'Twas a Dark and Stormy Night - Tales of The Yellow Flag

This weeks officiating adventure took place in the small town of Silverton, Texas, and once again the hometown teams mascot is the Owls. Silverton is about sixty miles southeast of Amarillo. Here is a pic I found of the area surrounding town. Amarillo sits on what is called the Caprock and Sivlerton is right along the breaks where the caprock drops off.

Most sports fans recognize the name Micky Mantle. Mantle is a baseball legend. Few people have probably heard of Larry Mantle, Micky's brother but back in 1998 Larry Mantle was the head coach of the Silverton Owls six-man football team.

The year before the Owls had advanced deep into the state playoffs before eventually losing to the team that went on to claim the Texas state title, and once again the Owls were ranked in the top five in the statewide polls.

Larry Mantle was a big imposing guy who commandeered a healthy respect amongst his players, fans, opposing coaches and, the official assigned to his games. He wasn't necessarily a screamer or a volatile guy, but as a ref you knew when he was displeased with a call. I had called a game in Silverton the previous year without incident, but on this early September in 1998 things did not go my way.

It started raining early on and by the second quarter the filed, the ball and everyone's nerves were a bit slippery. And Silverton was losing handily to a team they were supposed to beat with ease. There had been numerous flags including a controversial pass interference call I made against the home team. And Coach Mantle insisted that the other team's lineman were holding his players. I watched, but in my humble opinion the blocks were clean.

Just before half the black skies ruptured, Rain pelted down in sheets, and pea sized hail bounced off of players helmets. Unfortunately, referees, coaches and fans do not wear helmets. When a bolt of lightening struck nearby the head referee stopped the game and we fled to the safety of the locker rooms.

In these small schools us official were given whatever space was available. In Silverton this happened to be Coach Mantle's office, so as we sat there dripping wondering how long the storm would linger, and wondering if the highly ranked Owls would find a way to get back in the game and preserve their standing.

About an hour went by before Coach Mantle came in said, the storm was expected to last several hours and he was choosing to forfeit. When the head official explained that the game could simply be canceled or postponed Coach Mantle said something to the affect of, "No, we'll take our loss like men and move on."

So I changed out of my stripes, dried my body, and got dressed for the hour drive home. By the time I was finished the other refs had already gone. I trudged out to my Jeep Cherokee. The rain was still coming down and lightening danced through the sky. Then I reached in my jeans pocket and realized my keys were gone. I patted the other pocket. Empty. Then I peered inside the driver's window and there in a momentary lightening flash I spotted them on the passenger seat.

I tried every door but they were all locked, so begrudgingly I went back inside. Down the hall I head voices so I walked that way until I reached the boys locker room. I eased the door open and heard the coach delivering a speech which went something like this ...

... I realize the odds were stacked against us. The rain made the ball hard to hold on to. And I've never seen a worse officiating crew. Blind, incompetent, and that pass interference call was absolutely ridiculous.

About this time several of the players noticed me and pointed to the back of the room. Coach Mantle turned, sized me up and said, "What?"

Rather sheepishly I said, "I locked my keys in the car."

The coach nodded. "That figures."

Players chuckled.

"I was wondering if you had a coat hanger or something."

"I'll get you some help. Just wait out by your car."

So I went back outside and waited. In the rain.

Ten minutes later a sheriff pulled up. As he fished around with his slim-jim he said, "Some game tonight."

"Yeah, too bad the storm cut it short," I said. "Might have made a comeback.""I doubt it," Said the sheriff as the locked popped open on my door. "Not with calls like that pass interference."

"I said nothing to that."

"There you go." The sheriff stepped back so I could sit down behind the wheel.

"Thanks. I really appreciate it."

The sheriff nodded and readjusted the Stetson on his head. "Yep. My boys been playing ball since grade school, but that's the first time he's ever been flagged for pass interference."

The sheriff followed right behind my as I drove out of town. And you can bet I stopped at the one blinking light and I kept the speedometer a good five miles below the posted speed limit, but still I kept waiting for those red and blues to flash in the rear view mirror.

