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Brooks Coach Freeman Dutifully Deals With Sorrow And Joy
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There’s a saying: “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
When I catch up with Brooks County head coach Maurice Freeman, I have a turn of that phrase that comes immediately to mind.
“Heavy is the heart that wields the hammer.”
If you look at Freeman’s philosophies, one is “bring the hammer.” And he means that both figuratively and literally. If you attend a Brooks County game, you’ll notice a 20-pound sledge placed at midfield as a reminder of the tough team you’ll be facing from Quitman.
The other is the notion that he doesn’t identify losses on a scoreboard or a spreadsheet page in a sports section. He views them as lessons. Take those lessons and move forward to try and do well, not only as an athlete but as a young man with room to grow.
The Brooks County community, and Freeman himself, have experienced loss … and it stays with you.
If you look on any website that tells you how coaches have fared on Football Fridays and you search for Maurice, it’ll tell you his win-loss record is 217-105. But if you ask him, he’ll tell you that he’s only lost four times in his entire life.
And it’s four times too many … for any of us, really … and three of them were in one shocking moment for an entire community
“They’re with me always,” he says.
In the summer of 2013, Brooks County lost three of their young men driving from a morning practice on a road that had a wet spot combined with too much speed. Coach Freeman had warned his players about that road in the past and was one of the first on the scene to see a truck wrapped around a tree, as others who got their first were screaming for help for classmates.
In the seven-plus years that have passed, there are photos that stick in your mind and questions that you know the answers before you ask. When Brooks County made it to the Class 2A title game last year Freeman brought the BC3, as they came to be known, with him -- and I knew they would be there. He has the jerseys of Jicarre Watkins, Shawn Waters and Johnnie Parker draped over him, hammer in hand, as a constant reminder of what was lost.
And there is a constant anxiety that comes with loss as well, even as he reminds everyone, at least a handful of times a year, about what happened.
“If one of my football players is late to school, I panic,” he says. “I don’t know what’s going on. Those days are tough days. If somebody is late to football practice, I panic. Where’s this guy? What’s he doing? Is he OK? Some of them will text and tell me I had a flat tire."
“Man, are you all right? Show me the car!' It’s tough. I live it every day. It’s not a seasonal thing, it’s an everyday battle. I go through it every day.”
But, before this season of seasons started, there was another loss to the Brooks County program. In late August, Cenquaz “Bootsie” Perry was shot and killed while he was sleeping in a Quitman apartment. The initial investigation determined Perry was intentionally fired upon through the outside wall.
The shooting is still under investigation and there was an initial arrest. But my question for someone like Freeman is this: If we’re given no more than we can handle, why are some of us given so much and others an amount that doesn’t compare? After he told me about losing his parents early in their lives and having a son who is autistic, he challenged the premise I presented.
“I have no clue how I have fought through that,” he admits. “I did what I thought I was supposed to do for our young people. I am a Christian man. I believe in God wholeheartedly. I just didn’t think I deserved it. I didn’t think I could handle it, but I didn’t have a choice. I did what I thought I was supposed to do. I didn’t want to embarrass my mother -- even though she wasn’t alive -- with the morals she taught me. And I didn’t want to embarrass my coaches with what they all taught me growing up"
“You take care of the young men parents have asked you to coach. You take care of them. You do your best with them. I have just stuck to that motto.”
It is another season of promise in Quitman and there are, naturally, folks you root for because of one reason or another. Coach Freeman is one of those guys who is at the top of those lists as someone who was a part of a state title team growing up and returned home to walk the touch line. But he also is someone who has helped other coaches in other states after their program experiences an unspeakable loss on their own. He doesn’t know how those other coaches got his number, but he thinks it’s been 15 other coaches in half-dozen different states where he has served counsel.
Freeman drives by the crash site every day. If he doesn’t stop and spend some time with the BC3, he’ll say a prayer and tap his horn three times as a salute. There are three trees planted in their memory. Sadly, Maurice has plans for a fourth for Bootsie.
“I take the jerseys around when I speak so I can show folks there was a guy who was in this jersey,” as he emphasizes each of those last three words. “But he can’t put it on anymore. If you’re still here. Even if you get skinny or you get fat and get too big for this jersey, you can at least hold it out. You can put it up to your body. But, if you’ve had an accident, then you never put it on again.
“We buried Jicarre in his football uniform. His mom said this is what he loved the most, so we gave her his uniform -- and I don’t ever want to see that again.”
Coach Freeman would like to see driver’s education brought back into high school curricula -- even to the point where high school kids are passengers with professional drivers in hydroplaning demonstrations.
I can’t think of a more experienced voice to hammer that point home for all of us.
Play it safe, everyone… I’ll talk to you soon…
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