550 miles round trip. Diesel averaging $5.90 a gallon. Ugly West Texas terrain with the occasional smell of sour gas. Bringing the Tiger Tunnel and train horn for dem boys… priceless. Now, 275 miles doesn’t sound terrible until you’ve been staring at the same stretch of West Texas for two hours and realize the scenery hasn’t changed enough to qualify as a slideshow. A fence. A pumpjack. Another fence. Something in the distance that might be a cow, but at this point you’re willing to wave at it either way. Every so often, a little sour gas drifts through to remind you that the view comes with a fragrance package. At $5.90 a gallon, I felt like we ought to get a complimentary steak dinner with every fill-up. Instead, we got a receipt long enough to use as a rally towel. A handful of folks thanked us for hauling the tunnel out west, and we appreciated every one of them. Jessica and I haven’t missed a game since taking on these duties. If I can help it, those boys will never run onto a field without our support waiting for them. I’m no long-timer compared to some who’ve poured decades into this tradition, but I’ve been around long enough to know a few locker-room stories and witness the antics in the darkness beneath that Tiger. Somewhere along the way, setting up a tunnel became a whole lot more than solely setting up a tunnel. As odd as it may seem, it’s bigger than the tunnel. It’s unconditional, unwavering, and non-negotiable. No matter the distance, if your boys travel, the tunnel travels. With the band absent and our cheerleaders holding down the fort at home, the traveling crowd had some extra duties. Thankfully, energetic parents and a crazy Tunnel Dad with a loud horn are pretty comfortable making a spectacle of themselves. We’d brought our piece of home with us. Now it was time for the boys to handle business. GAME TIME! Dave Campbell’s Football and the board of professional predictors had Midland Greenwood picked to win Friday. Glen Rose had driven 275 miles to play football, and apparently nobody remembered to pack the part where we were supposed to lose. Friday felt like the complete game we’ve been waiting to see. Judd Connally had his legs under him, made some great decisions, and helped the offense find a groove we’ve been yearning for. Cross Littlejohn must have been anointed by the Holy Ghost and appointed the Disciple of Doom, because that boy was running like he was out for holy vengeance. He disappears behind our offensive line, and before you can locate him, those legs have already skedaddled through the opening. If you happen to be standing in his way, he’ll plant that downhill momentum right in your gut and let you reconsider your involvement. Great game, Cross—and credit to the big boys up front for giving him somewhere to go. Defensively, Jayden Garza was on ’em like sticky syrup, making the Rangers wish him away all night. Rylan Burch played like a rabid maneater, stepping into gaps and gobbling up 13 tackles. Jacob Willey added 12, while Cash Henrich helped make Greenwood’s backfield a deeply unpleasant place to spend an evening. That defense gave our offense the opportunities it needed to finish the job. And somewhere in the middle of all that football, our traveling crowd delivered a highlight of its own. Kudos to whoever gathered everyone to line the tunnel at halftime. Seeing those boys walk through a wall of hometown support that far from home made me truly proud. We ought to do that more often. Although Coach Pair and I would like to remind everyone: “What’s said in the tunnel stays in the tunnel.” Even at halftime, the predictors were still expecting the Rangers to pull it off. Nope. Not happenin’, boys. Down 17–14 in the third quarter, the Tigers answered with a long touchdown drive that included two fourth-down conversions. Then they kept their foot on the gas, scoring the final 21 points while the defense slammed the door. Judd ran for three touchdowns, Cross added two, and Alejandro Corrujedo went five-for-five on extra points. Final score: Glen Rose 35, Greenwood 17. The Tigers came home 4–2, and the Rangers’ eight-game home winning streak vanished in the West Texas wind. Nothing feels better than watching our Tigers ruin somebody’s prediction. The trip home was still 275 miles, but a win sure improves the scenery. Those same pumpjacks suddenly looked a little friendlier. The diesel was still overpriced, and the sour gas hadn’t become a scented candle, but we were hauling home a happy Tiger Tunnel and a horn that had gotten its money’s worth. I’d like to say the win paid for the fuel. Next up: Brock. A walk in the park? Probably more like a stroll through a pasture with a bull you haven’t been properly introduced to. But I’m glad we’re playing them. Friday showed what these Tigers can do when they find their rhythm and finish the job. Now let’s build on it. Get ready, trust each other, and find a way to compete. Let’s go, boys! Before I close, there are a couple of boys who deserve more than a mention in the game recap. Seeing Hudson Hall go down on the opening play after halftime brought that familiar, awful feeling that reaches every parent in the stands. Football means a lot around here. Those boys mean more. Hudson, we’re rooting for you. Every one of us has your back, and this community is praying for you. You’ve got a whole town in your corner. And Jacob Willey, who got his noggin rung and is working through concussion protocol, we’re pulling for you, too. Take your time and get that head right, Willey. We’ve got some winning to do, and we want you healthy when you’re cleared to join us.