But I escaped town wet, but unharmed and to Coach Mantle's credit he offered a handshake and merely said, "I remember you," the next time I called a game in his town.

Who you callin' porky?

Way back at the first of August, WordVixen tagged me with a meme called show your face. I told her then I would get to it later but even I didn't figure it would take a month. By the way, to the best of my knowledge WordVixen was the first person to put up a link to this blog. Now I have displayed my hairy mug on this blog several times so this time I thought I'd give y'all a little something different. My answers to the meme questions will follow my take on the picture.

Yep, that rosy-cheeked, clean-shaven, baby-faced dork is me, circa. my senior year of high school. What you see there is 265 pounds of prize winning castrated swine. I'm talking about the pig now folks, back then I only weighed about 225 and luckily I still have all the parts God bestowed upon me.

As you can see from the board behind me this picture was taken in 1991 at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. It must of been a hundred and ten in that show ring and I showed that pig for better than a solid hour before the judge pointed at me. If it had gotten any warmer I could have popped an apple in the pigs mouth and had a little baked ham.

Me and the pig, a Berkshire, were awarded breed champion. I guess technically the pig won, but I got to spend the money. How much money? $14,400 dollars and some change. Not bad wages for a high school boy used to earning $3.35 an hour at the feedstore. I had sold another pig for $2,800 dollars two weeks before at San Antonio which had paid my debt for the animals and their feed so the Houston winnings were all mine. This was February of 1991 and by summer of 1992 I was sporting the goatee that I have had ever since. (Except for one brief shaving incident in early fall of 97, but I try to forget about that.)

Okay, now back to the meme.

Blog title: One Word, One Rung, One Day
Description: It's at the top of the page but here I'll paste it here for any lazy people. One word ... because that is how all stories must start. One Rung ... at a time up the long, slippery ladder of success. One Day ... my name will grace the cover of a novel. A big, hairy Texan's pursuit to publish a novel

Name: Travis Erwin. Travis is a fairly common name here in Texas after William B Travis one of the fallen leaders in the Alamo. Legend has it I was almost dubbed Ty instead

Country: USA
Occupation: Postal Worker, but I use that last word loosely.

Email: travis @ donotspam traviserwin dot com (minus the do not spam, of course. Unless you're a spammer) I stole that directly from wordvixen
Birthday: December 21, 1972 Too bad I'm not a character in a fantasy novel 'cause all wizards born on the winter solstice have extra magical abilities. December 21st is the shortest day of the year which simply means you have a longer night in which to party.

Favorite color: Black - I'd say eighty percent of the shirts I own are either black or grey, but my reasoning is not nearly as noble as Johnny Cash's.
Favorite drink: Sweet tea for non-alcoholic and anything with Rum otherwise.
Favorite fruit: yeah right, like I eat fruit. This is my blog so I'm adding a new category.

Favorite Meat: Marinated Elk tenderloin slow grilled.

Favorite dessert: A tie. Creme Brulee or Beignets. But both have to be consumed with a nice steaming cup of chicory coffee in the city of New Orleans.
Hobbies: Reading, writing (technically a hobby till it pays off), again stolen straight from Word Vixen. Hunting, fishing, and pestering, humoring and just generally harassing my wife and kids.
Some of the blogs I know that have posted pics of me: Like anyone else would want to scare off readers by letting the world know they associate with the likes of me.

Da Rules: Post a short article and include your photo. If you already have a pic online somewhere, get creative with a new one. Next, include a link to the others who have displayed their pic, or include their pic in your post, adding a reference to it.

I could tag you guys, but I'm not. However, I do expect at least five of you to pick up the ball and run with it. And think of me and my pig the next time you bite into a nice juicy pork chop.

I don't know what I'm talking about, but ...

I've never let that stop me before, so here I go again.

