We have a lot of recent candidates, and of course some greats from the 1980s and before. But my favorite player, without doubt, was James "Seabiscuit" Erwin.
Seabiscuit — a nickname he earned when an assistant coach joked about how fast he would run his sprints at the end of practices ("this isn't a race, Seabiscuit!") — was my grandfather. He passed away last night at the age of 95, but not before he created a pretty amazing legacy.
He originally signed to play at Oklahoma Baptist, but when its football program disbanded, my grandfather decided he wanted to keep playing, so he "transferred" to Baylor. Only he didn't have any kind of offer waiting, so he went out for fall practice as a walk-on, knowing full well his family couldn't afford Baylor's tuition.
So he worked his ass off in training camp, determined to impress the coaches anyway he could. When the day came to make his first tuition payment, he went to the registrar's office ... pretty much to tell them he could not enroll. But that's when he found out that he had been placed on scholarship. A coach hadn't even told him. Things sure have changed!
My granddad played in the 1941 game against Texas, a 7-7 tie that by all accounts was more like a win. It was a Texas team that was placed on the cover of Life magazine declaring it the "best team in America."
In 1942, my granddad — a tight end and defensive end — helped stop TCU at the goal line on three consecutive plays in the final minutes of a 10-7 win in Fort Worth. Boy, he loved to tell that story, especially in recent years when the Baylor/TCU rivalry reignited. Baylor didn't have teams in 1942 and 43 because of WWII, but he wouldn't have played. Like most men in his generation, he left school to enroll in the military to serve our country.
My granddad met my grandmom at Baylor. They sent all four of their kids to Baylor, including my mom, who met my father at Baylor. I'm one of five grandsons and one granddaughter who went to Baylor, along with many other relatives.
Few people loved Baylor and gave back to it like my granddad. He was a former regent; he helped the football staff recruit, back when such practices were legal; he has donated money to Baylor for decades; and somehow, in his special way, he was always incredibly optimistic about Baylor's chances in any game, any sport.
At the 1974 Miracle on the Brazos, he had to convince my dad and some others to stay at the game. He always "Believed." During the Steele years, when I was a student, he always went into the season expecting it would be the year Baylor would turn things around.
But sports aside, my granddad was an incredible man of God. He gave money to multiple charities and was a deacon in his church; he served on mission trips globally; in the 1980s he sponsored and paid the way for a Chinese man, his wife, and his two young kids to immigrate to Texas. Those two young kids grew up to be a renowned doctor and graphic designer; the father, then an astrophysicist, now runs a Chinese church in the Dallas area.
My grandad is one of the many examples of why I just roll my eyes when people disparage Baylor. HE is what I think of when I think of our university. I'm so proud to call him my granddad — he was a hero to me and my brothers — but I'll sure miss him.
Seabiscuit — a nickname he earned when an assistant coach joked about how fast he would run his sprints at the end of practices ("this isn't a race, Seabiscuit!") — was my grandfather. He passed away last night at the age of 95, but not before he created a pretty amazing legacy.
He originally signed to play at Oklahoma Baptist, but when its football program disbanded, my grandfather decided he wanted to keep playing, so he "transferred" to Baylor. Only he didn't have any kind of offer waiting, so he went out for fall practice as a walk-on, knowing full well his family couldn't afford Baylor's tuition.
So he worked his ass off in training camp, determined to impress the coaches anyway he could. When the day came to make his first tuition payment, he went to the registrar's office ... pretty much to tell them he could not enroll. But that's when he found out that he had been placed on scholarship. A coach hadn't even told him. Things sure have changed!
My granddad played in the 1941 game against Texas, a 7-7 tie that by all accounts was more like a win. It was a Texas team that was placed on the cover of Life magazine declaring it the "best team in America."
In 1942, my granddad — a tight end and defensive end — helped stop TCU at the goal line on three consecutive plays in the final minutes of a 10-7 win in Fort Worth. Boy, he loved to tell that story, especially in recent years when the Baylor/TCU rivalry reignited. Baylor didn't have teams in 1942 and 43 because of WWII, but he wouldn't have played. Like most men in his generation, he left school to enroll in the military to serve our country.
My granddad met my grandmom at Baylor. They sent all four of their kids to Baylor, including my mom, who met my father at Baylor. I'm one of five grandsons and one granddaughter who went to Baylor, along with many other relatives.
Few people loved Baylor and gave back to it like my granddad. He was a former regent; he helped the football staff recruit, back when such practices were legal; he has donated money to Baylor for decades; and somehow, in his special way, he was always incredibly optimistic about Baylor's chances in any game, any sport.
At the 1974 Miracle on the Brazos, he had to convince my dad and some others to stay at the game. He always "Believed." During the Steele years, when I was a student, he always went into the season expecting it would be the year Baylor would turn things around.
But sports aside, my granddad was an incredible man of God. He gave money to multiple charities and was a deacon in his church; he served on mission trips globally; in the 1980s he sponsored and paid the way for a Chinese man, his wife, and his two young kids to immigrate to Texas. Those two young kids grew up to be a renowned doctor and graphic designer; the father, then an astrophysicist, now runs a Chinese church in the Dallas area.
My grandad is one of the many examples of why I just roll my eyes when people disparage Baylor. HE is what I think of when I think of our university. I'm so proud to call him my granddad — he was a hero to me and my brothers — but I'll sure miss him.
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