A few of my old teammates and other former players from Coach Royalās era have been visiting with one another recently and we were taken aback with the realization that itās been 10 years since Coach left this world after enduring the ravages of Alzheimerās in his later years. While reminiscing about our playing days, some of the guys remembered that I had written a tribute of sorts to Coach after his passing and wanted me to send it to them and a couple of OBs asked me to share it again.
When one of my teammates remarked, āDamn, canāt believe itās been ten years since we lost Coach Royalā, I thought for a second and told him,
āNo, weāll never lose him. He just went on ahead of us. Heāll always be a big part of us and thereās never a day where I donāt think about what Coach would say or do in all sorts of situations. Iām still trying to please both Coach and my Dad after all these yearsā¦āšš¼
Hereās what I wrote 10 years ago, right before a big win at DKR-Texas Memorial Stadium:
For the past few days, I have been asked by friends, sports talk radio show hosts, newspaper reporters, and denizens of various football message boards, what it was like to play football for Coach Royal. The simple answer is that it was an honor and a privilege to have the opportunity to play for a true legend in the football world, but for me, the story runs much deeper than just the usual four-year experience that the majority of athletes get to have in regard to their collegiate athletic endeavors.
It occurred to me after one of my last visits with Coach that I had known him longer than I knew my Dad, who died in 1993. Today, I have very similar feelings in saying goodbye to Coach as I did when I lost my Dad. I feel very empty and somewhat lost again, but full of wonderful memories that comfort me. They both taught me so much and I continually strive to make both of them proud of me. Just as I would consider what Dad would thinkā¦or sayā¦or do if I sought his approval or opinion about something, I developed the same sort of respect for Coach Royal and carry those subliminal checklists with me to this day.
Coach Royal came to Austin in 1957 when I was almost 5 years old. I was already a "veteran" of the Texas Football scene since my Dad had taken me to my first UT game when I was just 5 days old...on our way home from the hospital after being born on the Tuesday after the 1952 Texas-OU game. Thatās a story for another time, but needless to say, my destiny was determined literally from birth as to my allegiance. When Coach and Miz Edith arrived, my Dad had been suiting me up in a replica Longhorn uniform at the games and I was pretty much underfoot around the Texas practice field and the locker room when Dad would officiate scrimmages and the freshman games. When the team departed for or returned from trips out of the old Robert Mueller Airport, we were there, sometimes in the wee hours of the night, to lend our support. Iād be decked out in my Texas football uniform and my younger sisters would have orange and white ribbons in their hair. Coach would always go out of his way to come over and visit with us before boarding a Braniff charter or the bus back to the stadium. As Coach would chat with Dad and other well-wishers, Iād watch the guys solemnly get off the buses out on the tarmac dressed in coat and tie, carrying their shaving kits and climb the steps past a pretty, smiling stewardess to a waiting DC-7. I couldnāt wait until I got my chance to follow in their footsteps. Coach would pat me on top of my helmet as he began to stroll toward the plane and say something like, āYou ready? Letās go get āem!ā I so wanted to follow him up those steps.
After writing a letter to Coach, he allowed me to be a ballboy for the team and I learned what was required to take care of a football team from the equipment manager, āMister Jimā Blaylock and the many student managers that put up with me hanging around. I cleaned a lot of helmets, scraped a ton of mud out of cleated shoes, and shined the coachesā shoes. I forged many friendships with players like Bob Gurwitz, Tommy Ford, Bill Bradley, Cotton Speyrer, and so many other Longhorn Legends. I was definitely living in a boy's dream world. The one person in that world that I was in total awe of was Darrell Royal. He always made time to talk with me and show me little pointers about throwing a football, punting, kicking, you name it...hell, even about talking to girls. His youngest son, David, and I became teammates in Little League football. David was a gifted athlete, smooth and confident like his daddy, but he told me that he really only played football to make his dad happy. I think music was his calling, but he died tragically before he could find his place.
