Why Everybody Should Hate SLC!
Standing in line at local drug store this afternoon, a magazine headline caught my eye, “Why You Should Hate Southlake!” It was the September 2007 edition of D Magazine, a magazine I tend to avoid like the plague because of their constant interference in the lives of my sister’s boyfriend’s family (they once published his Outlook Calendar on their society blog and tried to advertise the places he would be; they also love to badger his famous brother). With that said, I couldn’t resist purchasing the magazine.
My fascination with the Southlake Carroll football team dates back to my childhood. I was raised in a small East Texas town with a 3A school. I would hear stories of this suburban Dallas school that featured an offensive line with average SAT score of 1300 and an all white backfield. It sounded a lot like Columbia University of the Ivy League, which at the time was in the midst of the longest losing streak in the NCAA. However, this Southlake school found a way to win, including several victories over East Texas power houses.
As I grew older, this school moved up classifications and I no longer paid attention to their program. After all, as a loyal Atlanta Rabbit fan, all I cared about was 3A football, but then in 2003 I accepted a job covering East Texas for a major high school football website. Their D/FW message boards were flooded with Dragon fans and for some reason they made me sick. First, I had grown disillusioned with the philistine lifestyle of the Dallas suburbs, but I was also sickened by the schools lack of diversity. Every media outlet in the D/FW area and the state fell in love with SLC and I aimed to be different, so I began to attack the school on every level.
I got home this afternoon and began to read the article. It opens with a very poignant exchange on airplane bound for Lubbock between quarterback Riley Dodge’s girlfriend and an Odessa Permian football fan. The Permian fan, whom D Magazine portrays as a country bumpkin, not unlike the Hollywood portrayal, tells the girl about the history of “Mojo” and the Permian tradition. Juxtaposed with that is Dodge’s girlfriend, who is portrayed as the all-American girl—smart, athletic, attractive and unlike our Permian fan, the magazine doesn’t describe her accent. The article continues to compare the two cities, Odessa the town that dried up with 1980’s oil bust and Southlake the most affluent burg in the D/FW area outside of the Park Cities.
The reference to Permian immediately conjured up images of Friday Night Lights. I remembered the first time I read the book as an 8th Grader and the immediate connection I felt between the plains of West Texas and the pine hills of East Texas—communities whose identity were directly shaped by the local high school football team. Over the past couple of nights, I’ve watched Season One of the television series of the same name, and fought back tears as memories of my days of growing up in Atlanta were brought to life on screen. Dillon, Texas could be Atlanta, Gilmer, Tatum, Arp, Alto, Daingerfield, Tyler or Longview, but after reading the article I don’t think Southlake could ever be Dillon.
You see, where I come from you look on your roster each season and the only thing that changes are the first names. Our communities, our schools, our teams are comprised of families who gave their money, blood, sweat, tears and prayers to shape and form a community in the middle of nowhere. When I return to watch a Rabbit football game now, ten years after I graduated, I recognize the name of the players by association—I played with his brother or cousin, that’s such-and-such’s kid, his grandfather was on that ’52 team.
You don’t get that at SLC. Indeed, the Dragon’s football history hardly existed prior to 1980. In fact, the magazine directly references the town and school’s growth to their success on the football field. Affluent non-Texans who relocate to the Dallas area for work want an idyllic community to raise their family. What says “Texas” more than a successful high school football program? This is what you get, a community full of Type-A personality transplants, with no real connection to the land or school, desperate for their kids to experience success, so they enroll them in a ready made trophy factory. In 20 years, the parents will retire to Boca and the kids will have graduated college and have jobs in other cities across the United States, a new slew of transplants will have arrived in Southlake and the cycle will start again.
Don’t mistake my animosity for jealousy. My beloved Atlanta High School has experienced her share of success on and off the field—state titles in football, baseball, and track, the overall team state title in academic UIL and a Lone Star Cup—not to mention several successful alums (i.e. comedian Ellen DeGeneres, former U.S. Congressman Max Sandlin, Washington Redskin’s running back Derrick Blaylock). I just want the real thing when it comes to Texas high school football and I just don’t see it in Southlake.
Ironically, the article closes with a quote from Todd Dodge, speaking about the community of Southlake, a quote who stole from Texas A&M, “From the outside looking in, you can’t understand it. From the inside looking out, you can’t explain it.” The same can be said for understanding Friday night lights. In the end, Southlake may experience and understand success on and off the field, but they will never understand the meaning and passion associated with the glare of the Friday night lights.
