Every Day is Game Day / Way of the Wildcats

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 5, 2024

During my initial conversation with Andy Cavalier last October, he suggested that if I’m seeking to best understand Canadian, I need to meet with Luke Flowers regarding a camp the high school junior first conducted in June of 2023 and would be continuing in 2024.

I woke up in Denver on the morning of June 5, 2024, and saw a post on Facebook regarding the success of the first two days of the “Way of the Wildcats” camp in Canadian.   “Oh crap,” I thought.  I’d forgotten that the camp was this week.  I couldn’t miss this.  I have to go.  But it’s Wednesday.  Camp ends Friday.

My wife, Vickie,  probably thought:  “How convenient—he found yet another excuse for a road trip.” 

It’s appalling that she would have such suspicions of me—but, as always, she was 100% correct.  Note: now that I’ve been married for 11 years, I’ve learned to include the “as always, she was 100% correct” verbiage in sentences like the previous one.   

As Vickie foretold, by noon, I was driving back to Texas.  

The following morning in Canadian, after my customary bowls—yes, plural—yes, at least two bowls of Fruit Loops at the Best Western, I followed the Wildcat paw prints painted on the blacktop of East Cedar Street.  One massive paw print after another and another.  I had a bit of a chill when pondering if there’s a real, living, gigantic wildcat in town.  Maybe there’s more than one.  An entire family?  Possibly many families.  If true, they get hungry and don’t have easy access to Fruit Loops. 

Then, the back-and-forth incessant self-talk: 

“Tom, don’t be crazy.”

“But why would their football team be called the Wildcats if there weren’t a lot of wildcats roaming around town? My hometown team is known as the Agates. There are plenty of agates down on the beach beside Lake Superior.”

“Tom, don’t be crazy. 

“I mean, it’s part of the name WILD—CATS. They aren’t tame—these are free-range wild animals.”

“Tom, …”

“They must be on the prowl—hunting for breakfast. And here I am.”

“Tom, don’t be crazy.”

“Those paw prints are enormous. Those are big cats.”

“Tom, don’t be crazy.”

“If they see me leaving this car, I’m doomed.”

The paw prints never seem to end. I turned right on Locust Street, headed south, rechecked my rearview mirror to ensure I wasn’t being followed—or stalked, then saw one of my favorite sites—an expansive high school football stadium parking lot.  My comfort zone.  My happy place. 

Yep, a favorite site.  A parking lot. It helps that stadium lights tower above and a football field rests nearby. But it’s the parking lot that gets to me. 

Am I the only one?  

Can’t be. 

I nestled my Ford Edge between a pair of old-school pickup trucks–those well-acquainted with dirt roads, stream beds, and’ ranch rounds’—a pickup worthy of one of the George’s—Strait or Jones, to write a song about. I turned off the engine and opened the door; then my brain shifted away from cats and F-150s to pose a surprising question:   

Am I in the right place? 

In all its beauty,  Wildcat Stadium was just beyond the press box and bleachers—a stone’s throw away.  But something seemed off.  Why were the sound waves on the south side of Canadian filled with Rick Springfield’s early ’80s pop hit “Jesse’s Girl?”  I quickly detected that the music reverberated through the cinder blocks encasing Miles T. Henderson Field House. This is June of 2024.  Jesse’s Girl?  Were some of Canadian’s finest senior citizens participating in a “Yoga to the Oldies” session inside? I was curious but hesitant to open the door and peek inside.

My trepidation turned to relief when I didn’t see senior yoga.  Instead, I saw a first-class weight room with young athletes rotating from station to station. Circuit training. Grinding. Teamwork. Buddies with buddies—inspiring each other.

It was so inspiring that I even thought about working out.  Maybe walk a lap around the track?  But I looked at the forecast.  It’s going to be 100 degrees today.  I can’t risk heat exhaustion—I have a story to write.  Never mind that it was only 74 degrees at 7:12 am and wouldn’t reach 100 until 4 pm. 

