L.A. Youth Football Team, Stung By Money Woes, Still Produces 'Champs'
Comments (0)
In the heart of South Los Angeles, the head of a youth football program makes champions his own way.
“I don’t like to see the situation right there," Johnson tells them. "You know he is your brother right there playing football. He is playing the same game that we love to play. Just keep your head out of the tackle.” He pats the boys on their shoulders and sends them back into the game.
Johnson is president of the SoCal Youth Football Program and oversees seven football teams and one cheerleading squad. Nicknamed "presi" by players and coaches, Johnson tries to bring to children a feeling of belongingness, which he didn’t get, growing up in a foster center. That "home" sits a couple of miles from Bethune Middle School, where his teams now train.
In 2005, Johnson launched the football program. It’s “a social recovery center and magnet,” as Johnson would call it, for children from the South Los Angeles area, who attend some of the lowest performing schools and live in a community where the focus is on survival.
Parents send their children here, satisfied that the program will shelter their children from violence, gangs and drugs on the street. But for Johnson, the program is more ambitious and far-reaching than surviving today or tomorrow. Most of the kids join as young as six, and stay with the demanding program until they’re 15 or 16.
“Where they live is not necessarily where they will always live,” Johnson says. “What they are labeled is not necessarily who they are.”
Johnson watches the boys’ games every Saturday. As always, he wants a victory. Yet when the midget team crushed Colorado River on Nov. 3, the president hit a roadblock. The team was on course to earn a spot in a national championship, but he would need to raise $40,000 in two weeks. That was figure he planned to reach over the course of four years.
The midget division, composed of 13-to-15-year-old boys, plays in a league organized by Pop Warner, a national youth football organization. A team that wins three regional games is crowned regional champion and advances to the Pop Warner Super Bowl at the Disney World of Sports in Florida. The Colorado River victory means the team needs just two more victories to secure a spot in the Super Bowl.
Johnson has checked the cost of a national championship trip many times. At least $36,715 for air tickets, food and hotels.
“To be honest, taking a group of kids from Southern California to play against teams from Colorado River, from Orange County, from Hawaii and win those games. No, I don’t think that’s gonna happen," he said.
The players in the SoCal Falcons program, no stranger to money problems, have made up their minds. They want to go.
Johnson estimated the program needed three to four years to produce a midget division competitive enough for playing a Pop Warner champion. But this team, formed a year ago, has surprised the president by winning 11 games this season with 30 points or more. They are the L.A. County champions.
“When we tell these kids they had a chance to go to Florida, the very first thing they said was ‘we are going’, and the coach and I were like ‘you are not going to Florida, get out of here’,” Johnson recalled. “ And they said ‘No, we are going, we are going to Florida.'”
The president had a simple life 20 years ago, a married working Joe at Vons, focused on providing for his son. With a degree in Biblical studies from UCLA, he was also pastor at New Pleasant Hill Missionary Baptist Church. At the age of 35, one of Johnson’s very close friends, a social worker, invited him to be a volunteer to work with foster care kids. He refused at first, thinking the volunteering may awaken some bitter memory that took him years to erase. Johnson’s mother had sent him to a foster center, where he stayed for eight years, leaving hurt and confused at 16 years old. He eventually became involved in working with all types of children.
“I understood the moment I started to work with those kids, I would never stop," Johnson said. “Eventually, I felt the need to volunteer a few hours for the foster kids, and a few hours has turned into three a.m. in the morning, trying to raise funds for this team.”
Johnson had already squeezed money to have the midget division have the best helmets and pads, as the president said he wants boys to feel good and look good. Pop Warner also charges $175 to $200 for each participant annually. Nearly all of the players come from single-parent households.
Before training camp opens in the spring, parents do fundraising for the organization. The seven teams sell printed T-shirts and mugs. Sometimes, city councilmembers donate money. Each team spends around $4,000 annually.
In thousands of letters he sends to potential donors and articles he posts on various fund-raising websites, Johnson calls the midget division “the children at disadvantage” -- more than 90 percent are from single-parent families that struggle to pay the football fee.
“I just try to believe that somehow the money will come in, that the miracle happens,” he said.
People from the community have heard the story. The president receives $1 to $10 every day, but he needs a bigger amount. The problems are neither him nor the midget division parents is connected to wealthy donor who may donate more than $1,000.
“Unless we help them to process their pain through love and understanding, the children will continue to get chronically older, but they are going to stay emotionally younger," he tells thousands of foster parents on his national speaking tour.
