Full-Court Press
THE Hawaii football helmet was nestled comfortably in the top of Fred vonAppen's trash can with a picture of an Aloha Stadium scoreboard wedged into the green face mask. Curse of the helmet
has been exorcisedMost of his books were packed away as evidenced by all the empty shelves staring back at a man just hours removed from ever stepping in this office again.
While listening to his final diatribe of how he would have to work hard to get his severance package, my eyes fell upon that helmet-picture combo sitting in the top of the trash. Just as soon as vonAppen finished, I interrupted his train of thought by asking, "What are your plans for that helmet?"
"Hell, man, I'm throwing that thing away," vonAppen said. "I don't need any reminders about working here. If you want it, it's yours."
I removed the helmet from the trash and asked him, "Are you sure you want to throw away this picture?" It was the final score of the 1996 game with Boise State, his first win as a Division I head coach.
"Yeah, you keep it," he replied. "I hope that stuff brings you better luck than it did me."
MY wife snapped me out of my reverie by asking, "What are you doing up there? Planning to commit suicide?"
It could have been construed as such, I suppose. I was standing precariously on one of my children's chairs in front of 6,000 Disney tapes I bought through the years. They were packed every-which-a-way in an eight-foot bookcase.
On the top, with my junior high and high school year books, sat the crowning jewel of this collection - the UH football helmet I rescued from vonAppen's trash.
"I've been wondering where this was," I half said to myself as I looked at the familiar UH Rainbow logo. "This helmet may be our problem."
My wife and I are superstitious by nature. Oh, we don't stay home on Friday the 13th or turn around if a black cat crosses our paths, but we do feel there are unseen forces influencing our destinies.
"I told you not to bring that thing into the house," my wife said as I removed the helmet from the shelf. "That helmet has been nothing but trouble."
THERE was some validity to her concerns. Let's see, the landlady's been acting up, the IRS doesn't believe we can add, I found out my classic 1965 Mustang is as explosive as a burned-out Pinto and the Star-Bulletin is closing.
"I was thinking about giving this thing back to June," I told my wife. "But knowing how superstitious he is, he probably wouldn't want it. Look at all the good things that have happened to the program since this helmet left the building and all the bad things that have happened to us."
She shook her head vehemently, "You already messed up his winning streak by not wearing your lucky shirt to the Rice game. I'm sure he'll really appreciate you giving him that jinxed helmet as a parting gift."
Of course, she was right. So, on Tuesday night, I put it out in the garage on top of my Riley Award and covered it with a tarp. The next day, I donned my lucky Hawaiian shirt, went down to work and learned the Star-Bulletin might not be closing after all.
"I told you so," my wife said as I came through the door that evening. "Now, right before the appeal, make sure you throw away that picture you have down at the office."
It's already done, I told her. The appeal doesn't have a prayer.
Paul Arnett has been covering sports
for the Star-Bulletin since 1990.