Can’t take that chance.

As I watched the boys cycle through agility drills outside the field house,  I had a flashback to 20 years earlier at the Ford Rouge Plant assembly line tour in the suburbs of Detroit. I’d never seen anything like it. There, I witnessed a methodical station-to-station assembly process whose components included side panels, quarter panels, windshields, wipers, tires, and motors.  

Inside Henderson Field House, the applied components I observed were leadership, commitment, camaraderie, teamwork, and the key driver for all of it—the dreams held by each athlete to be the best Wildcat they can be. 

In Michigan, I watched Detroit build F-150 pickup trucks.  In Texas, I’m watching Canadian build young men. I don’t recall Rick Springfield’s presence in the Motor City. Still, judging from the results that have played out at Wildcat Stadium for many years, I surrendered to the possibility that “Jesse’s Girl” might be the most inspirational song of all time.

But still not inspirational enough for me to take a lap or two around the track.

When the morning workout ended for the high school athletes, the focus shifted a short distance down the steep hill to Koetting Field.  With that, some high school athletes who’d arrived hours earlier to build themselves up now switched gears. They were now the builders—the mentors. These Canadian Wildcats gave up a cherished week of their summer—the first week of June, to inspire the younger kids of Canadian and beyond in the “Way of the Wildcat Camp.”  

As vehicles cycled through the expansive parking lot surrounding Wildcat Stadium, several little campers offered their “bye Moms” and “bye dads.” Parents drove away knowing their children were in good hands—safe to experience another idyllic day of childhood in Canadian. Speaking of which, a few boys expressed their emerging independence by riding their bikes through the neighborhood streets to the stadium.  

I was there for day four of the daily sessions, each starting at 8:30 am and ending at 12:30 pm.  This is June.  Texas heat.  I’d expect great enthusiasm and energy on the first day of a camp.  By day four, it’s fair to expect dissipation.  There was none of that.  The kids were locked in, eager to impress their heroes.

This was pre-pigeon-hole football.  Boys genetically predisposed to becoming offensive linemen were running routes and catching passes.  The smallest boy on the field was snapping a ball back to the quarterback.  The “quarterback,” a husky lad who will likely spend his high school years pummeling running backs.

This isn’t structured football. This is fun. 

Day 4  featured athletic training with numerous agility drills, football-focused drills, a game called “splat,” and frequent huddles where the kids could rest, rehydrate, and absorb the lessons offered by the camp staff members.

These youngsters didn’t have to travel with their parents to Arlington,  Lubbock, or Norman to see their heroes playing for the Dallas Cowboys, Texas Tech Red Raiders, or Oklahoma Sooners.  Their parents just needed mom to drop them off at Koetting Field. 

First in line. A childhood mission. First in line when the lunch bell rings at school. First in line at the Dairy Queen. First in line at the bakery, at the amusement park, at McDonalds, at the movie theater ticket office.  First in line at the dentist.  

Umm…my apologies. Sometimes, I get carried away and don’t know when to stop.

An eight-year-old boy was now first in line at the “Way of the Wildcats” camp.  It was his turn. His mission was to run 10 yards as fast as he could, then plant his left foot firmly into the turf of Koetting Field, veer right towards the sideline, look over his right shoulder, and finally, reach up to catch the football, which was gently, and accurately spiraling towards him.

This boy has spent his childhood catching passes on the streets and in the backyards of Canadian.  But this pass isn’t thrown by his big brother or best buddy.  This is a connection with one of his heroes—Camren Cavalier.

During the 2023 season, Canadian Wildcats quarterback Cam Cavalier set an all-time record for a high school football player in Texas with 83 total touchdowns—rushing and passing combined.  The coach’s son has thrown thousands of passes.  Set records.  Were any of those 83 touchdown passes more critical than the passes he threw to those campers during the first week of June?  

I don’t think so. 

