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His older brother was a senior at Sandy Springs High where he was presi- dent of the student body. It appeared to me Scotty was always under pressure from his older sibling and parents to meet their elevated expectations. He spent many hours with his studies making sure he lived up to their standards. For me, grades were not that important. Fortunately, I did pretty well for a kid that didn’t sweat it too much. In those times, almost everyone got into college without having to possess a high GPA, so I wasn’t especially worried. Scotty was definitely the better student. But I had a few skills. I could play music and draw. By the time I was twelve, I could perform Grieg on piano, had taught myself how to play guitar, and could draw a general likeness of most anything. My senior year art teacher wanted me to pursue an art scholarship, but I was more interested in athletics at the time. Somehow, I knew my God-given artistic talents would carry me through life, and I have always been grateful. I went out for the eighth-grade football team at the new high school. We had a coach named Glasgow with a thick, uneducated, redneck drawl. He also taught my ‘health’ class and sucked big time. I recall him sitting in the front of the class, smoking ciga- rettes and simply reading from the textbook. It seemed he didn’t want to be a teacher or a coach. I decided to try my hand at quarterback since I now had better knowledge of the game. At one of our scrimmages, I ran the same play three times in a row. It called for me to hide the ball on my hip and run the opposite direction from the play. Coach Glasgow thought I was nuts but I made significant yardage each time. After the scrimmage, I apprehensively asked Glasgow if we could try a different numbering system for the plays that would