From the beginning of September to the end of November, you would always find us in the back bedroom of our 4 room house next to an old and often unreliable Zenith radio. Fall Saturdays meant one thing in the Durham household: Clemson Tiger Football. Game in and game out we were right there next to the old Zenith; in the throes of depression one minute, relieved and confident the next. You could literally feel the dread permeating from Bill Goodrich’s voice as the Tigers faced what always seemed insurmountable odds; and likewise, old Bill couldn't hide the elation when fortunes turned promising and the Tigers were on the march. In a Rockwellian pose, there we were; dad sitting nervously on the edge of a kitchen chair he had brought next to the radio; and me and brother Mike on the bed, wrestling one minute and cheering the next as the game unfolded.
Once upon a time, in the postage stamp sized yard of our mill house at 30 Baldwin Street, I participated in a monumental football game seen by no one and remembered by only me. In my Clemson jersey (No. 44 for my favorite player, Buddy Gore), I received a well thrown pass from Tony Durham. I then plowed over the helpless, hapless Tommy Smith for the winning touchdown as time expired, defeating the hated South Carolina Gamecocks and delivering Clemson yet another ACC crown.
Well, I did plow over Tommy Smith. That much is true.
It was 1967 and N.C. State was the hot shot team in the Atlantic Coast Conference. By virtue of their pesky defense they had climbed as high as number 10 in the national rankings and they were enjoying further notoriety by brashly wearing white cleats instead of black; unheard of in those days. Now here they were coming to Clemson in November, undefeated, cocky and in their prissy white shoes. The Tiger's season so far had been a little up and down. Daddy was rarely profane, but he actually swore under his breath a few times that season as games against long time rivals Georgia, Georgia Tech, Auburn and Alabama slipped away. The Alabama game was especially draining. We moaned in tortured unison as the Tiger field goal kicker missed two short field goals that day in a 13-10 loss to Bear and the boys. Every loss was agonizingly close but the Tigers headed into the NC State game, like the Pack, undefeated in conference play. “It ain’t gonna be easy”, dad said of the upcoming game with a team that had the unmitigated audacity to allow it’s defensive players to wear white shoes.
It was cold that November day in 1967. Our house hadn’t yet been equipped with the insulating power of aluminum siding. That capital improvement would occur early the next year and was the prime source of one of mama and daddy‘s most vocal disagreements. Mama wanted it, daddy didn't; mama won, case closed. But on this cold, windy November day, the back room was a smidgen on the cool side; but that problem was peripheral. The Wolfpack was in town and we had football business to take our mind off the chill. Daddy made himself a pot of coffee and hot chocolate for Mike and me. We turned on the Zenith and finally the excited voice of the Tigers, Bill Goodrich, bellowed the incredible news: “The Tigers have run down the hill in ORANGE SHOES! Goodrich almost sounded emotional; and mixed with the static of the Zenith, the sheer pandemonium of the 49,000 thousand fans there sounded like 89,000. Take that you STATE pansies in your girly white shoes!
It was a tough game. State took the lead on two wind aided field goals and lead at the half 6-0. But Buddy Gore scored a touchdown on a 3rd an 11 pass from the State 27 early in the third quarter. Later, midway through the 4th quarter, Gore scored on a run that elicited Goodrich to exclaim in near religious ecstasy “woo hoo mercy!” As I jumped up and down on the bed, daddy leaned back in the kitchen chair and relaxed at last.
Later that evening as the late autumn sun began to fade, I took a well timed pitch from Tony, viciously stiffed armed Macks Carlton to the ground and once again bowled over Tommy Smith at the goal line, implanting number 44 on his face as I scored on a miracle third down play. As Tony and I celebrated, mama called me in to supper. I went inside triumphant; my number 44 jersey stained with grass, blood and the pitiful remains of the white shoe wearing, football impostors that had the nerve to challenge Buddy Gore and the Tigers on that November afternoon in 1967.
Once upon a time, in the postage stamp sized yard of our mill house at 30 Baldwin Street, I participated in a monumental football game seen by no one and remembered by only me. In my Clemson jersey (No. 44 for my favorite player, Buddy Gore), I received a well thrown pass from Tony Durham. I then plowed over the helpless, hapless Tommy Smith for the winning touchdown as time expired, defeating the hated South Carolina Gamecocks and delivering Clemson yet another ACC crown.
Well, I did plow over Tommy Smith. That much is true.
It was 1967 and N.C. State was the hot shot team in the Atlantic Coast Conference. By virtue of their pesky defense they had climbed as high as number 10 in the national rankings and they were enjoying further notoriety by brashly wearing white cleats instead of black; unheard of in those days. Now here they were coming to Clemson in November, undefeated, cocky and in their prissy white shoes. The Tiger's season so far had been a little up and down. Daddy was rarely profane, but he actually swore under his breath a few times that season as games against long time rivals Georgia, Georgia Tech, Auburn and Alabama slipped away. The Alabama game was especially draining. We moaned in tortured unison as the Tiger field goal kicker missed two short field goals that day in a 13-10 loss to Bear and the boys. Every loss was agonizingly close but the Tigers headed into the NC State game, like the Pack, undefeated in conference play. “It ain’t gonna be easy”, dad said of the upcoming game with a team that had the unmitigated audacity to allow it’s defensive players to wear white shoes.
It was cold that November day in 1967. Our house hadn’t yet been equipped with the insulating power of aluminum siding. That capital improvement would occur early the next year and was the prime source of one of mama and daddy‘s most vocal disagreements. Mama wanted it, daddy didn't; mama won, case closed. But on this cold, windy November day, the back room was a smidgen on the cool side; but that problem was peripheral. The Wolfpack was in town and we had football business to take our mind off the chill. Daddy made himself a pot of coffee and hot chocolate for Mike and me. We turned on the Zenith and finally the excited voice of the Tigers, Bill Goodrich, bellowed the incredible news: “The Tigers have run down the hill in ORANGE SHOES! Goodrich almost sounded emotional; and mixed with the static of the Zenith, the sheer pandemonium of the 49,000 thousand fans there sounded like 89,000. Take that you STATE pansies in your girly white shoes!
It was a tough game. State took the lead on two wind aided field goals and lead at the half 6-0. But Buddy Gore scored a touchdown on a 3rd an 11 pass from the State 27 early in the third quarter. Later, midway through the 4th quarter, Gore scored on a run that elicited Goodrich to exclaim in near religious ecstasy “woo hoo mercy!” As I jumped up and down on the bed, daddy leaned back in the kitchen chair and relaxed at last.
Later that evening as the late autumn sun began to fade, I took a well timed pitch from Tony, viciously stiffed armed Macks Carlton to the ground and once again bowled over Tommy Smith at the goal line, implanting number 44 on his face as I scored on a miracle third down play. As Tony and I celebrated, mama called me in to supper. I went inside triumphant; my number 44 jersey stained with grass, blood and the pitiful remains of the white shoe wearing, football impostors that had the nerve to challenge Buddy Gore and the Tigers on that November afternoon in 1967.
- The Tigers went on to whip South Carolina and win the the 1967 Atlantic Coast Conference championship.
- Buddy Gore established a conference record for most yards in a season, and was named ACC player of the year.
- 1967 was the first year that the Tigers rubbed Howard's rock before running down the hill.
- Bill Goodrich was fired later that year and was replaced with Jim Phillips. Jim became the voice of the Tigers for 36 years. Beloved by Tiger fans, he died unexpectedly in September of 2003, 2 games into the season.
1 comment:
Excellent story! This is the style of writing that I wish to be able to pen.
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