Even though most people viewed my small stature as a sure sign that I would wind up being a manager for the team, between encouragement from my Dad, Coach Royal, and Longhorn kickers like Tony Crosby and David Conway, I developed an aptitude for kicking a football and practiced constantly in hopes of realizing my dream of getting to one day wear a ārealā Longhorn uniform and play for Coach. I was fortunate to play on a couple of high school state championship teams at Austin Reagan and thanks to my great teammates and coaches there, was honored with a scholarship offer to play football at the only place Iād ever wanted to playā¦for the only other man I idolized besides my Dad.
People always want to know how Coach inspired us either before games or at halftime. Many imagine him as a fire-and-brimstone leader, wielding the "win one for the Gipper" orations. To the contrary, he led with a quiet and focused aura about him. The preparation during the week was intense and sometimes fraught with a few unprintable comments from Coach, but he got his message across for the most part with a simple look. He could freeze you with a glare, berate you with a shake of his head, or make your heart explode with pride with a nod and a slight smile in your direction.
The best halftime talk I ever heard from any coach was when we were down to SMU, 14-0 in a game in which we should have been in complete control. Coach came into a rather chaotic visitorsā locker room in the Cotton Bowl and stepped up onto a chair. Anytime he did that, we all stopped whatever it was we were doing, took a knee and directed our attention to Coach Royal. He looked out at us, smiled ever so slightly and said, āMenā¦there is one helluva fight goinā on out thereā¦(pause)ā¦Why donāt yāall get in on it? Coaches, outside.ā He took the rest of the staff out into the tunnel, said his piece to them as chairs flew and mayhem ensued in the locker room.
Final score: Texas 42, Ponies 14. Roosevelt Leaks: 342 yards rushing. The man got his point across in just a few words.
Before every game, we always went through a presentation on the overhead projector entitled, "Press The Kicking Game, For It's Here The Breaks Are Made". Every week. Every pregame. As tedious as it may have been, it sank in and it meant something in every game. We had it memorized and could recite it on request, which was by Coachās design. He knew what it took to prepare us. The only time I can remember him deviating from this ritual was in 1974, just before my final home game as we prepared to take on the Aggies. We had given up a big lead against Baylor a few weeks earlier and fell out of the SWC title hunt, but bounced back to thrash TCU, 81-16. If we beat the Aggies, Baylor would go to the Cotton Bowl for the first time in 50 years, but that wasnāt our focus. We just wanted to beat A&M because thatās what we were supposed to do. We met in the lecture room at Jester Dormitory after our pregame meal as was standard procedure for home games. Coach had the lights dimmed as he switched on the overhead projector and began the kicking game presentation. We were mouthing the words as he read themā¦āPress the kicking game, for itās here the breaks are madeā¦Kickoff teamā¦stay in your lanes...if you get knocked down, get back in your laneā¦Aw hell, menā¦you know this shit. Go kick their ass!ā We cheered loudly, jumped up and hauled out of there, in stunned laughter and disbelief.
We obliged, 32-3, after jumping out to a 17-0 lead about 2 minutes into the gameā¦thanks to knowing what to do in some kicking game situations.
In games where we should dominate, he would say, "When you get a dog down, keep kicking it." Although not a PETA-friendly sentiment, he simply meant to never let up...keep your foot on their throat. Don't let 'em jump up and bite you in the butt. We learned that the hard way a couple of times and Coach was rightā¦as usual.
Toward the end of Coachās time here before he āset his bucket downā for the last time to rest eternally, I was blessed to have several visits with him and tell him I loved him and appreciated him so much. It might have taken him a moment, but heād always look me straight in the eye while giving me a surprisingly strong handshake and say, āHello, Sure Schott!ā Iām thankful that he still remembered me through his battle with the disease that robbed him of so many memories.
Time and space donāt allow for recounting the numerous life lessons and priceless moments I experienced through Coach Royal. Thanks to Coach, I met two Presidents, John Wayne, other actors and actresses, singers, songwriters, a few astronauts, some wonderfully talented journalists, and just some characters in general. Willie Nelson even shared my locker when he came off the road. Most of all, I will always appreciate his taking a chance on me and affording me the opportunity to fulfill a dream to be a Longhorn and get an education from The University of Texas. Every day, when I put on the T-Ring that was presented to me upon my graduation by Coach Royal, I am honored and humbled to be a small part of that esteemed tradition that he established. I hope I can still live in a way to make Coach and Dad as proud of me as I am to have them as my role modelsā¦my mentorsā¦my friends.