I started this blog with the idea I would talk about nothing but the craft of writing and my pursuit to sell a novel. Click here to check out those early posts. About three people read my blog in those days. Then I started talking my view of the world outside of the business of writing. The Feedstore Chronicles kind of started the story-telling flavor that the blog has developed. Now they are on hiatus while I have moved on to Tales of the Yellow Flag. I hope the ref stories to come turn out better than the first edition but I think they will. Once I find the correct tone, groove and pace.

Funny, I should bring up tone, groove, and pace, and the fact I've strayed from writing related posts, because that is what I'm going to blog about today. I hope my now writing friends and readers will stick around to read this post and comment from a readers perspective on these things, but if not I understand. And if you hate these kind of post just be patient, because tomorrow I plant to post a picture that is sure to make you laugh, and I am doing to pay my debt to WordVixen, whom I am sure had given up on me fulfilling her request.

Back in year of two thousand and ought, at the encouragement of Hall of Fame RWA member and New York Times Best Selling Author Jodi Thomas I decided to pursue a writing career. Jodi along with a few other published authors that she shared my work with all said the same things you have a great voice. Now being new to the game I thought, but I don't sound a thing like Kasey Kasem and okay I had read out loud for Jodi in class but I'd never met these other people so how did they know what I sounded like. Only later did I find out they meant my writing voice, but even then I didn't have a clue what they were really talking about. Matter of fact it was three or four years before I really got the whole concept of voice.

And even though I feel like I understand it putting a definition into words is a bit dicey. But being glutton for punishment I'm going to try. You know how onions make some people cry, well that how I feel about this post. It makes me nervous as hell to talk about the many layers of voice when I just might come across as a blithering idiot. Sure I've learned a lot over the last seven years, but at the same time I'm not exactly cashing huge royalty checks, or any royalty checks for that matter. At least not for my three completed, and three in progress novels.

Now that I have rambled forever let me get to the meat of this post. Dang, mention of the word meat made my stomach growl. Here is what I think is the recipe that makes up a nice batch of voice stew.

Sentence Structure - He was hungry. His ravenous body craved nourishment. He needed to eat soon, before his stomach took a bite out of his backbone.

All of these same the same thing, but in vastly different ways. But is it voice or the character you are describing that determines the choice. Both. A good writer will tweak the language they use for different characters, especially when using dialogue or a shifting points of view. But over the course of a novel or short story the word choices, the length of sentences and paragraphs, and structure of an authors words will begin to show a pattern and style.

Tone - Again this can change do to genre, character pov, or other factors. But if Stephen King and Kinky Freidman both sat down to tell the same story with the same exact plot line and characters I can guarantee they'd finish with vastly different novels. How a writer develops characters, plots points, and scenes will affect how a reader sees things.

A scar, the color of a butchered hog ran jagged across his right cheek and short black stubble covered his meaty skull.

Except for the titty pink scar on his cheek he looked just like Curly from The Three Stooges.

Same guy, but I bet you look at him different. Again a good writer will use descriptions like this to manipulate the reader into a certain image and mindset but over time the writer's own preference will come out. I should have used something more neutral like a landscape to show this but hopefully you follow my meaning.

Pace - Again a suspense and a coming of age novel have to use different paces but think about a couple of your favorite writers novels. Some tend to tell large sweeping stories that cover years and years of a characters life. Other focus on a short tumultuous period of their protagonists life.
Some authors focus on the why a character is in a hole they can't get out of. Others stick strictly to how they are going to get out. As a writer I sometimes forget that a reader will not know all the things about the story or characters that I do. Deciding what information a reader will need and when is critical to how the character will be viewed. In my last complete novel. I purposely mislead the reader into thinking my character Lindsay was sexually abused by her father. I wanted readers to feel sympathy for her. I wanted readers to see her as a victim because that is how she sees herself, even though it is not true. The book would have read differently had I laid the facts out there front and center. And now if -- so scratch the if -- WHEN, A River Without Water is published you will have a bit of insight.

