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Robyn Richardson is a sports icon in Russellville, a man with a style all his own. He likes to wear t-shirts promoting his favorite teams, and never just one, layers of them, a rainbow of multi-colored collars itching up from his neckline.
He works at the courthouse, but when I think of Robyn, I think of him out on the field, under the goalposts, as close as he can get to the action.
Throughout my football career, Robyn was always there, watching from the sidelines, squinting behind his thick-lensed glasses. I have fuzzy memories of him at my junior high games, I know he was there in high school, but I’ll never forget the college game that led to Robyn’s t-shirt scandal.
For my senior season at Ouachita, we played the Wonder Boys in my hometown of Russellville, Arkansas. Needless to say, this was a big game for me.
I saw Robyn as I exited the bus. He gave me this sly grin, a smirk like maybe he thought the Wonder Boys had our number. I didn’t think much of it, and a few hours later, the game was in full swing.
I don’t remember seeing Robyn while I was out on the field. I just remember my coach calling a quarterback run on a third and short and the Tech defense parting like the Red Sea.
What followed was the longest touchdown run of my collegiate career, a little over fifty yards. It was a good feeling, being back in Russellville, crossing the goal line against the Wonder Boys.
Little did I know, Robyn was about to make it even sweeter.
In the weeks leading up to the game, Robyn had been conspiring with OBU alum and Russellville resident Craig Campbell. The result was a purple shirt with my number on it.
Now, I didn’t see this shirt when I saw Robyn before the game. Remember, this is a man who likes to wear a lot of shirts. And that’s just how he pulled off what will go down as the single coolest moment in the history of my football career.
When I scored, Robyn peeled off his outer layer—his green and gold—revealing a purple Ouachita shirt with a big fat number 8 in the center of his chest. As I was trotting around in the end zone, Robyn was giving the home crowd a show they’d never forget.
Not surprisingly, Robyn didn’t get to stay on the sideline for the rest of that game, but his gesture has not been forgotten. The reason it’s burned so brightly into my memory is that Robyn took a big risk for me. I wonder if he thought about all the years he’d been allowed on Tech’s sideline? Did he know he was putting his privilege at risk? I like to think he did, but it just didn’t matter.
The fact that I was playing for the other team didn’t matter, either. What mattered was the bond Robyn and I had formed over all those years spent on the same fields. What mattered was our friendship.
Luckily, Robyn was allowed back on the Tech sideline a few games after the t-shirt scandal. I still see him at local sporting events. We’ll shake hands, talk about an upcoming game, and then we’ll go our separate ways.
But something remains, a connection we have back to that moment almost ten years ago: a touchdown, a t-shirt, two different perspectives on the same game, making our mark together.
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