was the scene? What did it look like when a Heartland city in decline unleashed 53 years of pent-up frustration?

Under the guise of “celebration,” what did fans set on fire — cars? Dumpsters? Couches? How much property damage was done? How many arrests made?

If you want the answers to those questions, you’ll have to go to the trouble of opening the image below and reading what Massillon’s Chief of Police had to say the morning after.

After I read that, I choked up with pride in my hometown. Way to go, Massillon.

Deb starts her new job on Monday. Since her side of the closet doesn’t include much in the way of “professional” attire, or even “business casual,” a quick shopping trip was in order. The best place to go (close by, at least) would be Mountain Home.

Today’s mission was blessed by a good omen as we left our driveway — in the woods to our west, perched high in a tree no more than 20 yards away, was a bald eagle. Judging by its size, a female.

Smart shopper that she is, Deb got the job done — one strip mall, three stores, everything bought at a discount. I joined her only at the shoe store, where I replaced a pair of Skechers slip-ons that Smudge had half-eaten six months ago (and I was still wearing them around Home).

It was a gray and gloomy day, but the rain that had blown through here yesterday (three inches by the time it was over) was gone and the temp hovered around 60F. So conditions were pleasant, and the excursion was productive.

Tomorrow, we’ll fire up Mercy and see how Deb does with driving.

Deb got some good shots of this week’s Beaver Moon.