One of the boys

On Monday night, coach Doug Kerr had dozens of Mustangs take the field for the first day of his summer training camp.
And he had one Ashleigh Nicholas.
A lone Filly. A single outlier.
A girl.
If you want to find her on the football field, look for the knee-high, hot-pink socks and the shorts to match.
Found the football fashion faux pas?
Sorry, that’s Tim Komma.
Ashleigh Nicholas won’t be far though. Freshmen like Nicholas and Komma usually stick together.
But that’s about the only norm that Nicholas follows.
“I played last year in eighth grade,” Nicholas said. “I wanted to play in seventh, but I signed up too late.”
You’d be hard pressed to find another girl in the area strapping on a helmet (one that doesn’t fit), throwing on a jersey (one that doesn’t fit) and lining up to deliver a mean hit (that’s more like it).
In fact, Iola High’s coaching staff can’t remember the feat ever being done before in the school’s history.
Frankly though, they’re not as concerned as what Nicholas means to the Mustangs’ record books. They’re thinking about what she can bring to the table that could help Iola reach the playoffs for the first time since 2008.
It’s definitely not her size.
She had to pause practice to tighten her chinstrap in vain. Even the smallest helmet the squad had made her look like a bobblehead.
“She’s not the fastest either,” said Brad Carson, the Mustangs offensive and defensive line coach. “It’s her attitude.”
Only a little more than a week after Kerr gave a speech to the Iola Rotarians about ridding the culture of “good enough,” Nicholas arrived at camp with the mindset of being just plain good.
That’s what her older brother taught her when she grew up watching him play at Chanute High.
If the Mustangs have any hope this year conquering their district opponents, that’s just the demeanor Kerr will expect from his team as it prepares to open the season Sept. 4.
“I need a freshman to step up right now,” David Daugharthy yelled.
The school’s secondary and running backs coach owns a booming voice that seems to find an echo, even off the plains of rural Kansas.
“C’mon, I need a freshman,” he bellowed again.
The drill was kickoff returns. Daugharthy made it clear that the only players that should take the field were those who were ready to lay someone on their back.
Nicholas tugged her facemask, hoping the padding inside her helmet had somehow shrunk two sizes over the past 30 minutes.
Then she took a step forward.
As it turns out, Daugharthy didn’t need her.
“Actually nevermind,” he said, turning back to realize he already had the number of players required.
Nicholas stood patiently. Ready, calm and willing.
The Filly has come to play.