Remembering a good man – and very intense Husky fan

D E Larsen DVM

It was the fall of 1980.

As a newly elected school board member, I’d been asked before to attend a volleyball game and was starting to feel guilty about not getting to one.

“Doc, I’m telling you: You guys need to get over to the high school and watch these girls play volleyball,” Bob said. “They are playing well, and they will go to state this year.”

“You’re probably right, Bob,” I said. “It’s a little difficult for us, but maybe I’ll get (my wife) Sandy to get a babysitter, and we will get over and watch a game.”

“Their next game is Thursday,” Bob said. “The varsity game usually starts at 6. They play the JV game in the activity gym, so things go a little quicker than when they were playing both games in the same gym.”

At dinner that evening, I brought up the subject to Sandy.

“We need to go to the volleyball game tomorrow night,” I said.

“What time is the game?” she asked. “I’m not sure we want to haul the kids down there.”

“They try to get the varsity game started at 6,” I said. “We could probably get Susie to watch the kids. I would think we could be home not too long after 7.”

“OK, if we can get Susie to babysit, I will go,” Sandy said. “I don’t like asking her to sit on a school night, but if we aren’t going to be late, that should be fine.”

* * * * *

The gym was full when we arrived. The teams were just taking the floor. And Sandy was impressed that we were just ushered to the stands without having to pay for a ticket – an unexpected perk of being on the school board.

We had to work our way up to six rows in the bleachers to find a seat behind the Sweet Home bench. We sat and waved to a few clients who noticed us coming in. We were sitting behind a couple of older men I didn’t know.

The game started, and Sweet Home made a couple of quick points. Then one of the girls struck a vicious spike toward the far line, and the ball was called out of bounds.

One of the guys in front of us was instantly on his feet, shouting and shaking his fist at the referee.

The game went on. But from that point forward, he became more animated and vocal at every call that wasn’t in our favor. At one point, the guy sitting with him tried calming him down.

“That ref is as blind as a bat,” the unnamed man said to his friend. “If he can’t do better than that, he needs to be replaced.”

This game was important in that the winner would hold the No. 1 spot in the league standings.

The girls won the first set with ease, 15-7, then found themselves trailing in the second. The harder they tried, it seemed, the deeper their deficit became. 

The guy in front of us became agitated to the point of turning red in the face. When he stood and shouted, he’d take a step down the bleachers, shaking his fist and throwing out names that probably shouldn’t be allowed at a high-school game. His antics did not go unnoticed by the referee, who I think wanted to call something on the stands but probably didn’t quite know how to handle the situation.

Near the end of the second set, Sweet Home was behind, 14-5. The coach just wanted to get the girls settled down and ready for the third. He stood up and motioned for the guy in front of us to return to his seat.

“This game is lost, but they will come back and win the third,” the friend of the agitated man said. “They have been in this situation before this season. They are a good bunch of girls, you will see.”

“It just makes me mad when they have to play against the ref, too,” his companion said.

Sweet Home took immediate control of the third game, just like the friend had predicted. Yet the man in front of us continued to berate the referee. He almost lost all control on a net-violation call, when one of our tall girls spiked the ball for what would have been game point. The ref even blew his whistle and pointed at the guy until he took his seat. 

It was only a short time later that Sweet Home finished the game with a solid win. The stands erupted, and it became apparent that we were not going to make a quick exit. Everyone was standing, and a few people had started to file out of the lower rows.

“I am glad you brought me to this game,” the man in front of us told his friend. He had calmed himself and was acting normally. “This is the first time I have been to a volleyball game.”

I could have fallen out of my seat at that statement. Watching him, one would have thought that he at least was a little more than a casual spectator.

As we made our way out the door, teacher and coach Bruce West caught my eye and motioned me to stop.

“How did you like the game?” he asked.

“It was a good game,” I said. “These girls look pretty good. The guy in front of us was a little loud at times, but otherwise, we enjoyed the game.”

“Oh, we are used to him, I guess. He means well, but he’s just being Blair,” Bruce said.

Blair Smith was a fixture in Sweet Home. A good guy, he became a friend who would always shake your hand at a ballgame or on the backside of Buck Mountain.

He just immersed himself in whatever he was watching.

– David Larsen is a retired veterinarian who practiced 40 years in Sweet Home. More of his stories are available on his blog at docsmemoirs.com.

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