“Memories light the corners of my mind…”
Time for another Wildcat’s Tale 2.0.
This week’s column is about former Wildcats. Before I begin, let me make one thing perfectly clear. There are no favorites here. There are no rankings—just memories. Please don’t be disappointed if your name doesn’t appear in this column. There are simply too many former Wildcats and too many great stories to tell in one article. In fact, if your name isn’t here today, there’s a good chance it will find its way into a future Wildcats Tale.
You might ask, “Why these players?”
I really can’t answer that. Maybe I ran into you recently. Maybe I saw one of your family members. Maybe I came across an old photograph. Or maybe, for no reason at all, your face simply appeared in my mind out of the clear blue.
After coaching for more than four decades, I’ve had the privilege of building relationships with hundreds—probably thousands—of young men and women. Every one of them has a story. The ones in this column aren’t here because they were the greatest. They’re here because, for one reason or another, they remind me of the way we were.
Lance Clayton is one of those players.
Lance played defensive corner on the 1989 team and today owns Battle Energy in Lovington. He probably wasn’t the biggest player on the field, and he wasn’t blessed with blazing speed, but he possessed something every coach loves—he was fearless. He tackled like a linebacker and understood the game as well as anyone we ever coached.
Back then, our cornerbacks had responsibilities that were different from today’s game. Yes, Lance could cover receivers, but he also had to defend the flats and be willing to stick his nose into the running game. He did it exceptionally well.
I always thought Lance would make an outstanding football coach. In fact, I talked him into coaching for a couple of years before the call of the oilfield became too strong to ignore. Coaching’s loss became the oilfield’s gain.
Lance also comes from true Wildcat blood. His grandfather was Hugh Clardy, whose name has already appeared in previous columns. The Clayton-Clardy family has been woven into the fabric of Lovington athletics for generations.
Lance possessed—and still possesses—the heart of a Wildcat.
Before Lance, there were two seniors on the very first Wildcat football team Coach Jerry Brown and I coached together in 1981: Mark Dunn and Mike Montgomery.
Mark was an outstanding athlete who will certainly appear again in a future column about some of Lovington’s greatest all-around athletes. That season he played quarterback and had excellent speed, made good decisions and was a natural leader.
One memory still makes me smile.
Before our Homecoming game against New Mexico Military Institute, I worried all week (homecoming distractions) that we were overlooking them. I reminded our team repeatedly that every opponent deserved respect and preparation. Then Friday night arrived…and we won 63-0.
At haft time we were leading 50-0, Mark walked over with a grin and simply asked, “Coach…are you still worried?”
Mike Montgomery was another special player from that team. Looking back, I’ve often wondered if we should have switched Mike to quarterback and moved Mark somewhere else. We didn’t, but Mike still became an important part of that team.
Mike was intense, competitive and a young man of tremendous character. Being the son of preacher Gary Montgomery, I already knew the kind of values he brought with him every day.
As I look back, I honestly believe that 1981 team had more talent than our rookie coaching staff knew how to use. If I could do it over again, I’d probably make a few different decisions.
Then again…that’s the way we were.
“Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind…”
Some memories involve entire families.
Take the Strickland brothers: Dean, Dale, Gene, T.J. and Casey (Sister Anna, cheerleader of course). Every one of them wore the blue and white, and every one of them left behind stories that deserve columns of their own.
Gene went on to become a state championship football coach before moving into administration, where he now serves as superintendent of Hobbs Municipal Schools.
Dean and Dale, the twins, were defensive ends and remain close friends to this day. Dale deserves a special thank-you because for years he kept encouraging me to write about Lovington athletics. In many ways, these Wildcat’s Tale columns exist because he wouldn’t let the idea die.
One afternoon at practice, Dale had earned a trip to “touch the C” on top of the press box after using more profanity than I was willing to tolerate.
About that time his dad, Floyd Strickland, walked onto the practice field and asked where Dale was.
I explained that he was running punishment because of his language.
Without missing a beat Mr. Strickland replied with very colorful words I cannot repeat in the newspaper but finished with “I’ve been telling him to clean up that mouth.”
