User:BethMcKinley/sandbox

I'm pretty knowledgeable about a lot of things, very knowledgeable about about a few things. I'm not an expert in anything, not even when it comes to knowing myself.

I opened this account to start a Wikipedia page about the Central-Centennial football rivalry, aka, "The Bell Game". The best man I've ever known in my life (besides my father) attended and graduated from Centennial in 1978; I attended and graduated from Central in 1978. My father attended and graduated from Central. My mother attended and graduated from Centennial. My brothers and sister attended and graduated from Central. All of my biological uncles and aunts attended and graduated from one or the other.

My three older siblings were born about two years apart, then a seven year gap and time of bliss in my birth family until I unexpectedly came along. So when I was a little girl, they were in high school--Central High School. I was so impressed by my older brothers and sister. They were funny, they were cool, they were definitely children of the sixties and by default I was too. Our family car, a blue Pontiac station wagon, was adorned with Central decals.

Central: school colors blue and white. Mascot: Wildcats. Centennial: school colors red and white. Mascot: Bulldogs.

Everything about my childhood screamed "CENTRAL". I think I spent more time reading through my siblings' yearbooks than they did. One day my picture would be in that grand Blue book. I swore to myself I would make the senior poll as the funniest girl in the class of '78.

My father began taking me to Central football and basketball games when I was six or seven. Warm weather or snow, we went. I adopted my father's style of discussing sports ("Even if we're ahead in points, if the game isn't over we're not winning--we're AHEAD.") Being a little kid, I wanted to sit in the front row at these sporting events. My father was more philosophical about it. At football games, where there were no reserved seats, we sat as close to the last row as possible but always in alignment with the 50 yard-line. Why, I'd always ask. Because it gives us the best view of the game, he'd say. At basketball games we sat in the reserved seats. Why, I'd ask. Because these seats have a back rest, he'd say.

I was my father's little buddy and he knew I loved going to the games with him. There were times when he suffered greatly as a result, having to endure what must have been some measure of embarrassment when his chubby brown-haired tomboy tried to imitate the cheerleaders--poorly. Aside from this small price to pay, I know he loved taking me to the games.

Back in those days, the late sixties and early seventies, Central always had good football and basketball teams. Winning seasons were the norm, seldom did Central not make the playoffs. The league in which Central played was relatively small at the time. It was called the South-Central league because of the locations, within the state of Colorado, of the schools in the league. The South-Central league included Central, Centennial, the other two Pueblo high schools South and East, and three high schools from Colorado Springs: Palmer, Wasson and Mitchell.

It becomes necessary at this juncture to mention a little bit about the invisible but tangible dislike and distrust between citizens of Pueblo and Colorado Springs. Pueblo was a booming blue collar city during the first three-quarters of the 20th century. During the late 19th century, Colorado Springs was alternately a tourist and gold mining destination. Until the 1950s, Colorado Springs was a mecca for those with tuberculosis. The fresh mountain air and all that. Then Colorado Springs completely embraced the military industrial complex with Fort Carson, Peterson (Ent) Air Force Base, and the Air Force Military Academy. These days, the city fully embraces the religious industrial complex. But I digress. Pueblo and Puebloans have always considered Colorado Springs the annoying neighbor with the barking dogs that never shut up.

One season, the South-Central league football champion was to be determined in a game between Central and Wasson. I can't remember the year, but I know I was still in elementary school. Naturally my father and I planned to attend the game. My father was particularly aggressive in support of our Wildcats' final quest for the league championship. The sportscaster (I think his name was Denny Hawkins) for the local CBS affiliate had a son who played for Wasson, and he frequently mentioned the beatdown Wasson was gonna hand Central come Friday night. For five nights in a row my father (and the rest of us) listened intently to Mr. Hawkins ramble on about his T-Birds (Wasson: school colors maroon and gray. Mascot: Thunderbirds).

The game was played in Pueblo and Central won. Handily, I recall. Packed stadium. My father hooted and hollered throughout the game, and when the game ended he announced his intent to do or say something insulting that would catch the attention of Mr. Hawkins. After giving it some considerable thought, dad decided to purchase a blue sympathy card with the word "Sympathy" printed in silver on the front. He asked the neighbors if he could borrow one of their cats and he asked me to pull the reddish-maroon feather out of my Indian warbonnet. Dad got some of my sister's blue poster paint, dipped the wiggling cat's paw in the paint, then pressed the cat's paw a few times to the inside of the sympathy card, thereby making some lovely cat paw prints. The maroon feather was symbolic of the T-Birds that were consumed by the Wildcats during the league championship game. The paint dried, dad wrote simply "With deepest sympathy, Central High School", put the feather inside the card and mailed the card to Mr. Hawkins care of the TV station.

Monday night rolled around and we were seated at the table eating dinner when the sportscast started. Dad wanted to hear what Mr. Hawkins had to say about Central's beatdown of his beloved T-Birds and so did I, so we left the dinner table for a short time. Much to our surprise, dad's card was displayed in a close-up and Mr. Hawkins feigned ignorance as to the purpose of the card. He also congratulated the Pueblo Central Wildcats for defeating his Wasson T-Birds and graciously wished them (US) well in their continued quest for the state championship. (footnote to this story: our Wildcats lost the state championship to either Arapahoe HS from Denver or Wheatridge HS from Wheatridge)

Central, Central, Central.

You may be wondering why, thus far, very little has been written by me about Centennial. After all, that was my mother's school and she was in the pep club (back in the 1940s, when that meant something). Centennial was part of my heritage as well.

My mother has never been nor will she ever be an outside girl. Aside from gardening and her green thumb, she is not a fan of outdoor activities in general and sporting events in particular. Over the decades my father and I (and my son) have managed to drag my mother to the occasional sporting event and even a few outings in the mountains, but mostly...my mom is a homebody who doesn't like flies, crowds and public restrooms (especially National Forest outhouses). Always healthy and in shape, mom never engaged in sports of any kind, not even as a little girl. The most athletic thing she's ever done is bowl and that, of course, takes place inside. Suffice it to say she never exhibited the same sports-oriented enthusiasm for her alma mater as did my father.