August 31, 2011:  A few days ago I had a client in the car who's looking for a beautiful two-bedroom condo on Hutchinson Island overlooking the blue waters of the Treasure Coast.  We started our mission around 5:00 pm and looked at several outstanding units with great views.

The client is a man in his sixties originally from a small town in western North Carolina and answers to the handle J.B.  He played football in both high school and college.

Looking at him you could tell he was an interior lineman.  Still in good shape, the telltale giveaway was his gait.  He walked like a lineman whose age had caught up with him on his right knee, which had a favored sway as he ambled along.

These are guys I enjoy showing property to--plainspoken, independent business owners who know exactly what they want in a beach home investment.  The conversations are easy; these guys always end up spinning stories about their best days ever, playing between the hash marks.  It's true, real men love mud.

After seeing the properties, we headed back where he had parked his car.  Along the way we passed the local high school field littered with equipment, kids running drills, coaches blowing whistles, and cheerleaders in sweats practicing, all observed by parents in the stands; it's serious Florida football season.

J.B. asked if I minded stopping and watching for a while.  "Hell no!"  We pulled up on the grass to park.  Exiting from the car, we leaned on the four-foot high chain-link fence and became absorbed in the practice.  It was a beautiful, clear evening in the mid-70s with a slight breeze.

The practice field smelled of freshly mowed grass and recalled ancient memories of line drills, sweat, tackling dummies, and frustrated, chiding coaches.

We were both impressed with the high level of skills these kids were exhibiting at practice.  Full of pride, J.B. declared, "Southern-style football is a religion, especially in Florida."  I swallowed back my disagreement--after all, I was from B'ville where football rivals the Vatican.  He was looking at a $250k condo; I'm not that crazy to not disagree.

The field lights were switched on, allowing us to clearly watch the defense and special team drills that were closest to us.  I always wanted to play under stadium lights.  Still, it brought back memories of Augusts long ago with "two-a-days" on the flatiron heat of the dust bowl, something then you cursed but yearn for again.

Down here the critics don't give much credit to Northern high school football; the South thinks it owns the sport.

I wonder what current Bronco co-captains Sean Callahan and the Conway twins would say about that.  After all, they are going into this season as league state champions, and everyone is gunning for them.  This year's Bronco team has big ground to plow, and I personally think that, with the outstanding leadership and returning team's cohesiveness, they can compete.

My fantasy is seeing you desperadoes take the state again then motor down here to educate a comparable Florida league team and bring a little New York Yankee football to their deep-fried doorsteps.  My money would be on you guys.  Selfishly, it would be the only way for me to see you play in person.

Winning this year has to be easier than pushing an SUV up Hawthorne Road in 90-degree heat.  Even Conan would need a nap after that.

There is no question in my mind that you guys will be on that bus heading for the Carrier Dome January bringing the heat.