UPDATE: For those interested in helping to save our program, please visit this site: www.saveccfootball.com

This is, without a doubt, something I never thought I’d be writing. In an attempt to collect my thoughts on the subject, I’ll recount yesterday’s events from my perspective. It’s definitely going to be a long post, but hopefully it will be enlightening both to myself and those who read it.

Yesterday we all received an email from Coach Bodor telling us to show up in the gym at 4PM for an important meeting. I actually heard about the meeting while eating lunch, because I had just gotten out of my second day of Elementary Italian and hadn’t checked my email yet. There was mild speculation as to the purpose of the meeting; some of us thought it might be to announce the promotion of Coach Cook to offensive coordinator, others thought it might be Coach B chewing us out for not getting enough offseason workout participation. Regardless, none of us expected much out of the meeting.

I made my way back to my dorm and performed my usual routine of checking email, Facebook, etc. I read Coach B’s email, and saw something odd about it: he had copied our Athletic Director, Ken Ralph, on the email. This piqued my curiosity. Usually whenever someone copies their boss on an email to others, it’s to prove that they actually sent the email as promised. I wasn’t necessarily worried to see Ken’s name there, I just thought it was a meeting Ken wanted Coach B to hold, probably something logistical.

An hour or two later, I headed across campus early to stop by the bookstore and pick up a dictionary for my class. Afterwards I checked my phone to see how much time I had before the meeting, and saw that since I had left my phone on silent mode from class I had missed a call from my former o-line coach, Carlos Rivera. (I always told Carlos I’d write about him in my blog, I never thought this would be the occasion on which I first dropped his name.) Carlos had left a cryptic voicemail letting me know he’d do whatever he could to help me out.

I didn’t know what exactly he was saying, but I figured he was referring to the upcoming meeting. I sent him a text: “hey man we’re about to have the meeting in 30 minutes i’ll let u know what happens.” He responded with: “Sorry to hear that. Def let me know what happens.” His response confused me. To be honest, deep down I think I knew right then that our program was getting cut. I suppose I didn’t want to believe it.

I continued my denial as I passed the gym and saw no one there; it was still only about 3:30. I passed by the auxiliary gym and saw Joe Karwin alone, shooting hoops. Figuring I had some time to kill, I joined him. Talk eventually turned to the upcoming meeting, and we wondered about the faint chance of our program getting cut, but turned away from the possibility immediately, as if simply speaking of it would make it happen.

Eventually it came close to meeting time, and I headed into the main gym and sat in the bleachers with some teammates. I noticed some female athletes congregating in another section; this, along with the sign on the door that read “GYM CLOSED 4:00-5:30 ATHLETIC MEETING” made me think that this would be some boring meeting involving our AD and all the athletes. I felt comfortable about the impending meeting until one of my teammates pointed out: “Shit dude, that’s the softball team over there.”

I began to feel that sinking feeling in my gut. The softball team was known for having issues even putting a team together early on in the year. Signs across campus, on dining hall tables, cried out for women to join the softball team. During the football season I heard several guys wonder: If they decide to cut softball, would we be the next logical choice? The answer was yes. The way we saw it, we were 50-ish kids who required money for coaches, equipment, and especially traveling. The cost to fly our entire team to every away game and put us up in a hotel is astronomical. But our worries went away. Softball ended up fielding a team, and a pretty strong one at that. We figured nothing would ever come of it.

Until I saw the Softball team sitting on the other side of the bleachers. I started to panic a little bit. The guys told me to calm down, it was probably nothing. Then someone noticed Doug, our equipment manager, up high in the stands with the coaches wearing a look I’d never seen before. We all started panicking inside when we saw Doug. He’s a football guy through and through, an All-American at Colorado who played in the NFL and CFL. He’s the equipment manager for all D3 sports at CC, but football is undoubtedly his favorite.

Karwin said something to the effect of, “Next thing you know, [president] Dick Celeste is gonna come walking in here.”  He was joking, but seconds later any semblance of humor evaporated when Celeste entered the gym and made his way to the front of the stands. You could almost hear everyone’s hearts simultaneously hit the floor. I couldn’t even move, feeling a shock that rocked me to my core like nothing in my life ever has. I literally felt sick to my stomach as Celeste began a tirade about the economy and costs and endowment and program cuts and broken dreams. All in all, he said, CC would be cutting Softball, Football and Women’s Water Polo to keep the other programs working in a manner that CC could be proud of.

