Charlie Waters

Or What I Find Attractive in A Man, Part 1

I've never really understood why people get so spastic over celebrities. It just isn't my thing. On the way home from Wisconsin with the church youth group, somewhere in Missouri, the church van was filled with teenage girls. Suddenly, the girls all started screaming and jumping up and down--as much as one can jump in a van. They were all looking out the window, waving and taking pictures. And screaming. Being the clueless one of the bunch, I asked what was going on. One of the girls turned to me and said,

"It's Richard Gere!"

I didn't even know who Richard Gere was at the time, but these girls had spotted a man in a car and they were sure it was him. After we'd passed the car, the girls were all discussing whether it really was Richard Gere or not. Some of them insisted that it had to be because it looked just like him. Ever the practical one, I burst all their bubbles when I posed the question,

"Come on, what would Richard Gere be doing driving through Missouri?" and although I didn't say it, I could have added, "and being passed by a church van?"

That kind of carrying on has never been my style.

Backtrack a few years--to 7th grade. The girls in my school were all agog over Charlie Waters. I was all agog over him, too, but what I couldn't understand was why they weren't just as agog over Cliff Harris. After all, he was just as good a ball player as Charlie Waters. Why didn't they go goo-goo over him?

"You've got to be kidding! That old bald headed guy?"

I didn't understand how being bald affected his ability to play football. What did it matter anyway? Once he had his helmet on, you couldn't tell he was bald.

"Oh, Becky, you just don't get it."

I'll admit, I was a bit of a late bloomer when it came to noticing boys as boys. It was late the next year before I really began to notice boys. Up until then, Charlie Waters was just the best strong safety to ever set foot on a ball field.

Now, let me set the record straight. Just because I was a late bloomer, doesn't mean I was blind.

Yeah, I thought he was cute. It just wasn't as important to me as the way he played football.


Charlie Waters played football with a passion and intensity that was rare, even in those days, and is almost never found among today's pampered pansy players--at all levels of the game. He gave of himself 100% in every game. There was no holding back. And he never quit until the game was done.

Charlie Waters broke his arm. Now, for most players, that would be a season ending injury. Even if it weren't, it would mean a big chunk of the season sitting on the sidelines for them.

Not Charlie Waters. He continued to play, even with his arm in a cast. Not only did he continue to play, he played with such passion and intensity that he broke his arm in two more places inside the cast. Now for most players, that would be a season ending injury. Even if it weren't, it would mean a big chunk of the season sitting on the sidelines for them.

Not Charlie Waters. Doctors inserted a steel rod in his bone, and he continued to play. Not only did he continue to play, he played with such passion and intensity that at times the end of the rod would pop out through the top of his shoulder.

Some people would say that is just foolishness. I don't think so. I think just showed how much he loved the game. It showed the passion he had for what he loved. It showed how much of himself he was willing to give for what he loved.

He carried that passion with him off the field as well, and kept it even after he retired from football. And he still gives of himself 100% in everything he does.

He was, and still is, involved in many charities and community events, including Fellowship of Christian Athletes, the I’m Third Foundation of Kanakuk Kamps, the Boles Home for Children, The American Diabetes Association and the Cody Waters Memorial Fund. In interviews, you can still see the passion, the intensity, and ..and..and a joy shining through his life. It shows in his eyes. It sounds in his voice. It works in his actions. It sings through his entire being.

As for his physical appearance...

Well, he can still make guys like

and
hang their heads in shame.

Even at 58 years of age.
That's what I find attractive in a man.

The Game

I was 5 years old when Roger Staubach started playing professional football. I was too young to know what irony was, or the definition of appropriate, but I still thought it was funny that the team with a star on their helmets had a quarterback named Star-back. It was a while before I figured out what his name really was.

I will freely admit that I was a bit of a late bloomer when it came to noticing boys. I've mentioned this before. I didn't really begin to notice boys as boys until probably the last half of 8th grade. When I was in 7th grade, some of the girls in my class were discussing who their favorite quarterbacks were. They were talking about Joe Montana, Danny White, Joe Namath, Joe Theismann. I believe I even heard Dan Pastorini's name mentioned. One of my few friends, wanting to include me, turned to me and asked, "Becky, who is your favorite quarterback?"

Without hesitation, I answered, "Roger Staubach."

"Ewww," she replied, "how can you like that old, ugly guy."

I must admit, I was a bit taken aback by this. I'd never thought about him being ugly. I'd never really paid attention to what he looked like at all. Why did it matter? Even if he were ugly, which I never thought he was, did it have any effect on how he played the game? Of course, now that I've got a few more years behind me, and a bit more estrogen flowing through me (though it seems to be on the decline, it's still more than I had when I was 12) I still don't think he's ugly. Even if he were, what does it matter? He's still the greatest quarterback who ever played the game, and, more importantly, a man of character and integrity as well.

Flustered and confused, I stammered out an answer. "He's a good quarterback," I said.

"Don't you like Danny White?" she asked.

"Oh, yes!" I excitedly exclaimed. "I like him because you never know what he's going to do. He'll get out there to punt, and he may scramble for a first down, or pass the ball. He's great!"

With a heavy sigh, my friend said, "Oh Becky, you just don't get it."

Early conversations about football often went like this with me. That same year, all the girls were crazy over Charlie Waters. I didn't get it. Now, don't get me wrong. Charlie Waters was a good football player. One of the best. He is still the standard by which I judge a free safety. What I didn't get was why they didn't like Cliff Harris just as much. After all, he was as good a ball player as Charlie Waters. Better, if you judge by how many times he was all-pro. I mentioned him one time.

"That old bald headed guy???"

Again, I was baffled by their response. What did it matter if he had hair or not? How did his being bald affect his game playing ability? Once he got his helmet on, you couldn't tell that he was bald anyway. I had to admit that I just didn't get it. It was about that time that I gave up trying to have football conversations with girls.