Right after the game with Colorado River, the president updates the donation page, where he writes in a urgent tone, “It would be heartbreaking to see the team wining the following two games but not going to Florida, because they don’t have the money.”
The Team That’s Going to Win
Coach Marvin Wheeler, who has been with the midget team for over a year, attributes their success to the challenges they’ve overcome off the field.
“I think the success comes from the adversity they have from the neighborhoods, and these young men are able to come together for a common goal," he said. "They’re all willing to put together the hard work and the hours to make this happen.”
Wheeler takes the players to Golden Corral for dinner after they beat Orange County on Nov. 10, their second regional game. It’s a long desired victory, a reward for their three, two-hour long practices in the cold weather during the week before the game. Now the team only has one game and one game between them and the Florida trip. The fundraising deadline -- a Pop Warner requirement -- also stands a week away.
The team has at least 10 players who stand up among the best in L.A. County, but Johnson allows anyone with a heart for the game to join. With good and bad players, both Coach Wheeler and the “presi” admit keeping the midget division on the field is a tough job.
“You have to pay their fees, you have to pick them up and drop them at home after practice, you have to make sure they are doing good on class,” Johnson signs.
Bnii Wise almost dropped out of school, but he earned a 3.0 GPA last semester, knowing that the president only allows in players with a minimum 3.0 GPA.
Parents of players on the midget team are less involved compared to younger divisions. They didn’t leave a comment on the team’s Facebook page where Coach Wheeler posted the best photos he took with a Nikon D60.
“Presi” has one reason to keep the team. Most boys in the midget division grow up in the program. At the age of 15, they are too old for any youth football teams. Unwilling to leave, they join the midget team. The team takes in players that are 140 pound or lighter, though midget players average 170 pounds.
"Some kids literally grow up in our program," he said. "Some of the kids are in high school, some are not, and a couple of the kids are homeschooled. At the end of the day, if they’re not with us, they are out on the street.”
Jarobee Zuniga has been in the program since six. A fast quarterback, he has a strong arm, but is prone to throwing interceptions. His home is a 10-minute walk from Bethune, along which he said he sees prostitutes and gangs.
“No matter what happens at school, at home. You still have the positive attitude and you have a clear mind about anything else that’s happening," he said.
The Huston brothers are more motivated by thought of seeing themselves on ESPN. A chance of fame carries them through chilly weather and the often-boring training.
“Nobody is gonna be able to stop us from doing anything,” Jeremia Huston said.
The presi said the players' desires to escape the neighborhood motivates the team to stay together and win many games.
“They want to get away from South Central L.A.," he said. "They want to go to places they’re only able to see on television. I don’t think there are other ways they can get there.”
But he said the players have told them their motivation is more about the team than themselves.
“There was a day, the players told me ‘Presi, we are going to win the national championship because that’s what the football program needs.’ It’s ironic because they are on a mission to better our program and we are on a mission to better their lives," he said.
The Huston twins’ dad, who came to pick up the kids for the first time, says the $150 annual fee is expensive for the family. “Still it’s worth of the money. Playing football is the only way to keep the boys off the street," he said.
He meets the president for the first time a week before the final game and hears the news that the boys have a chance to go to Florida.
Johnson’s wife, Karen, tells the father that her husband will make it happen despite the whole fund raising issue.
“No doubt about that," she says. "My husband is too obsessive with his job.”
A Mission at Large
In his football program with more than 300 children, one thing that never appears on Johnson’s “playbook” is a good score. The teams haven’t won many games since the program’s foundation in 2005. It’s good manners before education, and education before football.
On the first day of spring training camp at Bethune Middle School, the president lines the kids up and asks them:
“How do we treat our women?”
He shouts at the boys, his voices harsh and jarring like an old stereo at its maximum volume.
“Like ladies!” the boys respond, standing a straight line, like the new recruited soldiers.
“How do we treat our mothers?”
“Like ladies!”
“Like what?”
“Like ladies!”
Johnson gives the good-manners education whenever it's called for. He was rushing back to his old pickup when a boy walked by shirtless.
“Hey, put your clothes on,” he says, stopping the boy.
“It was hot. I just played basketball,” the boy shrugs.
“But it’s not so hot now,” Johnson says, stressing the last word.
His life has been revolving around the kids around the clock since his two sons left for college. He trained foster parents from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. on weekdays, giving them guidance on communicating with the more rebelling but also fragile kids. An hour later, it’s time for him to go to the practice field. At 8 p.m., he comes back home and starts scheduling for tomorrow at 10 p.m.
