15: Where Have All the Heroes Gone?

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By Chrisklob

CHARLESTON, SC – On January 16, 1972, the Dallas Cowboys won Super Bowl VI. As both of my parents are from Dallas, were fans of that team, and we traveled there at least once a year to visit family it was essentially predetermined that I should like them too. I was just shy of my eighth birthday and that was the exact day that I fell in love for the first time.

At the time, the Cowboys were easy to like. They were clean, humble and wholesome and for the most part were a God-fearing lot. Not too many tabloid stories diminishing the reputation of “America’s Team”. There were so many likable, talented guys associated with that team: Landry, Ditka, Reeves, Schramm, Hayes, Howley, Lilly, Pugh, Renfro, the list goes on. They weren’t all saints I suppose, but reviewing the roster today it still amazes me how many good and great ball players were on that team. But there was one guy that truly intrigued me above anyone else: Roger Staubach.

Throughout my childhood, Roger Staubach was my hero. Heisman Trophy winner. Super Bowl MVP. Six time Pro Bowler. Five time All-Pro. Hall of Famer. A man who served his country for four years, including a one year tour in Viet Nam, when he could have asked for his release from his obligation due to his impending football career. What was not to like about Roger Staubach? Even today the very mention of his name excites me. He’s the one celebrity-athlete that I’m truly afraid to meet because I’m afraid that somehow, some way, I’ll be disappointed. Kind of like when I met Johnny Bench, but that is a story for another lead.

I think back about my friends and it seemed that they all had heroes too: Fran Tarkenton, Larry Bird, Pete Rose, Lynn Swann – you get the idea. Whenever we had a pickup game in the neighborhood I was always Roger Staubach and the kid across the street was always Terry Bradshaw. I beat him like a drum on a regular basis, at least that’s what I choose to remember!

The reason that I dredge up all this personal history is that I have a son who is barely older than I was when I found something to follow and love for the first time. My son Matt is ten and claims to be a Braves fan, yet I wonder and worry if it’s only because he sees my passion and wants to be like his old man.

I worry though because Matt doesn’t have a hero. He does seem to love sports. We regularly go up to the ball field near our home and do baseball drills. He’s a good baseball player with a very strong arm and an incredibly smooth stroke for a boy his age. I say this not to brag (although clearly I am) but because other parents and coaches have come up to me and reaffirmed these things. And this makes me proud!

But, as usual, I digress.

He really enjoys the basketball goal that he received for Christmas. Almost every day he makes us move the cars so he can shoot goals. He’ll even sit and watch a few innings of baseball on tv with me while I help explain the what’s and why’s of the game even though I know that the subtle nuances are above his young mind.

But he doesn’t have a hero. I know this because I have asked him before. And this bothers me.

Perhaps times have changed and the concept of “hero” is no longer relevant to our youth. Besides, who would he choose as his hero? Terrell Owens? Roger Clemens? Barry Bonds? Pacman Jones? Even the teenage stars that are manufactured and marketed towards kids his age seem to eventually implode. Jamie Lynn Spears, anyone? How about Britney or Lindsey Lohan? I don’t think so. There just don’t seem to be as many stars out there for our youth to look up to, at least not the ones that we want them to look up to.

On Friday night, the Charleston Riverdogs held their annual Hot Stove Banquet. The keynote speaker was none other than Mr. Jeffrey Baden Francoeur, Gold Glove winning right-fielder for the Atlanta Braves. I invited Matt to go with me tonight because I am hoping that he will become a fan of Jeff Francoeur; that he will look up to him and want to be like him.

Frenchy’s an immensely likable fellow. I had the chance to see him in Charleston (when he played for Rome), Myrtle Beach and spring training a year or two. We spoke on numerous occasions and I was always impressed with his humility. Just before his first trip through Charleston in 2003, I read an article that predicted he would have a Dale Murphy-type career. I asked if he’d seen that article yet and he quickly stopped signing whatever it was that I’d given him and looked me in the eye. He told me that he had not, in fact, seen that article. I could tell by his facial expression and his body language that he was truly touched by I had just said. That humility thoroughly impressed me.

Friday night was the big event. Ladies and gentlemen, you couldn’t ask for a nicer, more genuine human being than Frenchy. There were about 250 people in attendance and he must have signed his name 1500 times, always with a smile on his face. He stopped to talk to every single person that came to his table, shook their hand, smiled, looked them in the eye – all the things that our mothers’ taught us to do but somehow so many people forget. He graciously took dozens of pictures with young and old alike. I honestly believe that he was as happy to be there as we were happy that he was there.

I won’t bore you with details of what he talked about as I know that I won’t be able to do it justice. In short, he was a very good speaker, entertaining, articulate and funny. But, I would like to share one story told by Torre Tyson, manager of the Riverdogs. He explained that he called Rocket Wheeler and Randy Ingle, who managed him at Rome and Myrtle Beach. He told them that he had to have some “dirt” on Frenchy because he knew that he would be speaking about him. Both managers replied that they had no bad stories about him, which is unusual because both of them spent most of a season with him. After spending virtually every day for an entire season together you’d think that they’d have something to give up!

One aspect of his life that I was not at all aware of is his faith. Now, I’m not a particularly religious person but it was obvious even to me that he draws a lot of strength from his spirituality. On his batting gloves he writes “Joshua 1:9” as a reminder of his faith and from which to draw strength. By his account, it’s the one passage that he leans on in difficult times. [Editor’s Note: Joshua 1:9 says “Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of good courage; be not affrighted, neither be thou dismayed: for Jehovah thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.:]

Aside from his obvious athletic abilities and accomplishments, Jeff Francoeur seems like a young man that we all should like. In spite of his budding stardom, he’s down-to-earth, personable and polite. He’s the man you would want your daughter to bring home. My hope is that Matt will remember this night forever and will choose Frenchy as his own personal hero, as I chose Roger Staubach as mine. And more than anything, I hope that his young heart is never broken by his hero.

Chris

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