I couldn’t help but laugh to myself.
Sometimes the apple really doesn’t fall very far from the tree.
Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Strickland for five great Wildcats.
Then there were the Gallini brothers.
Think about this for a moment—six brothers who all started for the Lovington Wildcats: Kit, Paul, Jason, James, Jared and T.J. (Sister Dena, cheerleader of course.)
Six brothers.
When they gather for Thanksgiving dinner, I can’t help but wonder how many Wildcat stories get told around that table.
Paul became legendary as one of the “Wild Hogs,” which reminds me…there’s another future column coming about famous Wildcat nicknames.
Jared wrote a poem after his senior year and gave it to me. I still have it and it brings tears to my eyes.
T.J. became one of our leading receivers on the 1989 and 1990 teams. (25-1)
Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Gallini, for giving Lovington six great Wildcats.
The Brown brothers—David, Paul and Anson—also deserve mention. The sons of Jerry and Lana Brown were each outstanding athletes in their own right. I suspect they’ll receive a column all to themselves one day.
Not long ago I ran into Brian Cunningham, the starting center on our 1990 state championship football team.
As we talked, I told Brian one of my favorite memories of him didn’t happen on a football field.
It happened sitting on a baseball bus in Artesia.
We were about to play Carlsbad, the No. 1-ranked baseball team in New Mexico, during the height of their dynasty. We knew we were in for a long day.
Brian looked around the bus and said, “Now I know how teams feel when they come to Wildcat Stadium to play us in football.”
He was right.
We got our tails kicked.
Brian also reminded me that he always wanted to play linebacker. I wanted him there too, especially late in games. Coach Brown wouldn’t allow it.
His reasoning was simple.
Brian was our starting center, and Coach Brown believed that was the most important position on the offensive side of the football. He wasn’t about to risk losing him.
Aaron Ochoa was one of the finest defensive football players ever to wear a Wildcat uniform.
Aaron, a senior on the undefeated 1986 state championship team, wasn’t a loud leader. He led with his helmet, his shoulder pads and his actions.
During our second game of the season, against Ruidoso, we trailed at halftime.
As we sat quietly in the locker room, Aaron reached into his bag and painted war paint across his face.
He never gave a speech.
He didn’t need to.
Every player looked at Aaron, looked into his eyes, and knew exactly what he was saying.
We went out and dominated the second half.
In the state semifinals against Bloomfield, Aaron played on an ankle so badly sprained most people would have stayed home. During warmups, Chief Bridgforth introduced both teams over the loudspeaker.
When Aaron heard Bloomfield’s center announced, he pointed straight at him, nodded his head, wagged his finger and silently let him know it was going to be a long afternoon.
It was.
Billy Dallas said Aaron was “THE most dominant defensive lineman he had ever watched.”
Aaron played through the pain and dominated the football game.
Finally, I want to mention two people whose names rarely appear in Wildcat history books, but who were every bit as important to our football family.
Managers Ricky Neagle and Dean Glascock.
I’ll never forget Ricky sprinting from the fieldhouse carrying eight cups of purple Gatorade after every practice. By the time he reached us, his fingers were stained purple.
Or the night Dean ran onto the field with water bottles during a game. When the referee yelled for him to get off the field, Dean started running, leaned a little too far forward, fell flat on his face and log rolled the rest of the way to the sideline.
To this day I laugh every time I picture it.
Then there was the night in Roswell after Coach Don Rodie accidentally drove home with his family and one set of the bus keys. We loaded one bus with the football team and sent them home while Coach Greg Hogue, Ricky, Dean and I waited nearly three hours for Coach Rodie to return with the keys.
Those are the kinds of memories that never show up in a record book.
“Can it be that it was all so simple then? Or has time rewritten every line?”
Maybe time has rewritten a few details.
Maybe it has softened a few edges.
But one thing hasn’t changed.
The friendships.
The laughter.
The sacrifices.
The pride of wearing blue and white.
Cats on the helmet.
Those memories still light the corners of my mind.
And thankfully…
The Tale goes on.