[Panther Thunder]

(Cont'n)

People still talk about last year's game against Johns Creek, which was undefeated going into the game and touted a star defensive player nicknamed Doctor Death. Howard figured his team was in for a tough evening when he stopped at Jerry's restaurant, his favorite hangout in Pikeville, and heard from one of the waitresses that she had bet $10 on Johns Creek. "Hey, that's a day's pay," Howard says.

The stands in Badlands Field at Johns Creek were filled when the Pikeville team bus pulled up nearly two hours before game time, and there was such a throng of excited Johns Creek fans milling around on the field that the Pikeville players had to warm up in the end zone. As Johns Creek kicked off, the crowd was five deep along the sidelines. Pikeville's first play was an 85-yard touchdown run, and the Panthers went on to win 62-7. "I probably won't bet against Hillard this year," says Lisa Williamson, the waitress. When last year's team left for the state championship game, so many Pikeville fans followed them to Louisville that a sign was posted on a railroad trestle a few miles outside the city: Last One Out...Turn Off The Lights!

After the Panthers won the championship, the Pikeville Board of Education bought rings for every player. The Pikeville Football Boosters chipped in, too, buying jackets and plaques for the team. The Boosters help pay for meals and hotel rooms whenever the team travels, and they operate a Polish sausage stand at Pikeville's annual Hillbilly Days festival, donating the proceeds toward the cost of equipment and a summer training camp. "We're there when they need something," says Jerry McNamee, a coal broker. "We'll get to work."

Naturally, such intense local interest does not make Howard's job anxiety free. He keeps a blood-pressure cuff and a stethoscope in the bottom drawer of his desk and two kinds of antacid medication (liquid and tablet) within easy reach. This season, he's trying to find reasons for worrying about his offense, which was averaging 41.8 points per game going into the showdown with Paintsville, down from 49.6 last season. His "Big Dawg" defense, though, was still grinding opponents into puppy chow. Named for 275-lb. all-state tackle and linebacker Tim Honaker, who started barking in practice one day, the defensive team was giving up only about seven points a game, and most of those were coming in the second half, when the starters usually stay on the bench. "I actually don't mind coming out too much," says Jody Brown, the leading pass receiver on a team that seldom passes. "You can lay back, watch the jayvee play, wave to people in the stands, try to meet girls."

David Cox, the starting fullback, and Bobby Deramus, who starts at halfback on offense and noseguard on defense, say that to keep runaway games interesting, the offense sometimes devises play variations in the huddle, a form of spontaneity that does not have the blessing of the coach. "We've been at it so many years we know just about when we're going to get a touchdown," Deramus says. "Our offense will decide that we should take four plays to score, so that's what we do." Adds Cox: "Sometimes I get aggravated when we're playing littler teams. The first play, we score. We kick off, they fumble, and the kickoff team takes it in. Sometimes I loaf so I can play more. I know when we're way ahead at halftime I'll have to take my pads off." Cox, who is primarily used as a blocking back and usually grades out as the most efficient member of the offense, is so good-natured and easygoing that he has become the coach's nemesis, invulnerable to motivational goading.

"He's the worst fullback in America," sputters Howard loud enough for the passing Cox to hear. "All the guys have girls who wear their jerseys. Cox has to pay a girl to wear his." ("You know," says Cox of his coach, "he's like a good friend.")

Howard was raised in a coal camp near the Virginia border, one of 14 children of a man who worked 41 years in the mines. "It was tough," Howard says, "but we had enough to eat and we had nice clothes." The players call him Fred Flintstone—when he slouches, the resemblance is uncanny—and he rules with a management style that is a mixture of affection, devotion, sarcasm and left hooks. He was a two-time West Virginia Golden Gloves middleweight boxing champion, and when players misbehave, they are invited into the gym. "I had to go in about four times with him," says Sean Neeley, a 6'3", 235-lb. lineman nicknamed Captain Redneck for his propensity for getting into brawls. "He'll let you hit him, so you start thinking you're good, and you get careless, and then he pops you. That fourth time will be my last. I got one good shot on him, a lucky one, and then he beat me to death."

