The sun had set, and even twilight was fading. There, on the edge of Beautiful Eagle Creek, having finished the last practice before departing for Pocatello, Idaho and a NCAA Division 1-AA championship matchup with Furman was Eagles head coach Erk Russell. And me. Erk’s post-practice talks were almost always audible for the fans and sideline mafia – the group of fans and boosters so dedicated to Georgia Southern football they took attendance among themselves at practices and if they spotted somebody they didn’t recognize on the sidelines, they were on him like bouncers at a nightclub. This day, Erk pulled the team out of earshot. The huddle broke, and the team jogged and walked back down the Fair Road sidewalk to the lockers at Hanner Fieldhouse. I was still in school at Southern, a couple of quarters away from graduating. I was working for the Statesboro Herald. I was barely 22 years old. Had never been inside a journalism classroom – still haven’t – and had the Eagles football beat for the local paper. I had a standing reservation with Erk every Friday to discuss that week’s opponent. Once, I missed that time. I never missed it again. Erk could take a game against the worst of the worst and make you think the Eagles had no chance to win. I’d leave his office and an hour later think to myself, he’s done it again. There’s no way that team is beating this Georgia Southern team. I was right a lot that year. There were no palatial coaches’ offices at Georgia Southern then. All…
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