The Day Football died

HAMILTON, Ind., — Friday was a big day in the history of Hamilton High School. You wouldn’t know it.

August 11, 1986. The day football died in Hamilton. Two decades have passed since the Friday night lights of the football stadium ripped through the Steuben County sky.

One man still remembers.

John Dutton was a thirty-something young man when he got the news. It still feels like a punch to the gut every August. A program he was committed to didn’t have the same dedication from the people who we entrust our children’s education to.

Just days before the season was to start, a group of so-and-sos pulled the plug.

John didn’t put me up to this story. Those of you who know John know that’s not his style. He’s not one to desire controversy or ruffle feathers.

This is all my opinion. Be upset at me.

Though I can’t confirm it, I have been told that the program always paid for itself. Critics say there weren’t enough kids in the school who really wanted to play. But there were enough to field a team.

Funny, you know, that the lessons we teach aren’t really followed. We teach young people that sports build character. That it’s not how you win or lose, but how you play the game. That in the process of playing, something happens to you that makes you bigger and better.

But 20 years ago, a school board told about two dozen kids it wasn’t even worth trying anymore. Football wasn’t important enough to fight for. That there was a price tag connected to the high school experience and the school wasn’t going to pay it. It simply didn’t make sense.

Maybe they were lulled into the great insurance liability thinking. Whatever it was, Hamilton will never be the same.

When practically every other public school within 50 miles of Hamilton are playing pigskin, Hamilton kids went to movies, parties, shopping or just stayed home. Lots of educational opportunities in that, don’t you think?

John’s moved on. He’s not bitter. He’s got his football fix, either as a coach or broadcasting at any number of outlets around northeast Indiana. Or if he’s lucky, he’ll take a trip to see his Buckeyes in Columbus, Ohio.

But he still misses it. Like an old love, you never forget those memories, the anniversaries, the songs. The way you were.

I wonder if Hamilton misses it. I wonder if anyone just stops and dares to ask, or if the soldiers of September and October just don’t share their hurt and their memories.