Howard's son Jason, a quarterback on the team, describes his father as arrogant, willful and too stubborn to ever admit he's wrong, but he adds, forgivingly, "You learn to like him the way he is, and he loves every player to death." On the evening before the state championship game, after his players were in bed, Howard switched on the television set and heard a sportscaster announcing the names of all the players on the annual Associated Press all-state football team. "Three of ours were named to the first team and one made second," Howard says, "but I was afraid the kids who didn't make it would be upset. So at 5 a.m. I went downstairs and bought all the papers in the lobby and for three blocks around the hotel, and I hid them in my room, mostly under the bed. At game time, no one knew who had made the team, not even our assistant coaches."

Only one coach in eastern Kentucky has a record to rival Hillard Howard's, and that is Walter Brugh, 62, of Paints-ville High, who has won more games over his 32-year career than all but one other coach in the state. "Hillard and I are friends," says Brugh, whose own team was undefeated going into the game against Pikeville this year. Friendships like this one bring back memories of the Hatfields and the McCoys. Says Jeamy Holbrook, the quarterback for Paintsville: "Coach Brugh would rather beat Coach Howard than eat."

Paintsville, which has about the same population as Pikeville, wasn't nearly as blessed with the federal funds that flowed from Lyndon Johnson's Great Society programs. Or, as Brugh puts it, "We had to work for our money." Paintsville is picturesque, more like a small town is supposed to look, with tree-lined residential streets and a dairy bar across the road from the high school that is painted in team colors and calls itself the Home of the Tigers. Three years ago, when Paintsville was on the way to a second-place finish in the state football tournament, the Tigers defeated Pikeville 48-21. The prevailing view is that Paintsville, which scored its 48 points after being down 21-0, ran up the score.

"With a minute and 27 seconds left to play, they were still throwing the ball," fumes Howard.

"We were just trying to play football," smiles Brugh.

Last year Pikeville won 59-0. This time Pikeville was accused of running up the score.

"What do you think?" asks Brugh, not smiling now. Howard recalls that after Pikeville won the state championship, Brugh was one of his few coaching acquaintances who didn't call with congratulations. Going into this year's Pikeville-Paintsville game, neither coach was predicting victory. They sounded as if they weren't even sure their teams would show up.

"Maybe once we see them, we'll turn and run," said Brugh.

"They're undefeated," Howard reminded his players after practice one afternoon. "If that scares you and you need to be home the night we play, let me know, and I'll give you the day off."

On the morning of the game, Howard received a telephone call from his brother, Eddie, 55, who said he wasn't coming to the game because Paintsville wasn't tough enough. "He's trying to aggravate me, that's what he's trying to do," said Howard. Later, when the coach stopped in at Jerry's for his usual pregame iced tea, a former player came over and said the betting line on the game had Pikeville favored by 29 points. "I should put $20 on Paintsville myself," Howard said in disgust.

A couple of hours before kickoff, he went home to change clothes. He came out of the bedroom wearing a short-sleeved white polo shirt and shimmering maroon slacks, the Pikeville colors. He had on his game face, the short-tempered one.

"Marsha, do I need a coat?" he asked.

"Yes, it's freezing," she said. "You should be wearing a long-sleeved shirt, too."

"Marsha, don't tell me what to wear."

The confrontation that Howard was calling the Thrilla in Pikevilla was drawing near. When the coach arrived at the field, he found fullback Cox in the school parking lot, adjusting the air filter on his Trans Am instead of preparing for the game. "Will you stop dinking with that junk," he yelled, waving for Cox to get inside. Once dressed, the players filed into a world history classroom, jamming their bodies behind desks not designed for 200-pounders in pads. On the blackboard was an outline of the rise and fall of Rome, but Howard provided his own history lesson, reminding his team of Paintsville's humiliating 48-21 win. "I don't want that ever to leave your minds," he warned.

Four times that night, Paintsville drives deep into Pikeville territory. Four times, Paintsville has first down and goal to go. The Big Dawg goal-line defense, so tough a pickup truck couldn't go through it, holds every time. Pikeville wins 22-0. The next morning, Howard goes down to Jerry's for breakfast. As he steps into the restaurant, he hears it, just as he knew he would. "Hillard," someone asks, "what went wrong last night?"