BY BRITTNI MCCOY
MOUNTAIN CITIZEN
By now you’ve probably heard of the coal miner who rushed to the Blue-White scrimmage in Pikeville so that his son wouldn’t miss seeing the Kentucky Wildcats for the first time.
Michael McGuire was covered in coal dust and came dressed in his uniform straight from work.
When I saw the man sitting in the stands, it reminded me of my Dad who came to all of my games straight from Calloway Mountain after a long, tough day at work. Many times, he was in his dark-colored uniform covered in coal soot and dirt.
It’s a normal thing to see men in work uniforms at basketball games in eastern Kentucky. I’d actually be shocked if I showed up to a game in the 15th Region and didn’t see a coal miner that had ventured in after a day of supplying the world with coal.
McGuire and his family attended the Kentucky-Duquesne Nov. 11 game after he was bussed in VIP style to Rupp Arena.
When he stepped out onto the court to complete the Y in Kentucky, he was all of our dads, our papaws, cousins, brothers, and uncles. He was the miners, welders, and machine operators that have kept the world turning. He was the men who put their lives on the line every day and have years of hard work embedded in the lines of their rough hands.
He represented a culture and a way of life that separates eastern Kentucky from the rest of the country.
My Dad always had a distinct scent after work and even after cleaning up. It was the smell of the oil from the machinery, the sparks from the pipe welds, and the air from under the ground in a dark mine.
The memories flood in and I’m reminded of the sacrifices that he and many Dads make in our area.
I’d get home from Tomahawk Elementary and drop my backpack off in the doorway. I had roughly an hour to get some shots up on my outside basketball goal before my Dad pulled into the driveway. He’d been up since 6 a.m. and put in 10 hours of work. Still yet, he would put his old grey Chevy work truck in park and head my way, work clothes and all.
We’d play until Mom shouted from the door that dinner was ready. We would eat and be out the door before the food had a chance to hit the bottom of our stomachs. A pole light kept us playing until nine.
Memories like those are what give sports special meaning to our lives. It’s making the time to spend with people we love when there aren’t enough hours in the day. It’s the sacrifices made to share experiences and create moments that can be remembered for the rest of our lives.
It’s the miner who hasn’t a minute to spare because he’s on his way to see his child’s face light up at his first basketball game.