I still don't have a whole lot of football conversations with women. Usually, there's not much to talk about. I don't watch because the quarterback is "yummy". (We won't even get into how annoying I find it when that word is used by people over the age of--oh, say three.) I will admit that I find Tony Romo to be drool-worthy, but that's not why I like him. I like him for his ability to play the game--and to play it well. I like him for the joy he brings to the game. I like him because he loves the game. He's not even signed to a contract. He's playing because he loves the game. But I digress...

I watch football for the game. I love the action. I love the long bombs. I love the running backs breaking loose for 40, 50, 60 yard touchdown runs. I love the one handed grabs. I love the excitement of a come from behind victory. I love the noise of the crowds, and the crunching of the bone jarring tackles. I love the perfection of a well executed play. I love the game itself. I don't watch to please a boyfriend or a husband. I have neither, so that's not even a question. It's my son who, along about Sunday night is whining, "Can we please watch something besides football?" I will never wear a pink jersey, or even one of those tight fitting "women's" jerseys. No Barbie dolls for me. I got footballs for Christmas when I was a kid.

The game has always been a part of my life, and for the life of me, I can't imagine life without it.

Do You Believe?

When it comes to football, in my mind there is no such thing as a comfortable lead.

I grew up watching Roger Staubach play. After seeing him score an unbelievable amount of points in the final two minutes of a game for an incredible come from behind victory--time and time again--well, let's just say the game ain't over until ...well, until it's over. Charlie Waters once said, "It didn't matter how many points you were down. With Roger at the helm, you knew you could win."

Charlie Waters believed.

And I believed as well. Believed in Roger. I believed that he could do anything.

Tony Romo hadn't even been born back when Roger Staubach was making a legend of himself. Yet, Tony had hardly begun playing when the comparisons started. Comparisons to Roger. Comparisons to Troy Aikman. That's a comparison Troy Aikman isn't so sure about. "I think if you put two of my best years together it wouldn't come up with the numbers he's going to have at the end of the season," he said earlier this month. High praise, that, especially coming from a Hall of Fame, three time Superbowl Champion quarterback.

But Troy didn't stop there. "You always feel like he's going to make a play," he said of Tony. "You always feel like regardless of what the situation is, he's going to make a play that's going to get it done for the team."

Troy Aikman believes.

More importantly, Tony Romo believes. Consider the following scenario: Dallas is playing the Lions in Detroit, a place historically in which it has been difficult for them to win. There are less than 6 minutes left to play, and Jason Witten has just fumbled away the go ahead touchdown. Throughout it all, Tony Romo stays cool. In fact, the only time he seemed even the tiniest bit flustered was during the post game interview when the reporter made mention that "the girls are all swooning."

Back to the fumble. Witten feels sick about what he has done. Just sick. But Romo encourages him. "It's all right," he says. "Don't worry about it. We'll get the ball back. You'll get another chance." And with those words of encouragement, followed shortly by Dallas actually getting the ball back

Jason Witten believed.

But the Cowboys were left in a seemingly impossible position. Just over two minutes left in the game and 83 yards to go. No timeouts. Needing a touchdown to win. A field goal won't do it. It has to be a touchdown. If it had been Roger Staubach out there on the field, there would have been no doubt in my mind. Some how, someway, they would find a way to win. Tony Romo is good, but he's no Roger Staubach.

Or is he? As the Cowboys began to methodically march down the field, hopping out of bounds after each play to stop the clock, I began to wonder...

Maybe this kid has something after all. When Kyle Kosier recovered a fumble to keep the drive alive, I began to think maybe...

Maybe they could pull it out after all. When Tony Romo connected with Marion Barber to convert on a 4th and 6, I began to have hope...

Maybe they could win this thing. And when Tony found Jason Witten all alone in the end zone for the game winning touchdown (with Nick Folk's extra point) with 18 seconds on the clock, I knew...

I knew that somehow, somewhere a bit of the Dodger had rubbed off on the boy. And when asked about that final drive, Tony just smiled that heart-stopping smile of his and said, "It was fun!"

I believed.

Things I Think About

Since y'all are probably sick and tired of hearing about me being sick and tired, I thought I'd share with you some of the weird stuff that goes through my slightly demented mind. I work in what is pretty much a no-brainer job. This means I have a lot of time to think. Maybe I have too much time...

Why do people post photos on public photo sharing sites, then pitch a wall-eyed hissy fit if you link to their photos? And God help you if you include a thumbnail. Come on, people! They are called photo sharing sites for a reason! If you don't want your photos shared, then don't post them there. If you must post them online then buy your own domain name and post them there. At the very least, set your account on the public photo sharing site to Private. Then you won't have to worry about people enjoying, and linking to, your precious photos.

Why do those who are so insistent that we share our wealth share so little of their own? By the same token, why do those who insist on raising taxes not pay their own? And who is his right mind would nominate a known tax fraud to a government authority position anyway?

Why did they decide that the Verizon Wireless guy needed to start talking? I thought those commercials made a much greater impact when the sight of him--and the Network-- was all that was needed. He's still totally cute, though.

Why in the blue blazes is Drew Pearson not in the Ring of Honor? Yeah, yeah, I know we all have our favorite players from when we were growing up--Charlie Waters, Too Tall Jones, etc. But if anyone deserves to be in the Ring Of Honor, it's Drew. I mean, how many people change the lexicon of pro football terminology? Ever hear of a Hail Mary? Remember the Hail Mary? The one that started it all? Yeah, that was Roger Staubach to --guess who?--Drew Pearson. He made the 1970s All Decade Team, but can't make the Ring of Honor? Go figure.



Do I have too much time on my hands, or what?



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