Marshall Ramsey

Four morning’s a week, I participate in Paul Lacoste’s 12-week boot camp at Madison Central High School. It’s usually five or six sessions for an hour that work different parts of your body, depending on the day. Today we went into the weight room for one of those sessions and found big rubber bands hanging from the squat racks. We had never seen the rubber bands before.

We have a new coach, Neil who is a combination human dynamo and motivational quote generator. He had us doing shoulder and back exercises with the rubber bands. While didn’t initially seem like it would be tough, I am now sufficiently sore.

When it was my turn to do the rubber band, Ray, who I really respect as an athlete, said, “Sure is hard, isn’t it?” I blurted out, “Yeah, because I had that side of my back removed when I had cancer.”

He felt bad — which was not my purpose. Neil said that I was an inspiration because I was there. I’m not.

But I am there because I want to live. I have been given a second chance and I am taking care of my body.

I feel bad I even mentioned it. My scar isn’t a handicap. It’s a badge of honor. I’m proud of it and am stronger because of it. It’s not an excuse. It’s an opportunity.

The next time I do the rubber band, I’m going to work twice as hard at it. If I ever am an inspiration, it will be because what I do with my life. Not what happened to me.

You know a dream is like a river
Ever changin’ as it flows
And a dreamer’s just a vessel
That must follow where it goes

It was 1991 and my Sports Walkman blared Garth Brook’s song The River. I was a recent graduate of the University of Tennessee and wasn’t where I wanted to be. Little did I know, though, I was where I needed to be. I was a custodian at Pope High School. And I had bathroom duty.

I walked down the 400 hall to the men’s room pushing my mop bucket. I had already cleaned my classrooms — I always waited until the end of the evening to clean the bathrooms. (Didn’t want someone using it after I had cleaned it.) I looked at my watch: It was 10:30 p.m.

I will sail my vessel
‘Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I’ll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
‘Til the river runs dry

I was fortunate, the 400 hall bathroom at Pope High School didn’t get as much use as the 300, 200 and 100 hall bathrooms. And it was a boy’s bathroom, so (I know this will come as a shock) it was cleaner. No hairspray. No lipstick. No other yucky things.

There’s bound to be rough waters
And I know I’ll take some falls
But with the good Lord as my captain
I can make it through them all…yes

I walked in and saw that someone had stuck a textbook in the toilet and had pooped on it. (Yes, I have a young child). My friend Maggie still laughs at how loudly I cursed. I screamed profanity at the top of my lungs. I was mad. How could some little #$% be so inconsiderate? Who in the $#%# thought this was funny. And I really think that was when my attitude was at its lowest.

I cleaned up the mess and finished the bathroom and walked outside, trying not to gag.

“What the hell am I doing here?!?” I thought as I gasped for breath. “Why?”

I’ll tell you why. I was there to learn a lesson. I was there to be taught the difference between dreaming and making a dream a reality. It was at that moment I decided that I didn’t like cleaning crap out of a toilet. It was that moment I decided to start chasing my dream — and catching it.

I went to church that weekend and the preacher taught the parable of the Talents. I realized I was the servant who was wasting his talent. I came back that Monday with a new attitude and it changed my life forever.

Being a Pope High School custodian may not have been the best job I’ve ever had. But it sure was the most important. I had to work there. Not only did I work with amazing people, meet my wife (through her mother) and land a job at the local paper, but I discovered the importance of hard work and a good attitude.

I still listen to Garth’s The River (on my iPhone not Sports Walkman) and smile. Because I am still chasing my dreams. It takes me back to that 400 Hall bathroom where my career started.

I will sail my vessel
‘Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I’ll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
‘Til the river runs dry.

I’m not a Mississippi State or Ole Miss grad, but I’m thrilled that Mississippians are #1 and #3 in a poll that doesn’t involve something bad like obesity, diabetes, heart disease or ear mites. Yup, two of our schools are atop the College Football world. And we’re playing with and beating the big boys.

It has been a big win even off the field. The recent publicity has shown people around the country that we aren’t a bunch of cross-burning, knuckle-dragging, illiterate losers. (Well a couple of us are, but that’s everywhere.) They’re meeting many of our colorful and talented residents. College GameDay has been here so often they qualify for in-state tuition. You can’t buy publicity like that. But you want to know what I really love?

Mississippi State and Ole Miss are proving that you don’t have to be the richest or biggest to succeed.

They’re showing that talent and hard work do matter. Mississippi has deep, rich fertile soil when it comes to potential. What we sometimes lack is believe we can do amazing things. Congratulations to Coach Dan Mullen and Hugh Freeze for creating that belief. Success begins between the ears.

Now I hope it spreads to beyond sports. I crave being #1 in polls like “Education,” “Health,” “Jobs,” and “Wealth,” too. Because winning is like bacon — it makes everything better.

I know, it sounds like a dream. But where were Mississippi State and Ole Miss just a few short years ago? Anything is possible in football and life. You just have to believe.

The world was painted with shades of blue and black. The moon illuminated my running path as I lumbered down it this morning. I had forgotten my headlamp and was probing my way through the darkness. I came to a dark lump and slowed. It looked like an alligator. A big alligator.

Crap.