When one of my teammates remarked, āDamn, canāt believe itās been ten years since we lost Coach Royalā, I thought for a second and told him,
āNo, weāll never lose him. He just went on ahead of us. Heāll always be a big part of us and thereās never a day where I donāt think about what Coach would say or do in all sorts of situations. Iām still trying to please both Coach and my Dad after all these yearsā¦āšš¼
Hereās what I wrote 10 years ago, right before a big win at DKR-Texas Memorial Stadium:
For the past few days, I have been asked by friends, sports talk radio show hosts, newspaper reporters, and denizens of various football message boards, what it was like to play football for Coach Royal. The simple answer is that it was an honor and a privilege to have the opportunity to play for a true legend in the football world, but for me, the story runs much deeper than just the usual four-year experience that the majority of athletes get to have in regard to their collegiate athletic endeavors.
It occurred to me after one of my last visits with Coach that I had known him longer than I knew my Dad, who died in 1993. Today, I have very similar feelings in saying goodbye to Coach as I did when I lost my Dad. I feel very empty and somewhat lost again, but full of wonderful memories that comfort me. They both taught me so much and I continually strive to make both of them proud of me. Just as I would consider what Dad would thinkā¦or sayā¦or do if I sought his approval or opinion about something, I developed the same sort of respect for Coach Royal and carry those subliminal checklists with me to this day.
Coach Royal came to Austin in 1957 when I was almost 5 years old. I was already a "veteran" of the Texas Football scene since my Dad had taken me to my first UT game when I was just 5 days old...on our way home from the hospital after being born on the Tuesday after the 1952 Texas-OU game. Thatās a story for another time, but needless to say, my destiny was determined literally from birth as to my allegiance. When Coach and Miz Edith arrived, my Dad had been suiting me up in a replica Longhorn uniform at the games and I was pretty much underfoot around the Texas practice field and the locker room when Dad would officiate scrimmages and the freshman games. When the team departed for or returned from trips out of the old Robert Mueller Airport, we were there, sometimes in the wee hours of the night, to lend our support. Iād be decked out in my Texas football uniform and my younger sisters would have orange and white ribbons in their hair. Coach would always go out of his way to come over and visit with us before boarding a Braniff charter or the bus back to the stadium. As Coach would chat with Dad and other well-wishers, Iād watch the guys solemnly get off the buses out on the tarmac dressed in coat and tie, carrying their shaving kits and climb the steps past a pretty, smiling stewardess to a waiting DC-7. I couldnāt wait until I got my chance to follow in their footsteps. Coach would pat me on top of my helmet as he began to stroll toward the plane and say something like, āYou ready? Letās go get āem!ā I so wanted to follow him up those steps.
After writing a letter to Coach, he allowed me to be a ballboy for the team and I learned what was required to take care of a football team from the equipment manager, āMister Jimā Blaylock and the many student managers that put up with me hanging around. I cleaned a lot of helmets, scraped a ton of mud out of cleated shoes, and shined the coachesā shoes. I forged many friendships with players like Bob Gurwitz, Tommy Ford, Bill Bradley, Cotton Speyrer, and so many other Longhorn Legends. I was definitely living in a boy's dream world. The one person in that world that I was in total awe of was Darrell Royal. He always made time to talk with me and show me little pointers about throwing a football, punting, kicking, you name it...hell, even about talking to girls. His youngest son, David, and I became teammates in Little League football. David was a gifted athlete, smooth and confident like his daddy, but he told me that he really only played football to make his dad happy. I think music was his calling, but he died tragically before he could find his place.
Even though most people viewed my small stature as a sure sign that I would wind up being a manager for the team, between encouragement from my Dad, Coach Royal, and Longhorn kickers like Tony Crosby and David Conway, I developed an aptitude for kicking a football and practiced constantly in hopes of realizing my dream of getting to one day wear a ārealā Longhorn uniform and play for Coach. I was fortunate to play on a couple of high school state championship teams at Austin Reagan and thanks to my great teammates and coaches there, was honored with a scholarship offer to play football at the only place Iād ever wanted to playā¦for the only other man I idolized besides my Dad.