On Saturdays, the president literally goes to every game the kids play -- at different places.
“There’d been times when we were on the road. We may have one team play at two o’clock at Palos Verdes, another team play at four o’clock at Hawthorne, another play at 7 o’clock at Culver City," he said. "And we are going to those games. If we don’t make the beginning, we get before it’s over.”
Johnson said he's motivated to follow all the players by an encounter with an eight-year-old boy who rushed to him to share good news.
“We have an eight year old who came up and said, ‘Coach, did you see my game? I scored three touchdowns. This is the first time they let me run the ball.' And I had to say No. And he turned around and said, ‘Oh, I guess I am not as important as the other guys,'" Keith recalled. "That doesn’t speak about that moment, that speaks about what’s going on in that kid’s life.”
“My wife and I have never missed one football game since then," Johnson said.
The Final Game
Like Coach Wheeler, the boys don’t know how much the trip to Florida will cost. Neither do they know the team doesn’t have the money.
The night before the last game, on the practice field, players are chanting with Coach Wheeler, “Redondo Beach,” again and again, referring to the place where they will play against the Arizona Grand Snakes and the field where they beat Colorado River in the first game.
On the same day, the president is up until 3 a.m. in the morning, sending emails to people who may interested in the team’s story and opt to donate.
He writes, in the email to hundreds of potential donors, “It would be a dream come true if these kids win the right to travel to Florida; however it will be a living nightmare if we have to tell them you cannot go because we did not have time to raise the funds. Will you please help?”
On the team’s donation website, he says, “I ain’t proud to beg.”
Two weeks ago, Chase Bank in Florida had orally agreed to pay for the trip. When Hurricane Sandy hit Florida, the bank earmarked all charitable contributions to support hurricane-plummeted areas. The bank canceled its sponsorship.
Sitting before the computer, Johnson stared at the bank account: $5,000. Still $35,000 short. Tomorrow, the championship organizer needs to know whether the team has the money in place. And tonight, he has to come up with the best way to tell the boys the truth.
“I really don’t know,” he paused for a long time. “We need to make them realize sometimes, things just don’t work out that we want to work out. And I am allowing them to go to the grieving process, but they will be OK.”
In a way, he hopes the team loses.
“The financial burden is off, but then I have to deal with the emotional turmoil of my babies. I’m going to feel joy and anxiety, watching this ball game on Saturday.”
Saturday’s game kicks off in heavy rain. For both the Falcons and the Snakes, this is their final game. Winners gets the national championship berth.
The Falcons don’t give the Snakes many chances to reach the end zone in the first half. As the game moves into the second half, the Snakes throw a touchdown pass, breaking a 0-0 deadlock.
With 15 minutes left, the Snakes are up 14-0. Zuniga still believes the team has a chance, but Coach Wheeler's son, Madison, begins to agitate. He doesn’t hear what Coach Wheeler is shouting. When the Snakes celebrate for another touchdown, he kicks hard at the field.
The president knows they are going to lose. He walks into the dark and groans. When he comes back, the score is 26-0. Walking up to Madison, just off the field, he pats the cornerback, who seems to be paying more attention to the game.
“It’s just a game, and whether you win or lose doesn’t matter,” Johnson said.
The Snakes burst into cheers as the scoreboard turns off. With the blaring broadcast congratulating Snake’s trip to the Disneyworld for the championship, Coach Wheeler starts his speech in the center of a circle formed by the players.
No one cries, as the president had expected. Instead, they eagerly await Wheeler's encouraging words.
“When you guys got obstacles in life, these are people that are going to be with you for the rest of your life. This is not just about playing football right now; this is about you become young man, providers of your family," Wheeler tells them. "One day, you guys would be that. You have the support units that are here to help you guys. When you have obstacles that you cannot handle your own, pick up the phone and call your coach.”
Coach Wheeler turns to Johnson, standing nearby, head down.
“You guys have been though a lot,” Presi tells the team. “You know that, and by that means, we are champions.”
Madison doesn’t withhold his tears. Hugged by the rest of the team, Madison sits on the ground, drenched in rain. For 10 seconds, he cries loudly, and then yells a single word, “Champs."
“Come on, we are Falcons, let’s get out of here,” the Presi says, wrapping Madison with his arms.
Reach Staff Reporter Meng Meng here.
