Orley Hood: Open a can of memories

I sat on the edge of my bed. He sat on my desk chair. I was 8, maybe 9. Eisenhower was President of the United States. Jack Cristil was the Voice of the Mississippi State Bulldogs. Bacon, I remember my mother complaining, had reached 18 cents a pound. An outrage.

My little Arvin radio was on, the one Daddy made the leather case for. State was probably winning. Back then, the Maroons won just about all the time. That was because they had the best player, Bailey Howell. Years later when Pete Maravich set the SEC career scoring record, the mark he beat was Bailey’s.

I saw Bailey (and his wonderful wife) not all that long ago at the Hall of Fame induction ceremonies in downtown Jackson and a thousand kid memories raced through my old guy brain. He knows I love him a lot and I know he really likes me and when I mentioned that game when he scored 47 points against Union University, he looked down at me with a smile. It’s the kind of thing he knows I would remember.

Basketball season starts today at 4:30. Michigan State’s playing UConn at Ramstein Air Base in Germany, a holy place for Americans because our people often come back through there when their tours of duty are up. Or when some filthy scum has shot a hole in them.

Tonight, 7:30, Kentucky plays Maryland in the new arena in Brooklyn.  We get to see Cal’s new kids.

And maybe some other little boy or girl will be sitting on the bed and their mom or dad will be sitting in their desk chair with the radio or TV on and the game tuned in and a lifetime of sports memories will come rushing out of the starting blocks like Usain Bolt at the Olympics.

I hope they get as lucky as I have. I’ve spent much of my life writing the stories of my heroes, sporting and otherwise, and later in life they not only seldom disappoint but often exhilarate.

Jake Gibbs? Every time I see him, which is not nearly often enough, I say, “My hero!” He always laughs, but he knows I mean it. He was a Rebel and a Yankee. How great is that?

On the Coast one year at the Mississippi Sports Writers Association summer meeting golf tournament, Jake’s group played behind mine. After we putted out on 18 I planted the flag stick in a greenside bunker. Jake’s guys hit good shots into the green, only to find out that the flag was in the sand and so were their golf balls. We laughed till we cried.

My family seldom traveled, but the year after Bailey’s first season in the NBA, he came back  to Starkville to lead a team of alumni against State’s active squad. He scored 39 points (I swear). Afterwards, in the locker room at the old gym, Bailey autographed a State jacket I’ve never dared to wear with an India ink pen Daddy brought for that purpose.

I still have it, the jacket. The memories, too, thousands of them, sweet and precious, often hilarious, sometimes heartbreakingly sad.

If you need a little fuel to get your nostalgic brain cells in gear, to look back on your life through the prism of sports, pop into the museum. There’s a whole building filled with memories, thousands upon thousands, personal and precious, many I’ll bet you share.

Basketball starts today. It’s our opportunity to add to our collection, to connect again with our sporting heroes.

And our childhoods.