Football coaches normally don’t want the press at practice.

They think we’re gonna’ tell Texas Tech that last week’s wide-left-student-body-right-half-nelson-28-power-trap-On-1-On-1! has been switched to wide-left-student-body-right-half-nelson-26-power-trap-On-1-On-1!

No.

Still, football coaches think like that.

So during the fall, I distance myself from the practice field about as far as tiger does from the rest of the pack.

But during spring football, the gates of practice are opened to those carrying a notebook or a video camera.

Why?

Spring football needs PR Spring football needs us. If you think about it, spring football is kind of pointless.

It’s like taking a history class for three weeks, taking a test and then taking the same history class over again four months later – with the results of the first test counting just north of nil towards your grade.

Keeping my history analogy in mind, I went to practice this week to see just what does go on at spring football.

Monday, April 16:

This sucks.

It’s April freakin’ 16, and it’s 32 degrees out here.

It’s 18 degrees with the wind chill – a wind that currently makes head coach Dan McCarney’s red wind pants flap wildly against his striding legs.

As they go over their footwork, quarterback Cris Love says “I can’t run in this stuff.”

I can’t write in this stuff. My pen just went dry.

There, it’s back. Just in time for McCarney to blow his whistle.

With Mac’s chirp, the red shirts (offense) line up in rows opposite the white shirts (defense) and begin calisthenics.

“This is O-line weather,” McCarney yells.

“We got a little sayin’,” offensive linemen Lorenzo White would say later, “Even if it’s 30 below, it’s offensive linemen weather.”

But is it Lorenzo White weather?

“Uh, no. Not really,” the native Texan says. “Texas weather is my weather.”

When the players finish stretching, White follows the offensive linemen into drills while Mike Nelson takes his defensive linemen through different ones.

Nelson is the defensive linemen coach. “He’s a goof ball,” defensive end Kevin DeRonde says.

Nelson wears gray sweat pants that fit more like Wrangler’s.

Tucked into his Wrangler’s, a gray hooded sweatshirt and red Iowa State wind jacket. His wrap-around sunglasses complete this ensemble.

Nelson doesn’t walk across the practice field as much as he skims across it.

Some defensive backs come over at Nelson’s beckoning. They cut-block the defensive ends.

“[Nelson’s] honest,” DeRonde says.

One DB does a poor job of cut-blocking an end.

“That’s a piss poor job No. 37,” Nelson says.

Piss poor weather too. Man, it is freezing.

Wait a minute . What’s this? Snow? That’s it. I’m leaving.

Tuesday, April 17:

This sucks.

Today, no clouds mess with the warm sun. The breeze that’s blowing in my face feels like a fan that’s set on medium.

And the walkway that allowed me onto the field yesterday now has a chain-linked gate pulled across it. No one’s here.

They have the day off. Perfect.

Wednesday, April 18:

This doesn’t suck.

The weather’s in the mid-60s, the players are in mid-season form.

During the “inside” drill, a drill where the offense minus the wideouts and the defense minus the cornerbacks go at it, McCarney yells esoteric statements.

After one short gain up the middle: “The whole O-line’s way too high,” Mac says.

He knows what he’s talking about.

The next play fullback Frank Garcia busts through the defense. Only coaches’ whistles, signaling him to stop, keep him from the end zone.

A few plays later, a trainer writes the number two on a dry-erase board.

She throws it up over her head and turns toward the offensive players in a straight line behind her.

It informs the resting offensive players of the called play.

When she throws it up, it looks like the woman in the swim suit who introduced the new round in the “Rocky” movies.

Now, the “inside” drill’s over. And now – scrimmage.

The two-minute drill ends practice. Official referees, meant to give the practice a game-like feel, survey First-team O versus first-team D.

“Put 1:20 on the clock. One time-out. Need a field goal to win,” McCarney says.

Coach Nelson yells – sometimes, things I can’t print.

Today his wind jacket is tied around his waist. Today he wears gray shorts with the hooded sweatshirt tucked into them.

With three seconds left, kicker Tony Yelk jogs on to the field and splits a 42-yard game-winning field goal.

I try get some usable quotes from Coach Nelson after practice. He’s busy.

That too, sucks. But not as much as not getting to watch this next fall.

Paul Kix is a sophomore in journalism and mass communication from Hubbard.