Ken talked to us for a while, but nobody really cared what he had to say. A girl from the water polo team asked him a few unnecessary questions, but all of the football players remained silent. After a winless season, we knew how to deal with heartbreak. We just didn’t know what to do about this one.

Coach B took us up to a meeting room on the third floor. The room was silent, save for the sound of a few players sobbing. I could feel the hot tears streaming rapidly down my face, but I kept my jaw clamped and fixed my eyes on the table beneath me.

“I don’t really know what to say, guys,” Coach began. “There’s nothing in the coach’s manual for this.” He then spoke about how he would help us do whatever we needed to do. “If you want to transfer, we’ll do what we can to help make that happen. If you want to stay here, I know CC is a great academic institution and some of you might opt to do that.” He continued to speak, pausing for up to 10, 15 seconds at a time. “I didn’t recruit you guys for this,” he said. “I feel responsible, and all I can say is I’m sorry.”

From then on, I don’t remember too many specific details. Since I don’t drink, I headed to my dorm’s convenience store for cookies and soda. I typically try to eat healthy and I don’t drink soda, but since getting blasted and destroying a table is not an option for me, I opted to go the female route of drowning my sorrows: food. I was watching ESPN in Osborne and Goodspeed’s room a couple sleeves into my package of cookies when Carlos called. “Don’t you hate it how I’m right about everything?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied. Carlos had encouraged me to fill out transfer applications months ago, predicting a downfall before the end of my playing career. I didn’t listen to him. I wish I had.

As soon as I heard the news, I knew I had to transfer. Football means almost everything to me, and I couldn’t live with myself not knowing I’d exhausted all playing opportunities. To be honest, I don’t know how I’m going to live without football once my senior season is over. So to not play my remaining three seasons would be the biggest regret of my life. Since that phone call from Carlos, it’s been a real blur. I talked to two coaches from other programs that night, one of them calling me minutes after I sent a late night email to prospective programs. In the day since, I’ve spent more time talking to coaches on the phone than I have spent on the phone with my mom for the last two months. In addition to going to class and studying, I’m trying to get transfer applications done before their impending deadline. I’d say I have about a month to figure out where I’m going to spend the next three years of my life, when just yesterday I was getting ready to work out with my team and prepare for another season of CC football. It’s like coming home for dinner one night and being told you can’t live with your family anymore.

Thus, the main sentiment continues to be the surreal nature of this whole situation. We had no rumors, no warning. Our coaches didn’t even know football was being dropped until yesterday morning. We have recruits committed to come here and play for a team that no longer exists. The most surreal and jarring aspect of this whole thing is that, in a matter of seconds, I lost my family here as I knew it. Of my friends who I’d gotten to know so well, I’ll maybe see a few once the school year’s over. Maybe one or two will even transfer to the same school as me, but I doubt it. I might talk with my coaches occasionally via email or phone, but I’ll be just another ex-player. Now instead of dreaming about what we’ll do at CC next year, I’m scrambling to get teacher recommendations, transcripts and FAFSA forms. All the while I can barely stand to think about trying to find the same kind of family elsewhere. It makes me feel scared and weak. It’s sapped my energy completely. I’ve lost my appetite and I eat sparingly. I sleep more than I used to. This is undoubtedly a period of grieving for me, and to have to look for another place to go to school makes it even worse.

I’m coming to terms with the fact that the of brothers I’ve gained here at CC, I’ll most likely never see most of them again after I leave here. It continues to break my heart and soul. In those few seconds everything in my college life got turned upside down. Dollar signs aside, the athletic department did not drop a football program yesterday. They ruined a family. I pray that someday I will get over this, but I doubt it will be any time soon.

Questions? Comments? E-mail me at chris@thed3experience.com All original material copyright © 2008-2009 Chris Jarmon

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Posted: 03|26|09 at 12:28 am. Filed under: My Life as a D3 Player.
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