Ernie Brake and Peter Angus (and Brian Pauling)
In 2014, Kearsarge dropped down from Division 2 to Division 3, and to be honest, it really didn’t register on my radar. We were running rampant over the division, having had the top returning athlete in NH as well as having a team that was simply hell bent on winning the whole damn thing had me a bit blinded to what was brewing up in Sutton. I had a team that had been made out of athletes that had been cast off from other sports teams, that had come together in what would initially be their second choice in sports. But time on the team, and I suppose from me showing them how they could define themselves within the sport, they simply willed themselves to win without the top guy in NH. Safe to say after that I was riding a bit high. With a strong class of runners coming up from a middle school program I had a hand in, I thought I was sitting pretty.
So in 2015 Mascenic was rolling through the season, winning all the D3 meets they were in, even the ones Kearsarge was in with us. The athletes were comfortable being the frontrunner, and they had expectations of how things were supposed to be.
But supposed to be and what is real can be two different things. And on a day where we were in the driver’s seat, Kearsarge took a big swing and connected. They were down their #2 guy and still ran a better race than we did. We lost by one point. I remember having to strongarm my guys into shaking their hands, most of them too green to understand that they earned the win while we gave it up. They were very green, and would eventually learn that things don’t alway turn out like you’ve envisioned them.
The next week I swung by their team area at Meet of Champions, to congratulate them again. In the recap, I had mentioned that these hillbillies came down from the hill country and put a beat down on us. While Ernie, Peter and I were a bit more than acquaintances, this was my first introduction to the guys on the team and it happened with “Hey guys, this is the guy that called you a bunch of hillbillies!” Not sure what to expect, the kids hooted and hollered, with Ernie and Peter saying they used that to stir the pot and get the boys pumped up. They took it as a backhanded compliment, quite the way I had intended it.
Over the next few years our teams backed back and forth in the standing, each of us having our own little battle going on. Ernie and Peter and to a lesser extent Brian, a volunteer coach with a son on the team, would tell my kids they had a couple dozen donuts on the bus for them, or that our entries were mixed up and we wouldn’t be able to race. My kids, not sure what to make of the two of them, would look at me for clarification and I would give none, the prank being better if I didn’t.
One time, at Belmont, both teams grabbed a spot next to each other at the top of the hill, and the Kearsarge team hung their singlets on the fence with their race bibs attached. While both teams were out on warm up, I stealthily swung over, grabbed all of them and hid them in an extra bag we had in our pile. They returned first, confounded by the fact none of our guys were around to have stolen them. Looking around it was just our girls team, and there wasn’t enough of a connection to blame them. I waited until their coaches showed up and they had to explain they had no uniforms or bib numbers before I went over to the extra bag, pretended to freak out at my guys and pulled out the singlets.
Both teams were now freaking out, one thinking that the other team had stolen their uniforms while the other was wondering who in their group had pulled the prank. I went over and handed back the uniforms, apologizing for the poor etiquette of my team. I let this fester for a few more minutes before letting Peter and Ernie in on it and we had fun with it for the rest of the day. We ended up winning, and we have a team picture with Ernie and Peter photobombing in the background.
This went on for a number of years, making the rivalry all that more enjoyable. We would both host the Hillbilly Relays alternating year to year. They showed up one year, with their infamous blue tooth speaker blaring country music, decked out in flannel and jean shorts, ready to live up to their brand. We’d relay race, passing corn on the cob as batons, with the friendly vibe as important as the competitive workout the race offered. One year, with the race at Kearsarge the Friday after the Sanborn Invite, there were even trophies, with us getting the second place trophy. But it was second place from the Sanborn meet, where we had in fact won, but ended up getting to the Epping Market Basket after they had arrived. That trophy took a center spot in our trophy case.
Ernie retired from coaching a few years ago, as he was in disagreement with their Athletic Director and Peter’s daughter had graduated and moved on to college lacrosse, where he was interested in following her progress and also moved on from coaching. In the absence of a high school team, Ernie started up the Kezar Lake Running Club with a couple of his ex athletes and I’ve been lucky enough to make it up to one of their Saturday runs. I also swing by Ernie’s house on occasion on my way to the hospital in Lebanon or up to see my daughter at Dartmouth.
Brian’s son Trevor, part of some of those teams we messed around with, coaches the team now. We have a good relationship, and we’ve talked about the good old days. But with all those athletes graduated, things have changed, and the relationship is now different. And of course, that’s normal. Nothing stays stagnant and we can be thankful for that. And thankful we can have and enjoy those encounters when they’re timely. They enhance what we do and what it means to our kids just that much greater. And our kids are better for that.
I’ll see you out there.
