In the early winter of 1994, my life was forever changed. That may sound dramatic, but it is completely true.

I was a senior in high school – my beloved alma mater East Central High School southeast of San Antonio nestled in the small town of Adkins and playing football for our Mighty Fighting Hornets.

I say “playing” in the loosest of terms. I’ll be honest here; there are times when I freely admit that I tend to have a case of “the older I get, the better I was” syndrome.

Truthfully, I was the low man on the depth chart and saw game time action only when we had sufficiently blown our opponent out. Fortunately for me, that happened a few times. Enough times that I actually got dirty enough to have to take a shower after the game.

Regardless, I loved it. I loved -- and still do -- the game of football and I loved playing on Fridays. Everything from the morning pep rallys to having our own “football players” table in the cafteteria to just being a part of something really great. The pain I went through then (and still do to this day) was all made worth it on Fridays.

We had a pretty good team that year and were having a good season. We won our District for the first time in more than a decade and at one point were ranked number three in the city. Not great, but pretty good.

Two years prior to that season, the school brought in a new head coach and athletic director from Elgin and he brought in with him a collection of assistants, including the man who would be my coach and a source of continual humor and pseudo-wisdom to this day.

His name was Coach Lynn Stewart – Coach Stew to all us big ‘uns (his term, not mine) on the offensive line.

Coach Stew had a very distinctive look about him. His arms and legs were pipe cleaner thin, he had a bowling ball for a head that was covered with just a mess of shaggy graying brown hair and a midsection that, well, probably had been the victim of a few hundred six packs of Bud Light.

On the football field, he always wore those coach shorts, a t-shirt that barely covered his beer belly and there was always a plug of chew in his mouth. To be even more blunt about it, he looked a bit like a frog.

My description of the man doesn’t do him justice. Outside of my parents, he’s had as much an impact on me “becoming a man” as anyone in my life.

I still use some of the sayings he laid on us back then today … “If ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ were candy and nuts, then we’d all have a Merry Christmas” is still one of my favorites.

Fast forwarding a bit, we won our district and were matching up against another San Antonio team in the first round of the playoffs.

Our opponent was a team pretty much like ours and almost to a man, every member of our team knew, just knew we were beating them.

When we saw how the playoffs would shape up, we all immediately focused on who our likely opponent would be in the next round.

We were staring down the barrel of a game against the Chaparrals of Austin Westlake High School. Every one of us was chomping at the bit to get a crack at their hotshot quarterback who was lighting up the state record books.

It’s neither here nor there, but that kid currently is torching defenses in the NFL … he goes by the name of Drew Brees and is under center for the New Orleans Saints. Ahh, what could have been.

Well, that week, we as a team had probably one of if not the worst week’s of practice we had all season. All the coaches were concerned about our lack of focus on the team in front of us.

“Men, **** it! You’re gonna blow it if you don’t focus!” Stew would almost be pleading with us. He kicked us off the field at one point. During drills, he would individually come to us … whap us in the helmet with his whistle and spittle-yell “FOCUS!”

It didn’t help any of us.

Predictably, that Friday night, with TV cameras on the sidelines, we got our butts handed to us.

We were one and done in the playoffs and all that hard work … four year’s worth of it for some us, it was all for nothing. We were done.

Here’s where we get to the life changing part of the story. The bus ride back to Adkins was long and quiet. No one said anything. Not the coaches, not the players, not the trainers, not even the bus driver.

We got back to the locker room and we broke up into our individual groups. “Line in, line in,” Coach Stew hoarsely croaked out.

This was our cue to file outside to our normal meeting place. He told us to take our helmets and pads off and have a seat. He went to each of us, from underclassmen to seniors and said a little something to all of us.

Generically, it would be something along the lines of “Thanks for the hard work Big ‘Un” or “We’ll get ‘em next year.”

Then he got to the seniors. Now, I had gone through this whole experience the season prior and I saw some of the biggest and toughest guys I knew just break down and bawl like they were babies when Stew said whatever it was he said to them.

As the seconds ticked off the game clock, selfishly what was going through my mind was I wasn’t going to let this happen to me.

Again, I was one of the lower rungs on the senior linemen totem pole, so as he got to the upperclassmen, he got to me fairly early.

He waddled up to me and stretched out one of those spindly arms of his and put it on my shoulder. Okay, this is it I thought … be tough. As long as I live, I’ll never forget the words Coach Stew spoke to me that night.

“Son, I’m proud of ya. Ya done good. It’s all over now, you know that? You got nothing to be ashamed of though. Thank ya.”

He shook my hand and walked on down the line to talk to somebody else. That’s when it hit me … when he said it’s all over, he meant football and he meant it was over for me.

For four years at EC, I was a football player. I hung out with football players, I built my class schedule around fooball and football practice … it was who I was. I was a football player and now that was all over!

I’m not ashamed to admit now that I broke down and cried like a baby. I had been playing organized football since I was in kindergarten and now, I would never play football … not like this … ever again.

My life changed that night forever. I had to find out who I was. It turns out, I was a fairly good writer … nothing to brag about, but enough to get me a small scholarship to the University of Texas at San Antonio and, well, here we are.

Here is why I’m writing this now … I’m writing it for our boys who are getting ready to play Bridgeport this Friday. First, congratulations on winning your first playoff game last week against Glen Rose. That was a great win.

Second, do everything you can … it’s cliché, but take nothing back with you into that locker room once that game is over this Friday, give every ounce of whatever it is you have and keep this going.

There will be some of you who were like me. There will be some of you who, once this season is over, will never suit up again to play ball.

You seniors on the team, there will be time later on to figure out who you are and what you’re going to do after high school. For now, just play.

Folks, you’ll have to excuse my language for a bit here, but there are times when I miss the Hell out of those Friday night lights.

Now, I wouldn’t trade how my life has turned out for anything … except maybe one more chance to strap on the pads and play ball under those Friday night lights.

Put off the future for as long as you can Jackets. You’ll never get this time back and the games just aren’t the same from the stands.