That's Not My Fault

The other day I mentioned that I caught a catch phrase from Willie Cager. He likes to say "That's not my fault". I found that rather hilarious, and now it's stuck in my head, like all the other trivia stuck in there.

Let me start this little story from the beginning...

About 4 years ago I was out book scouting and ran across this 1966 Flowsheet from the University of Texas at El Paso. There was our famous coach and


NCAA winning team, and I could not have been more excited to find such a gem. Shortly thereafter, Dan Wetzel's book came out and of course,I had to have a copy, so I purchased one at the UTEP bookstore and had Don Haskins sign my book and my Yearbook, and got a personal and in depth glimpse of just what the man thought of all the hullabaloo. I loved hearing him tell stories. I appeared on Fox news to tell my story about how I acquired this yearbook, and how that 1966 game is one of my earliest memories, since I was 4 years old when my father had us all cheering for the Miners.

Before I knew it, all of these major events were being announced about Glory Road the movie; the players, and the actors were all coming to town, a big to-do for the movie premiere, etc. The dollar signs began to flash before my eyes.


I knew I could get signatures, if I was persistent, and I could then sell my wonderful yearbook to the highest bidder; that's what I do, sell books. I then got very sick with the flu (I rarely get sick), and had no desire to go anywhere that week. I claim that I don't believe in karma, but maybe somebody was trying to send me a karmic jolt.

Later that week I learned that there would be a huge gathering of these basketball stars at the Sunland Park Barnes & Noble. I took some aspirin, blew my nose, and drove to the west side. I purchased a few more copies of Glory Road for friends, and stood in line to have Wetzel and Haskins sign them. I then began the wait for the players to begin trickling in. I was approached by a curious El Paso Times reporter who wanted to know more about how I got this Yearbook. I told him about my forays into garage sales, and thrift store hunting. I then told him I was going to attempt to get all of the players signatures in the yearbook. He points out a tall gentleman to me as Jerry Armstrong, so I ask him to pass the 66 Flowsheet to this tall man, and ask him to sign it. I'm quite embarrassed to say that the signature was not of Jerry Armstrong, but of Steve Tredennick (class of '65). My heart sank. No offense to Mr. Tredennick, who is hardly at fault for honoring my unusual request to sign a Yearbook which he did not even appear in!

I thought to myself, self-you got what you deserve. Everyone and their mother was trying to cash in on this Glory Road craze with signed books, shirts, basketballs, Wheaties boxes and the like. You name it, there was mass signing going on. Damn if that karmic jolt had not morphed right into a thunderclap!

I came to the conclusion that I had lost sight of what made this item so special in my own life. The history, the youthful memories, cheering for something I knew so little about, and the creation of a basketball fan at the tender age of 4.

There we were, at Loma Terrace elementary school (around 1970?), when Willie Cager, fresh from his degree in education, shows up as Physical Ed. teacher, and we were in awe, just in awe of him. UTEP basketball was a very big thing to me, from 1966 on. It was exciting to stomp our feet on those wood bleachers in Memorial Gym. Witnessing the masterful coaching and great players that came through UTEP who played their hearts out. I still can't believe I played pool one time with Don Haskins, at the Back Door Lounge on Mesa, where I worked back in the days when he was still coaching. He would tell me "little girl, I don't want you to embarrass me" whenever I would beg him to shoot a game with me. "Just one game!" I would say. "I know I'm no challenge, but please!" I would implore. One day he indulged me, and was nice enough to let me break. Of course he proceeded to slaughter me with sinker after sinker, within a few short minutes, if it was even that long. I played pool with Don Haskins, and got to hear his stories. He was a very funny man. That's all that really mattered.

I took my books home from the Barnes & Noble that day, and thought no further of signatures, or capitalism where Glory Road was concerned. I thought, instead, who deserves to have this yearbook?

Who, indeed? I became convinced that most of those players from the 1966 team could not afford to purchase a yearbook. I knew then that I needed to go on a mission to find out who I could give this yearbook to. Mr. Cager was my first choice. I knew of his philanthropic efforts for children's causes here in El Paso, and the fact that he continues to be active with Loma Terrace programs, and the Willie Cager Foundation. I wanted him to have his college yearbook, if he didn't already have one. After a few attempts to contact him and a dead end conversation I had with somebody I cannot even name, because I don't keep good records and I am rather addle-brained, I just forgot all about this. The 1966 Flowsheet sat on a shelf gathering dust for awhile. Every so often I'd think about it again, call the Cager household to hear a fax machine buzzing in my ear, and I'd let it slip away yet again, until I'd see Cager at a UTEP game, and there I'd go again...telling myself to do something, but forgetting all about it just as quickly as it would take to drive home from the game.

Which brings us to June 8, 2009. I had just received my new phone books, and called that same home number, and heard that same fax machine. I got online and looked for the Willie Cager Foundation again, and called the number there to a direct "Hello, hello" from the man himself. Finally, I had arrived. It was a quick trip to YISD, and I told Willie the story of my cheering at a black and white television along with my father and brothers, our childhood pride of having him as a coach at our school, my capitalistic endeavors, my dismay at things gone wrong, my realizations of what was right, and my interest in helping him preserve his legacy, with that errant signature serving as a reminder to something. Something-but I'm not exactly sure what. We talked and laughed for hours, and I truly enjoyed that time spent with him.

I am overjoyed to know that Willie has his yearbook now. Of course he could never afford it in 1966, but "that's not my fault." It has reached it's rightful owner, and I know it never really belonged to me.