One hour in: The air within the Damon Hornet motorhome has already fallen captive to the stagnant stench of pubescent freedom and reckless abandonment.
“Roland!” yells one of the victims/perps.
The cry barely ekes over the music’s reverberating bass beats. It’s 6 p.m. in an outdated camper on I-70 in rural Kansas.
If there’s ever a time and place for A$AP Rocky, this isn’t it. And the fact that many of you don’t even know what that last sentence means only further proves my point.
“Roland!” he tries again from the rear of the camper. “Turn on the air condition.”
Roland Weir is at the wheel. He has begun a journey to take 10 of his ball players, his assistant coach and his preteen son to Colby, for the American Legion state tournament.
One hour in: He’s still six hours away.
“It’s already on!” another player fires back.
The air only trickles out from the vents. Its weak drift fails to carry any farther than six feet in any direction.
So one by one, there go the shirts, the shoes and the hopes of anyone wanting to escape the suffocating smell that is the locker room on wheels.
Ethan Sigg, Coleson Wiggin, Derek Bycroft and Kane Rogers take their minds off the fuselage of sweat with a game of “Go Fish.”
Yeah, “Go Fish.” A tad callow, even for the two 14-year-olds at the table.
Still, if you want to learn how to separate the rambunctious from the meek, deal out a pack of cards and watch.
“You got any threes?” says one of the cheaters.
“Go Fish,” says another.
There’s clean play on the field but nothing but dirty tricks among teammates. It’s reminiscent of the old mentality that, “Only I can beat on my brother.”
In this case, Bycroft and Rogers — the two youngest of the group — have eight older brothers who all share that state of mind. So guess who draws the short stick when all the seats become occupied?
Of course, there’s actually enough room for everyone to sit. The camper is cramped yet capable of containing 10 passengers.
But Wiggin feels like stretching his legs on one of the benches, which means Rogers suddenly has the urge to find a spot on the floor.
You can call it hazing by the most liberal definition. Or you can call it seniority preference by the most forgiving one. Either way, it comes expected with any team.
If someone is going to toss assistant coach Jarred Latta yet another fruit snack pouch, it’ll be Bycroft. If someone is going to be tossed from motorhome because they’re sitting a little too close to the door when there’s a bump, it’ll be Rogers.
Is it primitive? Duh. Is it effective? You bet.
These small hardships — losing your seat, withstanding the faulty air conditioner, being a freshman — force the players to bond.
And it’s always these hardships that these players will remember when they’re old and nostalgic.
“Remember that road trip we took in that motorhome?” they’ll ask.
“Yeah, remember the air conditioner was out for all six hours? Good times.”
Maybe they’ll remember their second-place finish. Maybe not.
But it’s hard to forget the friendships, the inside jokes, the sufferings.
All of that in a seven-hour trip to Colby, trapped within the confines of the old Damon Hornet.
Back in the day when I was a high school senior (way, way back in 2010), I took a trip from Tampa, Fla., to Rome, Ga., for a cross-country running camp.
We only had a van so we got to know each other well.
We found out one of the freshmen lied about a girlfriend, trying to impress the guys.
We found out the team’s clown and overall goof wanted to be a youth pastor (he actually followed through with it).
And we found out which one of us had a crush on a member of the girls’ cross-country team riding in the van behind us.
Now that guy is getting ready to marry that girl.
I ran all week during that camp but can’t remember a single one of my times, accomplishments or ranks. But that eight-hour trip with my teammates will always stick out to me.
The Iola Indians are lucky enough to make at least one more cross-country adventure as a team.
This morning, the team once again took to the Hornet, this time bound for Le Sueur, Minn.
The regional tournament awaits for the American Legion squad and it’s an even longer journey than before.
Roland Weir will be at the wheel. The young’uns will be at the mercy of the veterans. And the air conditioner will be ineffective once again.
Sounds pretty memorable to me.
Want team chemistry? You’ll need a map, seven hours and an RV
