Keep Pounding: What the Panthers Mean To Me. (Huddle Contest Entry)

[Growl]

I saw the Reebok athletic shirts under their jerseys. Made white at the factory, they always turned to a dim grey as soon as the players started pouring their craft into them-their sweat, their blood, their dreams. Stamped at the top of the shirt was a familiar logo, made to appear like the two states for which the team stands. Underneath that jersey though, I saw something that really caught my eye. Two black double digit numbers, stacked on one another, that could always be seen through the team’s white jerseys. A 58 on top of a 51. Blocky, unsexy, but obviously something of value that stood out to a younger guy like I was.

                Something happened to me prior to the 2003 season. The year before, I’d ask my father from time to time “Did the Panthers win?” “How are they doing” to which I remember getting some middling replies to speak to what was, at least to outsiders, a middling season. Something happened though. Prior to that 2003 season-something just clicked. Days before the first preseason game, I was spontaneously filled with genuine, unbridled excitement. I tuned into that first preseason game, a match-up against the Washington Redskins, a game they won handily. A preseason game sure, but that didn’t matter to me. They won, and I was proud. Panther Proud. The following week, they won again. And again. And again. I still remember sitting at a Charleston Riverdogs game with my father after that last game, talking football. I turned to him and said

“The Panthers went 4-0 in the preseason.”

“It was the preseason. It was the backups.” He said, kindly, but offput by my blossoming Panthers fandom after he tried so hard to raise me as a Dolphins fan. I spent some years growing up with a Dan Marino poster on my wall, alongside a Rocket Ismail poster. “Rocket Ismail struggles to break free after catching a first quarter pass.” it said, and it hung on my wall long after Ismail had moved on. I still have that poster. Couldn’t say what happened to that Marino poster.

  “Well then we’ve got the best backups in the league.” I retorted back, already defensive, but with a feeling of pride surging through me.

I knew that team was special.

I remember getting home from church the following Sunday for gameday. I clicked on NFL Sunday Countdown and tuned in, probably the only news program a young me would watch. Or current me, for that matter. Back then, it wasn’t about the stuff. These days I tune into other NFL team’s games with an understanding of the game much greater than I had then. You’ll find me tossing my hands in the air, ridiculing why some young corner is giving up outside leverage in Cover 1, partly out of honest curiosity, partly out of a simple desire to show off to friends or family who tune into football only when it invades their world in some capacity. But back then, I wasn’t worried about that stuff. I loved the music that played on Countdown as the highlights rolled. I loved the anticipation. I loved the Sunday routine. Church. Ye Ole Fashioned Ice Cream. Sunday NFL Countdown. Panthers Football. It was all so much innocent fun

Then something happened though. The Panthers, who had played so well in the preseason, got down 17-0 to the Mark Brunell led Jacksonville Jaguars. It was frustrating. I was young, and irritated, but determined that we would win that game. And after halftime, something happened.

You know his name. You know the story. He trotted out onto the field, a video image stained in my mind in only the way it can affect you when you’re younger. He stepped into the huddle. Brimming with confidence. Even a young me knew something special was happening.

And he did it. By gosh, by golly, he did it. A blocked punt and some Ricky Proehl heroics later (along with Muhsin Muhammad bad words that were captured on camera at the back of the endzone after what I believe was an almost-touchdown and stuck in my mind.)

Jake Delhomme and the Panthers fought back-and they did it. And I was hooked. The following week, they would do it again, blocking an extra point off a Keenan McCardell touchdown at the end of regulation before going on to win on a John Kasay field goal. He would do that many time that season. My father even let me stay at home from church that evening by myself so I could catch the end of it. A big thing, for a young teenager.

John Kasay wasn’t the only one though who would pull off last minute heroics that season though. Time and time again, the team kept fighting and kept pounding. I remember so much about that year. My first loss as a fan to the Titans, who I’ve fan-loathed ever since. Being grounded and unable to watch television the night of our Sunday night game against Atlanta-and me not caring, muting the television, turning off all my lights so it wouldn’t shine out from underneath my door-so I could watch the game ina  muted state, hoping the door wouldn’t fly open any second to an enraged set of parental units. To this day I still think they knew, but didn’t care. The OT loss was punishment enough, afterall.

Above all else though-I remember a team fighting for two sick men. Never giving up, despite all odds, despite all press commentary (though a midseason stats analysis that projected us and the Chiefs as Super Bowl favorites sent me into fits of lasting glee) despite everything- the team never gave up-and that stuck with me.

Playoffs would roll around, and on a chilly night against everybody’s favorite team, Sam Mills would say two words that would define what this team stands for. I won’t repeat the story. You know it. But the thing is-those two words got out-and suddenly, so much made sense. The team that never quit fighting had a mantra. The team would embody that idea the rest of the season and the Cardiac Cats were born. X-Clown, The Run, and even the out of bounds kick, I had the privilege of those lasting memories being part of my first season as a fan. Whereas others may think back on 38 and think of Janet Jackson or the birth of YouTube-I think of men who never quit. I still remember how I felt in the moments as the clock ticked zero. Sure the anger would come later, but in those moments-I felt nothing but pride-because I knew-no matter how long it would take-that that was the birth of something special. I knew we had the better men. I knew we were something special.

 

 

 

Christmas 2004, I would tear the paper off of a moderately sized pink box. Across the top of the box were written the words ‘Victoria’s Secret’ and there was, obviously, a lot of confusion on my part. But then-I opened the box. I looked down, and saw a rectangular piece of a paper that read “Carolina Panthers Vs. New Orleans Saints.” And my jaw dropped. I felt it fall. I still have that ticket. The team didn’t win that game-but I didn’t care. I remember seeing cars ferrying their drivers decorated in Panther blue all the way up. I remember the upper deck trembling as the crowd roared to life and wondering in excitement if it would hold. My old man was disappointed for me when we lost-but the experience never left me. I was anything but disappointed.