People always want to know how Coach inspired us either before games or at halftime. Many imagine him as a fire-and-brimstone leader, wielding the "win one for the Gipper" orations. To the contrary, he led with a quiet and focused aura about him. The preparation during the week was intense and sometimes fraught with a few unprintable comments from Coach, but he got his message across for the most part with a simple look. He could freeze you with a glare, berate you with a shake of his head, or make your heart explode with pride with a nod and a slight smile in your direction.
The best halftime talk I ever heard from any coach was when we were down to SMU, 14-0 in a game in which we should have been in complete control. Coach came into a rather chaotic visitorsā locker room in the Cotton Bowl and stepped up onto a chair. Anytime he did that, we all stopped whatever it was we were doing, took a knee and directed our attention to Coach Royal. He looked out at us, smiled ever so slightly and said, āMenā¦there is one helluva fight goinā on out thereā¦(pause)ā¦Why donāt yāall get in on it? Coaches, outside.ā He took the rest of the staff out into the tunnel, said his piece to them as chairs flew and mayhem ensued in the locker room.
Final score: Texas 42, Ponies 14. Roosevelt Leaks: 342 yards rushing. The man got his point across in just a few words.
Before every game, we always went through a presentation on the overhead projector entitled, "Press The Kicking Game, For It's Here The Breaks Are Made". Every week. Every pregame. As tedious as it may have been, it sank in and it meant something in every game. We had it memorized and could recite it on request, which was by Coachās design. He knew what it took to prepare us. The only time I can remember him deviating from this ritual was in 1974, just before my final home game as we prepared to take on the Aggies. We had given up a big lead against Baylor a few weeks earlier and fell out of the SWC title hunt, but bounced back to thrash TCU, 81-16. If we beat the Aggies, Baylor would go to the Cotton Bowl for the first time in 50 years, but that wasnāt our focus. We just wanted to beat A&M because thatās what we were supposed to do. We met in the lecture room at Jester Dormitory after our pregame meal as was standard procedure for home games. Coach had the lights dimmed as he switched on the overhead projector and began the kicking game presentation. We were mouthing the words as he read themā¦āPress the kicking game, for itās here the breaks are madeā¦Kickoff teamā¦stay in your lanes...if you get knocked down, get back in your laneā¦Aw hell, menā¦you know this shit. Go kick their ass!ā We cheered loudly, jumped up and hauled out of there, in stunned laughter and disbelief.
We obliged, 32-3, after jumping out to a 17-0 lead about 2 minutes into the gameā¦thanks to knowing what to do in some kicking game situations.
In games where we should dominate, he would say, "When you get a dog down, keep kicking it." Although not a PETA-friendly sentiment, he simply meant to never let up...keep your foot on their throat. Don't let 'em jump up and bite you in the butt. We learned that the hard way a couple of times and Coach was rightā¦as usual.
Toward the end of Coachās time here before he āset his bucket downā for the last time to rest eternally, I was blessed to have several visits with him and tell him I loved him and appreciated him so much. It might have taken him a moment, but heād always look me straight in the eye while giving me a surprisingly strong handshake and say, āHello, Sure Schott!ā Iām thankful that he still remembered me through his battle with the disease that robbed him of so many memories.
Time and space donāt allow for recounting the numerous life lessons and priceless moments I experienced through Coach Royal. Thanks to Coach, I met two Presidents, John Wayne, other actors and actresses, singers, songwriters, a few astronauts, some wonderfully talented journalists, and just some characters in general. Willie Nelson even shared my locker when he came off the road. Most of all, I will always appreciate his taking a chance on me and affording me the opportunity to fulfill a dream to be a Longhorn and get an education from The University of Texas. Every day, when I put on the T-Ring that was presented to me upon my graduation by Coach Royal, I am honored and humbled to be a small part of that esteemed tradition that he established. I hope I can still live in a way to make Coach and Dad as proud of me as I am to have them as my role modelsā¦my mentorsā¦my friends.