I know I have butchered this post, but in a nutshell voice is what you write, how you write it and why you wrote it. Voice is who you are as a writer. But the most important thing I had to learn about voice was to trust my own. To know when to tell my critique group NO. Not because they were wrong, and not because I'm stubborn but because that is not the way I would ever write it. but if they say your hero is a whiny twit, and I don't care what happens to him, listen. But don't let others restructure your every sentence and rewrite your story. Of course I'm not talking about agents and editors. The power of a contract could make me rewrite dang near anything.

Sometime I have to look away from the computer monitor and stare at the ceiling. That is when I ask myself how would I describe this if I were talking to a friend or telling a story from atop a bar stool. Don't fall in love with the way your favorite author does something. Look at what they do, think about why they wrote it that way, and then accomplish the same thing in your own style. Trust your voice, even if you don't understand what it is, because in the end it is the only thing that separates you from the masses of other writers chasing the same dream.

Dad's Cookin' Tonight - Terrible Tuesdays with Travis

Like all families with kids involved in extra-curricular activities mine gets extremely hectic now and again. Last year about this time was one of those occasions. Picture this scene ...

The entire family is the the Ol' Expedition headed for home. IT is almost nine and the boys are up past their bedtime, they have not taken a bath and none of us have eaten supper, but collectively we have attended guitar lessons, tap and ballet class, and a marathon carnival volunteer meeting. (More on the carnival in a later post.)

We have already driven past all the fast food restaurants and our now almost our house int he boonies when my wife says, "We have to go back to town. I forgot to lay out anything for supper so if we don't go buy something it will be ten o'clock before we eat."

Now me in all my ultimate wisdom has a bright idea. We'll stop at the one lone store that is between us and the house, an old dirty rundown convenience store.

My wife rolls here eyes at this suggestion and asks, "What we are going to eat?

"Chimichangas, corndogs, polish sausage on a stick, potato wedges, chicken nuggets."

"That is what you want to feed your children for supper?"

I nod. "Why not, the boys like corndogs."

"What about vegetables, or anything nutritious?"

"I'll buy them some milk," I say as I pull into the graveled, pothole-filled lot.

Now at this point I was feeling pretty good about myself. I didn't have to drive all the way to town and besides, I like junk food. I point through the glass while the lady behind the counter sacks up two corndogs, potato wedges, and a chimichanga(fried burrito for those who've never had the pleasure) for my wife. They are out of polish sausage on a stick, so with a tad of disappointment I order chicken nuggets. This is when things start to go bad.

The lady behind the counter frowns and says, "Oooh, I don't know how this chicken will taste. It was here when I got here and I haven't made any fresh." Then she adds, "But if you still want chicken I'll just give it to you."

"Sold!" I'm as cheap as the next guy and a free dinner sounded alright to me. But I wasn't aware of the facts.

I'll repeat the lady's words. "It was here when I got here." I didn't know she'd been there a week solid, or that those nuggets had sat there under a heat lamp for the entire duration, but that is exactly what they tasted like. WEEK OLD CHICKEN.

But I ate them because one, I was hungry, two, it was my only choice, and three, they were FREE.

As the boys munched away on their corndogs, and my wife applied hot sauce to her chimichanga I crunched away and made the comments, "Good thing these were free, otherwise I'd turn around and go ask for my money back."

To my wife's credit she did say, "I wouldn't eat them if they taste that bad."

I ignored her. I also ignored her wise ass comments at three in the morning when I was cradling Porcelain Annie and praying to the vomit gods to please take away my stomach cramps.

Karma paying me back for ignoring my wife and exposing my innocent children to malnourishment? Or just my own stupidity getting the better of me? You be the judge, but take my advice, that old saying, The best things in life aren't free is one of the truest statements ever spoken.

Holiday? ... I Don't See No Stinkin' Holiday.

Labor Day has been canceled here in these parts. I have to work. My two boys have to go to school. My wife has to teach. Nope there is nary a hint of rest or relaxation around here ... but at least I'm get double time for today. Finally what I'm worth.

