January 1, 1997 saw me in Houston – at the “Caddyshack” where I lived. To anyone who may remember, that was Rice University’s equivalent to Animal House in the mid to late 1990’s. Was the reputation warranted? Kind of… probably.

By mid-January, after classes had started, the Rice Owl football team had been introduced to the new strength coach. This one was a man. The woman was gone – yes, we had a woman head strength and conditioning coach.

(And, before anyone calls me a misogynist, let me say any football team with a woman head strength coach is… stupid.)

Getting up at 5 am for weight conditioning sucked though. That was new.

Nonetheless, after several weeks, we all felt excitement for knowing that we were entering into a realm of discipline and intensity we didn’t have beforehand yet needed. We were getting bigger, stronger and faster. We could see and feel it. We knew this would translate favorably onto the field, and we were excited about the Fall of 1997.

That’s ‘cuz in the Fall of 1996 the Rice Owl offense clicked. We figured out the wishbone. We ran the ball well that year.

We went 7-4, which was the first winning season I’d ever experienced since… 4th grade in the Fall of 1985. Literally.

I myself had two years of starting under my belt. I’d won 2nd Team All-WAC accolades as an offensive guard in ’96. Typing these words 30 years later, such accolades may not seem like a big deal. However, to me then, they were.

As a former walk-on who’d gotten only one football scholarship offer, yet earned a scholarship after my walk-on year at Rice, and was ready to start my 3rd straight year as an offensive guard, with a bunch of talented young men returning, well, it made the world shine in a unique way.

Winter became spring and, indeed, by spring of 1997 life was taking on added levels of excitement. After a while, the 5 am workouts were nothing. The numbers I was throwing up on bench and squat surprised even me. It felt good. I felt fire. We all did.

Of course, some of that fire was pissed away at Cancun that March in ‘97. I wouldn’t say it was the most debaucherous thing a man has ever done. But it was debaucherous. My acceptance of Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior prevents me from sharing details.

Nonetheless, I laugh hysterically now for a story I shared with a man named Alex Morris who was also on that trip, but is no longer with us. It was a story I think I told only him, a story that made him laugh, and makes me wish we could laugh together again.

But he was alive then. He too was getting bigger, stronger and faster.

Alex came to Rice on a football scholarship from Arlington Martin HS as a defensive lineman, but had moved to the offensive side of the ball.

Alex was a natural athlete. He wasn’t naturally a killer, but he was getting better. I think by spring football drills he had become the 3rd tackle, and was certain to see time playing in the Fall of 1997. He was excited for this. I was excited for him.

Spring became summer. That pleasantly warm and humid air I learned to love in March in April was turning into a sauna by May and June.

Regardless, this was to be the first summer I’d spend in Houston working out with the team. Alex had hooked me up at a job at Rice working for a summer camp for kids. It was five days a week, from like 7:30 to 3:30, inside and outside.

Around 4 pm Alex and I would head from Rice’s Autry Court to the stadium to lift weights for two hours and then run for an hour. These were long, hot, tiring days. The sauna was on. But, they have become glorious days.

It’s funny how the emotions you associate with certain times of your life change with the passing of time. That Summer of ‘97 became the most exciting time of my 1990’s – one of the most exciting in life I suppose.

Four days a week was lifting and conditioning after working all five days with the kids. In the evenings, I’d head to my apartment, and (too often) cook mac & cheese with hot dogs, and spend the rest of the evening reading Tom Clancy novels – I think I read 3 that summer. It was all so enjoyable and I didn’t realize it then.

Some time in June that summer I heard “Bittersweet Symphony” by the Verve. You can hear the violin intro now. I liked it, I guess. They played it way too many times on the radio. So I liked it less.

LISTEN TO IT HERE IF YOU WISH.

I don’t love it now. But, listening to it the other day reminded me perfectly of what I’ve described above. It’s the reason why I sat down to type what I have above, and it made me see why my emotions relating to these times have changed over the past 28 years.

Back then, the future was wide open. There were exciting things on the horizon. All the work, sweat and exhaustion I knew would pay off. All the strength and hope of youth – of a future wide, wide open – had yet to be diminished by an aging body and hard lessons.

I didn’t know any of this then. It’s inevitable that everyone goes through this, that in some form or fashion optimism of youth reveals itself as unattained. But I’ve no problem being the man I am now, even with hard lessons that no adult ever bothered to teach me – even after 17 years of “education”.

Still, “Bittersweet Symphony” made me remember a type of optimism for life that, looking back, was a bit naive (for reasons I’ll not get into now), but, nonetheless, was fun to experience everyday, every moment, through that glorious grind of the Summer of ‘97.

Bittersweet memories – I guess.

Anyway, in ending, that Fall of ‘97 Season was thrilling. It was.

We pissed our pants against Air Force. Beat a strong Tulane. Beat Northwestern after they’d won the Big 10 in ‘95 and ‘96. Had Texas on the ropes but lost to Ricky Williams. Whipped Tulsa. Beat BYU. Beat New Mexico.

Were sitting pretty at 5-2, with 4 teams left on the schedule whom we destroyed the year before.

But that didn’t happen. We pissed our pants against SMU too. Recovered strong against TCU. Went to Salt Lake and fumbled twice on the Ute goal-line for a heartbreaking loss. Finished up beating UTEP.

We went 7-4 like the year before. No bowl again. Sitting at 5-2 with SMU and TCU ahead next, had we beaten both, would have put us at 7-2. That bye-week before SMU was exciting. Fun.

But the anticipation felt in the Summer of ‘97 is sweeter in my memory than the actual excitement of the Fall of ‘97. Don’t ask me why. And don’t ask why “Bittersweet Symphony” made me type what I have. It just did.