The boy who caught that pass would likely contend that Cam now has 84 total touchdowns this year.

In that boy’s heart, Cam has.

A different connection was made on the other side of the field.  A boy had fallen away from the pack.  Not first in line.  Not even in line.  This camper stood alone in the corner of the end zone—distressed about something.  Emiliano Hernandez saw him, walked over, took a knee, listened, then shared a few thoughts.  That boy spent the rest of the session motoring around Koetting Field.  The right person said the right things to the right boy at the right time.  Day brightened.  Downright perfect.  

One pass completed, one bit of understanding and encouragement shared.  Those two connections epitomized the rhythm of the morning.

We typically become what we most often see and hear.  Life in small towns inherently provides more intersectional opportunities with folks you look up to. Connections have an increased chance of becoming impactful versus fly-by.  Kids will observe then make decisions. I see how this person carries herself and how that person is the opposite. Positive citizenry is a blessing for parents.

Sports camps have become profit centers for former athletes posing as prophets while preaching, “I’m the one who can get your son or daughter a Division 1 scholarship.”  Desperate parents fall for it. “Well, everyone else is doing it.  This one is an ‘Elite’camp.  It must be better than the ‘Selects’ camp we sent the kids to last summer.  They didn’t seem to improve much after that camp.   Wait, is a camp for elites better than a camp for selects?  Or is it the other way around?”  

“Oh well, what’s another few thousand dollars? It will be worth it when he signs his first NFL contract.”

This camp is different. 

It is the creation of Luke Flowers, then a high school junior, now a recent 2024 graduate. Flowers, the grandson of Miles Henderson’s coach, David Flowers, assembled quite a team to help him. He didn’t have to look far for help. His childhood friends—his teammates—the guys blessed to learn from Chris Koetting and Andy Cavalier were now transferring everything they knew about football, leadership, and citizenry to the next generation of Wildcats.  

While Luke created the camp, he is far from alone. His teammates are once again with him on this field.  Clay Kendall, Max Dumbauld, Emiliano Hernandez, Wyatt Davis, Camren Cavalier, and Luke’s cousin Blake Flowers. Blake’s dad was a high school quarterback in Canadian in the early 90s. Blake now lives in Seminole, Texas, but returned to Canadian to contribute to the camp.  Helping others seems to be hardwired into the genetic codes of the Flowers and Cavalier families.

Wyatt Davis: “I came from another town a couple years ago.  It was different there.  There were various groups of people who’d hang out together.  Here in Canadian, we all hang out with each other. We get along.  No one is left out.  Clay Kendall was the first guy to introduce himself to me when we moved here in 8th grade. Right then, two or three other guys immediately started talking to me.  From that point on, I was in the mix and started becoming best friends with all the guys.  I’d never moved before.  I was pretty worried.  But from the moment I got out of the car, they made me feel at home.”

At home.  

Feeling at home from the moment he got out of the car.  Wyatt’s experience.  My experience.

It would have been a phenomenal experience for these kids to be guided directly by Koetting and Cavalier. Still, one could argue that this group of leaders is more appropriate—more effective, more relatable.  The little campers were learning from the boys they’d seen performing on football fields during the past few years.  

“Now, they are here to teach us?” 

Dreamers led by their heroes—what better way to ensure a captive audience, locked in on every word? 

Camp leader Max Dumbauld recalled, “It’s a great opportunity for the younger generation of kids and upcoming Wildcats to not only have fun and compete but also like learn more about the way we do things, the things Coach Cav has taught us and hopefully show them a little bit of what it’s like to play Canadian Wildcat football. It’s been a blast.”

Max had grown up in the environment where the pre-K through fifth graders were assigned a “Wildcat Buddy” – a football player he’d share time with, get to know, play on the playground, exchange high-fives with while arriving at the elementary school on Friday mornings. Now, he was one of the football players wearing the jersey.  Now, he was giving back on that field.  The same can be said for the rest of the camp leaders.