I approached it slowly. It did not move.

I slowly worked my way around it. It still did not move.

When I was past, I turn around and noticed it still was sitting put.

I have seen two other alligators while running recently. Alligator #1 was an eight-foot alligator that was sleeping on the shore near the running path I run on in my neighborhood. When it saw that one, it shot into the water. I about shot my pants.

The second one was a couple of days ago. I saw one in the water and it decided to swim toward me (and then submerge). I ran the other way.

So that was what made this particular alligator seem so odd. The other two, well, moved. I crept toward it and turned the flashlight on my phone. The light revealed what my alligator truly was:

A lump of fallen weeds.

That’s what is so amazing about our brains. We take limited information and fill in the blanks with what we already know. I had seen two alligators and my brain created a third. We are overwhelmed by information and our brains work overtime creating the world that we take in. And sometimes our brains lie through their teeth.

It makes me wonder what else my brain is lying about. I saw my “alligator” after the sun came up and as I ran by it, I had to laugh.

The Mississippi State Fair is winding down. The unique smell of fried food and cow manure, plus a week of fair funk, is wafting across the fairgrounds for only a few more days. Barkers try to get you to have them guess your weight, age or how much money you won’t soon have in your wallet. Rides go round and round and round and stomachs go up and down and down and up. Livestock will be judged, kids will make memories and parents will scramble for the ATM. As the heat of summer hangs on a little too long, we’ll enjoy our fried sushi on a stick and pray it doesn’t shoot through us.

Ah, the Fair.

I enjoy the Fair but probably not for the reasons most people do. Sure, I beeline for the free biscuit (best thing going) and love my annual duty as a Pretty Cow Contest judge. But what I enjoy the most is just watching the people. Of course, since this IS Mississippi, you will run into people you know. But it’s just neat to watch every shape, color, economic class and size Mississippian peacefully mingling up and down the Midway. Sure, there are occasional problems. But for the sheer number of people who visit the Fair, it’s really a nice little microcosm of our state. It’s truly the STATE fair. You see a lot of Mississippi walking around.

In a few days, the rides will be disassembled (disturbingly quickly I might add). The carnival workers will move on to their next fairground. The land near the Pearl will be swept and sit dormant until the next event.

I’ll walk around soaking it all in: The smells, the sights and the sounds.

And maybe I’ll spring for some fried sushi. It would do my heart some good.

My career as a janitor actually began before my year at Pope High School after college. When I was in high school, I’d work at local schools when I wasn’t playing football. I spent most of my time at Rocky Mount Elementary working after school. But one Spring Break, while my classmates were chasing the Devil at Panama City Beach, I was working at Kincaid Elementary School. I was there for one week and worked a full 40 hours. It was a good paycheck for me and would fill the gas tank of my Firebird for at least a month (and it was thirsty.)

I don’t remember who I worked with, but I do remember having the art room to clean. It had a tile floor and I scrubbed the living heck out of that room. I threw myself into the job. I mopped it daily and polished everything in sight. I was intense.

The other custodians told me to quit making them look bad. (I figured I didn’t need to help because they were doing a good enough job on their own.)

I’m not sure I would have put that much effort into it if I had been there the other 51 weeks of the year. I know, that’s a sad statement. Would I have not been as intense? That question is bugging me about my life right now. I need that same intensity I had when I was at Kincaid Elementary. Now. I have a lot of stuff I need to do. And I need to do it well.

I run and run and run and run and then burn out. When I burn out, the amount of stuff I have to do doesn’t slow down. It just overwhelms me and starts falling through the cracks. I end up doing a lot of apologizing. So I’ve taken an hour this morning to sit in my quiet house an reflect on what I need to do and when I need to do it. I’m now writing this and my to-do list.

I am wondering, “Am I lazy or just tired.” To be successful, you have to push past tired. If you don’t try, that’s lazy. I fear being lazy. Life is too much of a gift to waste.

So it’s time to have Kincaid Elementary intensity. It’s time to get to work. One person can make a difference. And intensity is the ingredient that makes it all happen.

The earth’s shadow began to munch on the moon. I drove down the dark Mississippi road, dodging deer and watching as the eclipse began to spread. By the time I got to the football stadium for my workout, over half the moon was plunged into darkness. It was a powerful sight.

We stretched and like Harold in Harold and the Purple Crayon, the moon was always with us. It loomed over its shoulder, dying quietly. It watched as we ran 100-yard sprints with a parachute on. It supervised us as we did what’s called a “nipple drill.” It began to slip behind the stadium as we did Clark’s station.

By then the moon was blood red. A Blood Moon as they call it — a total lunar eclipse. I can see why past civilizations would freak out when there was one. It was eerie. Stars dared to poke their faces out. It was like the eye of a celestial hurricane.

There was something very powerful about working out beneath a total lunar eclipse. Sure, technically it was just the earth’s shadow blocking the sun’s light reflecting off the moon. But to see the moon plunge into darkness that quickly was a not-so-subtle reminder that we are truly not in charge.

The moon began to dip beneath the trees for its final performance. It had put on a fine show. A haunting show. As I ran off the field, I did a slow clap. It was the moon’s finest hour. Great job moon. Great job.