I Saw A Ghost Today
by: Gary Kline

I quietly drove down Third Avenue Sunday with about 45 minutes to kill. Huntington is such a peaceful town. The tree-lined streets and stately two storied brick homes adds to the cities down home character. As I crossed the railroad tracks near ACF I become mindful of what is really special about Huntington. James F. Edwards Field is not particularly brass hat among college football's temples of battle. It certainly isn't among the most ample in capacity and many can boast a higher hallmark. However, few can match what this collection of metal and concrete symbolizes to a community that is so dedicated to the institution that has become its very identity. Forgoing a stop for coffee, I drove into the parking area and got out of my van. No particular reason other then not being able to think of a better way to kill a few minutes in that part of town. A short walk around the perimeter yielded me my goal. I walked quietly through an open gate and into the seating area where I sat in the green chair-back seats and become engrossed in contemplation. As a man of reason I find it difficult and somewhat embarrassing to describe the feeling of emotion that the apparitions of nostalgia evokes in the soul of those who have a passion for the institution of Marshall. For those who understand, it is the very sum and substance of the new doctrine of Herd Nation. I get a feeling as I look across the synthetic tundra that the ghost that roam the fields have origins that precede the 1990 birth of this structure. Not ghost in the sense that visible apparitions can be seen like in some old horror movie genre. No, more like a feeling that touches the edges of your soul, making you conscious that something exist that can't be explained through the logic of nature.

This field holds fond memories for me. I don't have to close my eyes to see Randy Moss catch one of his many "fade pattern" touchdowns where he simply out-raced, out-jumped, and outclassed nearly everyone who came within distance of his athletic prowess. I can still see Chad Pennington throwing that little "flat pass", to a little known yet wide open first baseman , giving credence to the seemingly manifest destiny that engulfs this program and university. The very notion of a manifest destiny is sneered at by the detractors whose borders will surely be infringed upon, yet fully understood by the growing membership of Herd Nation. Evidence that the winds of change are blowing through this modern day Roman Coliseum are all around. Although a certain comfort can be found in the reminiscence of past events, the future can be felt as well. Even though the ghost are bounteous within this structure I get a feeling that it is no where near capacity. The ghost of Byron, Darius, and Max will someday roam within the concrete walls. The ghost of those not yet proven and not yet known will also seek its homage. The annual stream of the regular visiting gladiators might very well take a southern shift in the near future. Deeds on the field of play, usually reserved for video tape and memory, will now be instantaneously revisited for the thumbs up or thumbs down approval of the "Coliseum" denizens. All of this driven by the ghost of a spirit that runs not only within the stadium, but also through the community as well. A good time to subscribe to the theology of Herdism indeed!

Upon my exit, I take time to glance at the bronze outside the walls of this symbol of unconquerable spirit. It's a new ritual of mine to remind me that good things don't always come easy. A ritual I have noticed by other members of Herd Nation. My drive down Fifth Avenue shakes me from my thoughtful slumber and returns me to the reality of living. Catching up with the family I am asked by my wife why I'm a little late. "I've been chasing ghost", came my reply. "Excuse me", she said. "Nevermind??.."