Billy Schott shares Longhorn sports History and give me 3 for Freddie Steinmark

  I’m often asked what my most memorable kick was as a Longhorn, and although I’ve made a few that provided the difference in a victory or two, the one kick that resonates within me as my all-time favorite is my very first field goal attempt…50 years ago.

Now, can y’all imagine having to wait until September 23rd for a Texas Football season-opening game? In 1972, we were still playing a 10-game regular season schedule, and after four months of off-season drills under the tutelage of our trainer, Frank Medina, four weeks of a brutal spring training, and six weeks of two-a-days, we were very ready to line up against the Miami Hurricanes in our home opener.

I can’t imagine any of my teammates looking forward to this game as much as I was, considering how I was raised in the shadow of The Tower and probably spent more time in Texas Memorial Stadium than I did at home. My Dad had dressed me in replica Texas uniforms from the time I could walk until I was old enough to serve as a ballboy when I was about 8 years old.Talk about a storybook childhood…I wound up spending most of my youth helping out around the Longhorn equipment room as well as being a batboy for Coach Bibb Falk, at least when there wasn’t a spring football practice or scrimmage in the way.

Some of you may remember seeing the future Longhorn schedules in the football programs and each year, that was the first thing I checked out in the new program after seeing whatever funny cartoon from John Churchill Chase was on the cover. I think it may have been the ‘65 season when I first saw the 1972 schedule with, “Sept. 23 Univ. of Miami”, the first meeting ever between the two teams.I knew that would be my first game in a real, genuine Texas Longhorns uniform…As the seasons rolled by, I was ever so fortunate to play high school football for the John H. Reagan Raiders, where we won 3 Class 4A (then, the top classification) State Championships in my 4 years there., and we were named National Champions in 1968 and ‘70. Texas won the National Championship in ‘69 and ‘70, so Austin was a pretty cool place to be if you were a football fan…and I couldn’t imagine anyone not loving football.

As destiny would have it, I received a scholarship offer from Coach Royal to play football for Texas.There had been some discussion in the NCAA about making freshmen eligible for varsity football so I was really hoping that would come to fruition for the fall of 1971, but as luck would have it, that didn’t happen until ‘72, so my fellow freshmen teammates played our 5 game season as the last required frosh bunch, going 5-0 and looking forward to moving up to the varsity.

That long-awaited game against Miami was looming…After a basically sleepless night with the team at the not-so-palatial Chariot Inn on I-35 in North Austin, we bused back to Jester Dormitory for our pregame meal and meetings. Many of my teammates’ family members were around, but I had told my folks that I’d see them at the stadium. I knew my Dad would be there when we exited the locker room under the stands on the west side for pregame warmups so he could tell me the same thing he had done for 40 high school games and my 5 freshman games, “Keep your head down and eyes on the ball, son, and follow through…”

I was especially glad that Mom and Dad were not present after….a not-so-funny thing happened on the way to the stadium.We made our way down the hill on 21st Street from our special teams meeting in the Jester theater. We would always go over the bullet points of the “Press The Kicking Game For It’s Here The Breaks Are Made” presentation from Coach Royal on one of those fancy overhead projectors. I think I still have it memorized after all this time…

They pretty much carried me across the street and I was able to get out enough breath to tell them to take me to the back door of Frank Medina’s training room. I was probably the only person in that group who knew that there was a back door since I had grown up around that place. Frank saw me being carried in and he quickly sprang into action as they loaded me onto a taping table to get checked out. I was able to get out one word at a time as I tried to draw a painful breath. He figured that I had been hit with acute back spasms between both shoulder blades, partially the result of taking a full helmet shot in high school on my left scapula as I went up to catch a pass that caused a significant amount of torn muscle tissue.

It still bothers me to this day when I sneeze the wrong way. Anyway, he started massaging my back with good ol’ Atomic Balm from my neck to the top of my butt. He was up on the table, kneading every square centimeter of my back as I fought back tears, not only for the amount of pain, but the anguish I was feeling with the thought of missing my very first game as a Longhorn, something I had worked for since I learned to walk.

I heard a very familiar voice above the muffled din of busy noise all around me.“Frank, will he be able to kick?”“I’ll have him ready, Coach. His back muscles are as hard as this floor, but I’ll have him loosened up.”Coach Royal patted me on my right foot as he left the room and said, “Relax, son. I know what this means to you.”After what seemed like an eternity and a gallon of Atomic Balm, Frank sat me up and our team doctor gave me a couple of muscle relaxers and some sort of pain relief pill.

Frank had me do a series of stretches as I watched my teammates get ready to take the field, dressed for warmups. A wave of panic rushed over me as I realized that I hadn’t even begun to get dressed out and I was just clad in a jockstrap and shorts. I told Frank that I needed to get dressed and he walked me to my locker, checking for any instability. I was able to get suited up, but any attempt at deep breathing was still met with a stabbing pain between my shoulder blades. Come on, muscle relaxers…do your thing.Right when Coach Royal called out, “All right, specialists on the field in two minutes”, I shuffled up to the front of the line, all the while enduring back slaps and encouragement from my well-meaning teammates.

