Friday With A Friend

It’s rare that I go somewhere and I’m not recognized.

That’s one of the perils, I guess, of an extremely public-facing career, one in which I’ve seen thousands of athletes play hundreds of games, and gotten to know many of them and their families.

I wasn’t 10 steps into the walk from my parking spot at Dorman Stadium to the pressbox when I heard my name.

“Jed!”

Looking back over my shoulder and into the sun, I couldn’t quite see who was calling me. I didn’t have to get too much closer to see that I was being greeted by one of my favorite people.

I told him so. And now I’m telling you.

I’ve known Roger Mooney for a long time now. I worked at the Inman Times for 15 years, and got to know him then. I could count on him for a weekly visit in our old office at 8 S. Main Street, usually on a Friday morning when he’d join a loud, boisterous crowd that wanted to talk high school football.

I’d known his name well before then. He’s one of those guys that everybody seems to know about. A legend from the generation just before, spoken about mostly in almost reverent whispers when athletics are involved. Somebody do something special? That’s great. “But you shoulda seen Moon…”.

That’s who he was. An extraordinary basketball player, a long-range sniper before those guys were rewarded with an extra point. I asked him once how many more points he thought he’d have scored in the 3-point era.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the one-time Chapman leader in career points said. “I had a bunch of good teammates. I don’t know if I’d had many more.”

So, long ago, I asked his coach. And the most honest person I’ve ever met looked me dead in the eye with an answer.

“Five hundred?” he guessed. “Maybe more. It would have been phenomenal.”

It was pretty phenomenal anyway. And then Roger set about just being a phenomenal person. Dedicated to his family, his job, and his community. I’ve never seen him when I haven’t been greeted by my name in an enthusiastic gravel-growl. Great big smile. Usually a great big laugh to go with it. Asking about me and mine, and more than ready to talk about his. And when we’d talk, it invariably turned to sports. His youngest son, Rodney, was a good player at Chapman and went on to be an even better coach. Some of his stops were local, some were in the lower state. Roger always kept my posted on what Rodney was up to.

That’s what brought us together at Dorman on Friday. It was Rodney’s first game as the new offensive coordinator for the Cavaliers, and Roger couldn’t wait to watch.

But first he had to listen to my question, the question I’m positive he’s answered until he’s sick of answering. The question that undoubtedly causes him pain. The question he can’t escape, and one I hope I don’t ever have to answer, because I can’t fathom what I’ll do.

Roger lost his wife, Rhonda, back in the spring. In a Facebook post, Rodney called his mama “my anchor”. I can’t imagine how lost Roger felt.

So I asked him the dreaded question, the one that there can’t possibly be enough words to answer. I gripped his hand a little tighter and asked “How are you?”

His eyes welled a little. His voice broke even more.

“I’m doing ok,” he said. “I miss her, man. I just miss her. But I’ve got her here with me…”

He showed me something he was carrying. Might have been a bookmark. Might have been something of Rhonda’s. I wish I could tell you more accurately. But the fact is, I couldn’t see it, trying to keep from breaking down myself.

I hugged my friend, and told him I loved him. I asked if he had a good seat to go watch Rodney’s offense, and he brightened and told me he thought so.

And then I watched that offense surpass just about anything expected of it. I watched nearly 400 yards, and a big lead, and a tough-as-nails drive to win it when it mattered.

After the game, after my interviews, I found Rodney. I congratulated him. And the FIRST thing he asked me, in a familiar gravel-growl that sounds eerily like his dad’s was “How’s your folks? You doing well?”

Like father, like son.

I’m willing to bet that wherever he ended up in Dorman stadium, Roger was happy with the performance, and with the win, and most importantly, with how things worked out for his son.

And I’m willing to bet that somewhere, Rhonda was smiling, too.