Run with the herd

I am blessed to have had the experiences that I have had throughout my career as a player and coach. My career has been fueled by the many lessons learned as a husband, a father, a brother, a son, and a man in this world today.

Life itself presents us all with many opportunities to grow, learn, and to teach.

Just about all of the mistakes that I have made during my career and even throughout my life—and the good Lord knows that I have made many—they were made when I was alone, isolated, and "inside of my own head." Meaning, decisions were made to the detriment of missing sound advice and experiences that could provide a more successful outcome for me. I simply placed my own logic and conclusions before all others, and doing so without balancing any other perspectives. Only my own.

It was the morning of the Cotton Bowl.

The last of our positional meetings were done. It was time to dress, pack, and get on the bus to head to the stadium. When traveling, we roomed with players at our positions. My roommate was a player in his sophmore season named Eric Turner.

Whenever it was time to have fun, Eric was one of the first in line for it all. As I finished packing, I noticed Eric was not in the room, which meant that he had not even prepared to leave. I went to look for him to try and make sure he could get his things together.

As I stepped out of our room, I could hear and see the usual antics going on - other players rough-housing unsuspecting ones, players locking other players out of their rooms. Frank Cornish singing Yellow Rose of Texas to the rest of the team, etc. This was a bit odd, since traditionally, we were a "quiet" team, whereby the only things heard at this particular time in our schedule, between the hotel and the buses, were usually muffled music spilling out of the nearest headphones and the engines vibrating from the buses we got on.

Not on this morning...

As I turned to go back into our room, Eric had suddenly pushed the door open before me, ran into the bathroom, grabbed all the roles of toilet paper available, opened our hotel window, then threw them all out, one at a time. As startled as I was, I had never seen anything like this done before—ever. He looked at me and laughed, and then proceeded to take a cowboy hat that the Cotton Bowl Committee issued each member of the team, with the name of the player inscribed on the brim of the hat.

Eric took my hat and tossed it as far as he could out of the hotel window, all the while yelling some kind of cowboy term that had gained popularity with the team at the time. Still startled by it all, I looked at Eric's beaming grin, shook my head, picked up my bag, and walked out of the room towards the elevator, laughing at Eric and everything I had witnessed between that long walk from our room to the elevator. I certainly wasn't alone.

As I walked out of the hotel, I could see streams of toilet paper flapping around the doorway entrance and exit. I remember thinking that our boosters were just as excited about the game as we all were. As I made my way to the player's bus, only then did I realize what Eric and some of our other teammates were up to.

I could see that the entire hotel had been covered with toilet paper. That hotel did not resemble the hotel we all checked into earlier that week. As more players piled onto our bus, the realization of what had taken place started to sink in...we were in real trouble, and the game had not even started.

Collectively, as an entire team, we managed to transform an entire building into one giant hellscape. Like everything else we did, we did a damn good job of it too. And each one of us had a part to play in it all, whether we actively participated or not.

As I took my seat on the bus, the last of our players were getting on and everyone could see that the coaches were all furious with us. The bus was quiet but filled with many of us having that look, "it's funny as hell but don't laugh right now," expressions on our faces.

Some of the toilet paper had managed to stream the distance from the hotel to the bus. I took a seat that was directly above what was supposed to be the roof air vent of the bus but it was covered. And of all the things that could have landed there to cover that bus vent was a cowboy hat.

And not just a random cowboy hat. It was mine. Sitting on my seat, I could read the inscription on the inside brim of the hat, "Randy Beverly." And if I could read it, others could read it as well. My heart sank into my stomach. As our coach made his way down the bus isle yelling at each of us,

I continued to look up at my cowboy hat hoping for some kind of magical wind gust to blow it away before he reached me. It didn't happen. As he approached, he looked up and saw my hat resting there. In between his outbursts of rage and anger, his glares at me could have blown the turret off of a tank.

I remember cursing Eric. Hoping that his legs would fall off for what he had done with my hat. But in an instant, as the bus rolled onward, the hat and all the toilet paper blew away. And once the team arrived in front of the Cotton Bowl, we all understood why we were there. We left Texas with a bowl game win.

Often times, the circumstances we are faced with in life seem to be out of our control. The impact of what is done by one individual can have a direct affect upon others. Over time, life has taught me to "run with the herd," and "stay with the pack." As a coach, and as a husband, a father, a brother, a son, a coworker, and as a teammate, I must always run with my heard and lead my pack to greater successes. I am accountable to each and all. Not doing so only allows for error and misperceptions that are far more costly to me and those around me.

Not doing so allows others with ulterior motives to "pick off," the stray from my heard and sew destruction.

The end result of so many who remain alone and isolated.

So when that Eric Turner looks down upon those of us who were blessed enough to share the many good times we had with him, he may know that we are still running with the heard and staying with the pack.

Rest in Power, ET