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Furm's Take: True Tales From The Shoe
Grantham, PA — It seems like every year around this time, people are always coming up to me, wanting me to listen to their spooky Halloween stories. “This one’s true!” they’ll tell me. “You can still hear the moans at night!” they’ll whisper. Rarely am I amused by such tales, and seldom can I concoct an excuse to get away before the story telling actually begins. But Monday night, I finally lived through a great Halloween tale of my own. It may not be spooky, per se, but it sure left me with goosebumps. And the best thing is — it’s true. 8:07 p.m. Shoemaker Field. A moonlit night. Messiah 5, Arcadia 0. It seemed like another routine win for the Falcons’ men’s soccer team. I was there with my wife, patrolling the sidelines, keeping her company as she snapped photo after photo. It was just after freshman Josh Wood completed his first collegiate hat trick that she leaned over and told me, “Gruxie could use a walk. Do you mind?” Gruxie is our four-month old yellow Lab. She’d had a long day in confinement, as both my wife and I had been at work since the morning. Like a good husband, I went down to my wife’s car, put Gruxie on her leash, and began walking east — toward the Shoemaker Field lookout point, directly adjacent to Anderson Field. It’s a location that most fans don’t frequent during soccer games: It’s dark, it’s removed from the main section of seating, and it’s somewhat concealed by a row of shrubs. A few middle school kids watch games there from time to time, feet dangling off the brick wall, but usually, it’s vacant. It was not on this night. As I approached, I saw what appeared to be a familiar man wearing a long, black coat. He had just finished a cell phone conversation, and was turning back to a small folding chair. A notepad rested on one arm. It looked exactly like him, but it just couldn’t be him. Rather than appear socially awkward and call a man by the wrong name, I continued on. But that’s when he saw me. “Are you kidding me?” he said. I stopped, shocked at who I was actually looking at. “What are you doing here!?” I yelped. We shared an embrace, and began to talk. As we talked, we looked down on Shoemaker Field, both of us cloaked by an anonymity of darkness. “Brad (McCarty) has them playing well,” he said. “The entire time I’ve been here, I’ve seen only one or two mistakes. These guys are so disciplined. It’s the entire culture here.” As Messiah continued to rack up goals — eight, in all — we spoke of the success of Messiah men’s soccer, both past and present. I listened to him speak, at times feeling like I was in some sort of strange time warp. “Things are good,” he said. “It’s taking some time, but I’m excited about where we’re headed.” We discussed the dual-edged sword of success, as is often bred by teams like Messiah men’s soccer. True, success can breed success, but it can also breed contempt. “It comes with it,” he said. I looked over at him, his eyes transfixed on the field of play with piercing focus. My mind began racing: Shouldn’t there be some ballyhoo here? Shouldn’t we celebrate his appearance? I wanted to ask him if he was going to come down to the field after the game was over, talk to the folks who would love to talk to him, receive the hero’s welcome that he deserved. But, before I could ask, he provided me with his answer. “Well, I gotta get going,” he said with about eight minutes left to play. “A long drive back.” I suddenly didn’t want him to go. I wanted others to see him, speak to him, as I had. But alas, his mind was made up. He gave me another hug, scooped up his notepad and folding chair, and began to walk down the hill, across lower Starry Field, and into the forest below. He seemed to slowly vanish into the night as he walked, never stopping to look back or pause, even when the Falcons scored their final goal of the night. I’m sure he heard it, and I’m sure he smiled. But this was exactly how he wanted it, an arrival and a departure from storied Shoemaker Field with no fanfare, no notice. And although no one else knew he was there on this night, everyone knows he will forever be sewn into the fabric of Messiah men’s soccer, the very cornerstone of which the program rests upon. Dave Brandt may have came and left Shoemaker Field quietly Monday night, but his legacy will never fade into darkness.
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