They had no idea how much that hurt physically…and how much it meant mentally. When Coach told us to head out, there was Dad and he gave me those words I had heard so many times, but this time, there was a little crack in his voice as he spoke them. I knew how proud he must have felt to see me walk out of that locker room door dressed in a real Texas uniform to fulfill my boyhood dream.

I glanced back as I made my way toward the steps leading up to the field and saw Coach Royal talking to Dad. All I could think of was, “ Oh, shit….I HAVE to be able to kick tonight.”Warmups were extremely uncomfortable and each kick produced a shot to my back that resonated throughout my body. A light rain was falling off and on, making the slick Astroturf a little more slippery, not what I needed for a tricky back. It was also relatively cool, in the low 70s, and though comfortable, I would’ve preferred more heat just to stay loose.

Just about every assistant coach, manager, and trainer came up to me and asked how I felt and many told me to take my time and not push it. When I felt comfortable enough, I decided to heed that advice and headed toward the sideline. As I walked toward our bench area, I saw little Sammy Steinmark, his sisters, and his Mom and Dad, Fred and Gloria.

I had forgotten through all the back spasm chaos that the new scoreboard at the south end of the field was being dedicated to Freddie’s memory in a pregame ceremony. Freddie had died on June 6th of 1971 from the bone cancer that was detected just days after he played in the fabled “Big Shootout” versus Arkansas in 1969.

As Freddie was a dear friend and very much a big brother to me, I was excited to see my “Colorado family” as I called them, and it was a nice diversion from my physical situation, which was finally starting to stabilize a bit.

Frank came up to me and told me to keep stretching and try to breathe as deeply as I could withstand. While doing this exercise, someone gave me a big embrace from behind and said, “Billy, I hope and I feel that you’ll put the first points on Freddie’s scoreboard tonight. I feel it, and I know Freddie would love it.”I turned to see Mr. Steinmark, his eyes brimming with tears, as were mine.“Thank you, sir. I hope that if that moment happens, I’ll make Freddie proud.”“You will, son. You will.”So, there was no way I was not going to play that night.

Coach Royal came to me, put both hands on my shoulders and asked, “Are you sure you can go tonight? There’s no shame in stepping aside and taking some time to heal up. I’ve had that sort of thing happen to me where I could barely stand up, so I know what you’re going through, but this is no time to be selfish or too proud.”I nodded in the affirmative and said, “Coach, I have never been more ready.

Frank worked some miracles and I’m ready to go.”He softly slapped my helmet and said, “That’s what I was hoping to hear. Let’s get ‘em.”After we held Miami and took possession, our drive bogged down at the Hurricane 20 and on 4th down, Coach Royal looked toward me and simply said, “Kick it.”My deep snapper, Greg Dahlberg, and I trotted out to the huddle where our QB and my holder, Alan Lowry, was reminding everyone of their blocking duties and as I found my kicking spot and he called, “Field goal on center’s snap! Ready, BREAK!”

Eleven pair of hands clapped, Alan smiled, winked at me and said, “About time, huh?”It was just what I needed to calm me a bit as things were flashing through my mind. I thought of my Dad and all he had sacrificed to get me to this moment, my Mom’s constant encouragement and a multitude of other things that I needed to flush out of my head as I lined up on the left hash of the 27- yard line.

Of course, at that instant, the previously non-existent southwestern breeze kicked up and chilled my face more than I anticipated. I stepped off my approach with two backward strides, got in my comfort zone and nodded to Alan. Greg zipped a perfect snap to Alan, #15 spun the laces, our O-line blocked their charge as I started forward, hitting the ball in the sweet spot as I heard my Dad’s voice, “Keep your head down, eyes on the ball and follow through…”I looked up after my right foot hit the ground and the ball was dead center…and then started fading to the right…Nooo!..and then it tracked back to the left and through the middle of the uprights. It was as if a guiding hand reached down and gently nudged the ball back on course.

Smokey the Cannon fired off a loud report with a beautiful smoke ring and I saw the number “3” (also my jersey number) flash up on the Texas side of Freddie Joe Steinmark’s scoreboard. I pointed up to the Heavens and said, “That’s for you, 28!”I know he was proud.🤘🏼We tacked on another 8 points via the kicking game on Freddie’s scoreboard that night with 2 more field goals and a couple of PATs in our 23-10 victory.

A couple of coaches suggested that they should inject me with back spasms before each game after logging three field goals in my first game.Thanks…but no way.😬Enjoy the start of a new season and Hook ‘Em!🤘🏼🧡🏈😎

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