Sunday sermon: Lesson learned ... I hope

Nov 13, 2016, 6:12 PM

When I was a kid, one of the places we lived was at the top of a huge (well, huge to a 6-year-old) hill in I north Georgia. It was the sort of hill that just begged neighborhood kids to take their bikes to the top, shove off and see just how fast we could go before slamming on the brakes at the bottom.

Mamas would fret, and more than one kid lost his nerve at the top of that hill. Not me. I was fearless, the sort of fearlessness that comes with youth, with bravado ... with stupidity.

"That hill's gonna bite you one day," my mom said. "When it does, you remember: I'll patch you up, but I don't want to hear you cry."

Of course, one steamy summer afternoon the hill DID bite me ... hard on the knee. Looking back, I was probably lucky that was all that was skinned. I limped back up the hill, bawling in a combination of pain and shock and realization that no one but me was responsible.

Once Mom checked to make sure no bones were sticking out and the injury was more to pride than person, she patched things up as promised. She didn't even remind me about her warning.She just promised that things would be all right and I'd be up and running again in a day or two.

Welcome to the bottom of that hill, Tigers.

The last time we were down here, losing to an unranked opponent, every one of our players was still in high school. Heck, a few were in middle school. They've watched as the Tigers steered that bike down the hill so many times, popping up none the worse for wear.

During the past two years, as fans we'd walk out of the game in a strange blend of exultation and relief. How many times did the Tigers slam on the brakes just as we neared the culvert? Each threat -- the loose gravel, the possum that loped out into the street and froze, the countless potential pitfalls that could have derailed this amazing run -- were foiled by skill and luck.

We've still got skill. But the luck went tumbling somewhere between the second red-zone interception and the gut-punch field goal with a few seconds remaining.

If there's a saving grace, we were bloodied but not crippled. Like my misadventure, we can get patched, up walk it off and still achieve everything ... yes, EVERYTHING ... we hoped for after escaping Auburn.

I refuse to believe that the Sons of Clemson will allow Wake Forest to stand between them and everything. I know that we will not all the Capons that thrill, nor do I expect that whatever Coastal team awaits will be up to the task, either.

Get back on the bike Tigers!

Why? Because my belief is that having flown off that bike, having tasted our own blood, we will have learned a valuable lesson. The hill and the bike don't change. It's how you ride that makes the difference.

It's easy to forget that the guys making the calls are youngsters in their craft. Ask anyone who's been doing a job, and doing it well, and they'll tell you the best teacher is experience ... especially a bad experience.

This was the first loss to an unranked team for any of our coordinators. Consider it a lesson learned.
Look carefully at what was done ... or not done. And remember: all that Pitt took from us was our pride. Everything else is on the table.

But there are no more mulligans. We have no more blown chances. Frankly, we shouldn't need them.

We ARE that good, we just need to be that smart.

I hope all who are able will come up to Wake this weekend. I fully expect to see a pi$$ed-off Tiger team claim the Atlantic title. I expect to see a new streak against unranked opponents begin.

And I expect to see the Tigers roar that bike down the hill with a grin as wide as the handlebars.