What else is going on? I've got one hell of a crick on my neck. From sleeping on my side as the chiropractor suggested I might add. Now I can not hold me head up straight. I look like a doofus with my head cocked to the right or as my wife said this morning, "You look like a confused dog with her head tilted that way."

Ahhhh ... the words of love.

The ol' Erwin clan is heading out to my friend Steve's place tonight for a cookout to officially pull the plug on summer. He sometimes comments on this blog as not so stone cold. Yes, his name is Steve Austin. He is a great guy, always willing to help out a friend in need and he's also one of the few postal workers I now know who truly earns his paycheck. He is toying around with a picture blog, so stop in and say hi, but I'll warn you he's already heard every Million Dollar Man and Stone Cold joke there is.

Far as I'm concerned summer has been on life support since school started so it is time to say our goodbyes and get ready for fall. I like fall and here is laundry list why ...

Crisp cool air, Football, beautiful foliage, hunting season, lower electrical bills, the start of hockey season, no more mowing-flies-mosquitoes, and the excitement of my boys as their birthdays approach.

So what is your favorite season and why? And if I am going to ask a cheesy question like that to pander for your comments, I might as well ask another. As I said my wife said I resembled a curious dog this morning but now I'm wondering what kind of dog I'd be. A mutt, because I'm a long way form show quality? A Saint Bernard, because I'm big? If so I will tote rum in that barrel around my neck instead of the traditional whiskey.

So you the readers of this blog tell me, if like Sirius Black I could morph into a canine what kind would I be? Let's see just how creative and funny you guys are.

Personal Foul -- Tales of the Yellow Flag #1

Most of these ref stories will fall into one of two categories -- my stupidity, or people who take football way more serious than the average person. They will not be about the nuts and bolts of the sport and I feel pretty certain that even the most unsporty of readers will be able to follow along and chuckle.

This week's installment takes place in tiny Hedley, Texas. Should you want to learn more you can follow the link but basically the town is 87 miles south east of Amarillo and boasts a population just shy of four hundred. The Hedley Owls play six man football instead of the traditional eleven a side. The entire high school grades 9-12 has less than a hundred students and with a good percentage of those being female fielding a regular team would never happen. There are many six man teams in the state and just because they are small does not mean they take their games any less seriously.

By the way I always thought that Hedley should do away with their Owl moniker and go by the Hedley Horseman. This would make one heck of a helmet decal. Don't you think?

Referees in Texas get paid a percentage of the gate attendance for officiating varsity games. You'd think this would make ref'ing small town games bad, but actually they still pay pretty well since everybody from both towns attended the games as well as farmers and ranchers from the surrounding area. Almost ten years ago I made anywhere from hundred and fifty to three hundred dollars a game, plus mileage. Not bad for three hours work, even today.

Back to Hedley. Normally I traveled alone but this one particular time my wife decided to go. She's never attended a six man game and I told her this one should be a good game as both teams were equally matched.

So I change into my black and white stripes, don my whistle, stuff the ol' yellow hanky in my pocket and trot (me and actual running decided long ago to part ways) out to the field. I spy my wife sitting up in the full to capacity bleachers of the home team. Refs always check out tot he bleachers, first to see how much money they are likely to make, second to scope out the ladies cause refs are just like all horny men of this world, and third to identify the hecklers - they are easy to spot with their bullhorns, and I hate all zebras glare.

The crowd was good, my wife was smiling at me and there wasn't a bullhorn in sight. Things looked good.

As expected the first half was tight, but Hedley was winning and there hadn't been many controversial calls. A good well played game. So again I trot off to the weight room/ referee changing for a bit of halftime refreshment and rest. Six man football is action packed so it tends to wear a fat guy like me out.

So the big six or eight member bands do their thing. It is not unheard of in these towns to see a kid in a football uniform marching in the band as well.So much for his chance to take a breather.

I don't pay much attention to the stand when I come out for the second half, but then sometime in the third quarter I look up and there in the middle of the bleachers is my wife and there is not another living soul within fifteen feet of her.

Now I had jsut ridden in the car with her and unless something had changed she didn't have a bad case of B.O., she isn't the the type to start farting out in public, and she had no communicable disease. So what in the world had happened to make every person in the bleachers suddenly move away and shun her? Here is what she told me after the game.

At halftime one of the Hedly cheerleaders went up in the stands ans asked her if her name was Angie.

My wife said, "No."

"Are you Frank Smith's girlfriend?"

Again Jennifer said, "No."

"Are you from Clarendon?"

Jennifer smiled and shook her head.

At which point the cheerleader said, "Well who are you then?"

"My husband is one of the refs. I came with him to watch the game."

And with that comment my wife parted the crowd like Moses did the Red Sea. And this was during a game in which, one, I was doing a good job, two, there was no big game-changing controversial calls, and three the home team was winning. I think my wife only went to one other varsity game in which I called and she gave up after that. It bothered her way worse than it ever did me to hear everyone complaining about everything from my poor eyesight to my bubble butt.

But four years of ref'ing prepped me for my writing career, because nothing any agent, editor, or reviewer can say will compete with the things I heard on a weekly basis. Miss one call and you'll get a healthy dose of personal and very instantaneous rejection.

Goodbye Feedstore, Hello Gridiron

Last night I headed down to Dick Bivins stadium here in Amarillo an along with 7,500 hundred other people watched my 16 year old nephew's varsity football debut. He's a big kid, around 6'2" or so, and before fall practice he was weighing in just a tad over 300 pounds but he's sweated off enough to get back under three hundred. Used to be I wrestled around him him quite a bit and while I still have several inches of height and we weigh close to the same, I now have to fight dirty to maintain the upper hand.

He plays for Canyon a small town about ten miles south of Amarillo, but their opponent was none other than my alma mater -- the Caprock Longhorns.

Now Caprock has a long standing football tradition ... of losing. That tradition continues last night but the team has a new coach and they actually looked better than normal. My nephew did well last night and his team prevailed 20-7 but I had a hard time rooting against my old school. So I didn't. I cheered for my nephew to do well while at the same time I hoped for the Longhorns to score. I had coached a few of the seniors on Caprock's team back when they were in the fifth and sixth grade so I knew players from that side as well.

At halftime I wondered over to the other side and took a stroll among the Caprock fans. I ran into a couple of old classmates and a few of the parents of the kids I once coached, so this week has turned into Old Home week for me.

I am an avid football fan -- The New Orleans Saints in the NFL. Nebraska Cornhuskers in college. I attend a good many high school games each year and besides coaching kids for a while, once upon a time I ref'd everything from fifth grade to varsity. So I know my way around the ol' pigskin after being involved on every level.

Varsity High School Football is huge in Texas. It spawned first the book, then the movie and finally the television show Friday Night Lights. The team that spawned those creations. The Odessa Permian Panthers once played Amarillo High at Dick Bivins stadium and there was something like fourteen thousand people at the game.

In the spirit of fall, football season, and falling foliage I am going to suspend my Sunday ritual of sharing The Feedstore Chronicles. In its place I will be telling a few of my referee stories but don't worry you non football fans they wills till be character stories more than anything else. I think y'all will get a kick out of them(pun intended) even if you do not like sports. I'll start tomorrow. If you really need to hear about Earl's unscrupulous horniness, or Jerry's stupidity, or another tale of When Barnyard Animals Attack you can go here to revisit the Feedstore Chronicles.

I do plan to share more of these stories later, but probably not until after the first of the year because after the football tales I plan to share a few humorous anecdotes about my stint as a mall Santa Claus which I mentioned previously in this post titled, The Other White Meat . Yes, I actually donned the red suit for one holiday season and it ranks as one of the worst decisions of my life, but you will have to wait until after Thanksgiving for those horror stories. And don't forget the Tuesday segments of Terrible Tuesdays with Travis.

So there you have it, your fall preview for what is to come on the TBC.

TBC? That stands for the Travis Blogging Community.

So here's my questions. First, how many of you are football fans? And second, who do you root for?