The Panthers would epitomize Keep Pounding over the years. In 2004, they fought a war against injuries and fought back to within a field goal of the playoffs, spinning touchdown throw and all. In 2005, Steve Smith would fight back from an injury his doctor told him may threaten his career to establish his case as the greatest to every play. In 2014, Coach Rivera would weather a house fire and Cam Newton would start against the Cleveland Browns only two weeks after being injured in a car wreck. I could list endless displays of courage, from TJ Olsen to Coach Beam and beyond.

 

 

Like so many of you, Keep Pounding is more than the motto of my favorite team. Behind my faith, the ideology set forth for this team that cold January evening would be a rallying cry for mine own life. And also like many of you, I have had dark days, and like many of you-Keep Pounding was a source of inspiration for me that would become a foundation for mine own character. Perhaps perseverance is why I argue with some of you so passionately-I don’t know. I do know though, that if on Gamedays I demand they never give up-then I have to demand such of myself the rest of the week, lest I be a hypocrite. If I’m given these tickets, I can assure you that when it comes time for the first ever Keep Pounding playoff chant-that I won’t just be yelling it-it will be a battle cry. A battle cry representative of what we are, and of who we are.

You’ve heard the talk of “destiny” this week. I challenge you to know something and accept it-Super Bowl 50 is ours. It has always been ours. I have Super Bowl 38 on DVD, and have never been able to watch it-this year-that changes. I want to see where this all began. The Golden Super Bowl belongs to us. When you yell Keep Pounding this Sunday, don’t do it as a fan who can pick out man vs. zone. Do it not as a fan concerned with supposed areas of strength vs. weakness. Do it because you know we have the best team in the league. Do it because you’re a fan of a team whose battle cry, unlike other teams, was forged in the flames of a man’s ultimate battle. Do it as a fan of the one team who never gives up. Let that young Panther fan in you who has waited so long for this, scream keep pounding.

 

On Sunday, the Panthers roar. On Sunday, we roar. Keep Pounding.

 

[chknwing]

I think you are disqualified for not putting this in the dedicated thread

[The Huddler]

you didnt embed the videos right

[Growl]

Just now, The Huddler said:

you didnt embed the videos right

Sound advice. Thanks for assisting me in this VR matter.

[chknwing]

1 minute ago, Growl said:

Sound advice. Thanks for assisting me in this VR matter.

post the youtube link, delete the ? and hit enter

[uncfan888]

*waits for someone to quote the OP so I can yell at them*

[Vampire the buffet slayer]

I like Panthers.

[Riverboat Ron]

There was always something special about that Jacksonville game, remember Delhomme coming in and the rest was history.

[DrankenPanther]

TL:DR

[uncfan888]

Shout out to @rayzor for closing that ridiculous thread that gus bus guy just made..  Just wanted to throw that out there haha 

[Growl]

15 minutes ago, Riverboat Ron said:

There was always something special about that Jacksonville game, remember Delhomme coming in and the rest was history.

Him trotting to the Huddle like a Revolutionary war general upon his trusty steed is etched into my brain

[Cary Kollins]

1 hour ago, Growl said:

I saw the Reebok athletic shirts under their jerseys. Made white at the factory, they always turned to a dim grey as soon as the players started pouring their craft into them-their sweat, their blood, their dreams. Stamped at the top of the shirt was a familiar logo, made to appear like the two states for which the team stands. Underneath that jersey though, I saw something that really caught my eye. Two black double digit numbers, stacked on one another, that could always be seen through the team’s white jerseys. A 58 on top of a 51. Blocky, unsexy, but obviously something of value that stood out to a younger guy like I was.

                Something happened to me prior to the 2003 season. The year before, I’d ask my father from time to time “Did the Panthers win?” “How are they doing” to which I remember getting some middling replies to speak to what was, at least to outsiders, a middling season. Something happened though. Prior to that 2003 season-something just clicked. Days before the first preseason game, I was spontaneously filled with genuine, unbridled excitement. I tuned into that first preseason game, a match-up against the Washington Redskins, a game they won handily. A preseason game sure, but that didn’t matter to me. They won, and I was proud. Panther Proud. The following week, they won again. And again. And again. I still remember sitting at a Charleston Riverdogs game with my father after that last game, talking football. I turned to him and said

“The Panthers went 4-0 in the preseason.”

“It was the preseason. It was the backups.” He said, kindly, but offput by my blossoming Panthers fandom after he tried so hard to raise me as a Dolphins fan. I spent some years growing up with a Dan Marino poster on my wall, alongside a Rocket Ismail poster. “Rocket Ismail struggles to break free after catching a first quarter pass.” it said, and it hung on my wall long after Ismail had moved on. I still have that poster. Couldn’t say what happened to that Marino poster.

  “Well then we’ve got the best backups in the league.” I retorted back, already defensive, but with a feeling of pride surging through me.

I knew that team was special.

I remember getting home from church the following Sunday for gameday. I clicked on NFL Sunday Countdown and tuned in, probably the only news program a young me would watch. Or current me, for that matter. Back then, it wasn’t about the stuff. These days I tune into other NFL team’s games with an understanding of the game much greater than I had then. You’ll find me tossing my hands in the air, ridiculing why some young corner is giving up outside leverage in Cover 1, partly out of honest curiosity, partly out of a simple desire to show off to friends or family who tune into football only when it invades their world in some capacity. But back then, I wasn’t worried about that stuff. I loved the music that played on Countdown as the highlights rolled. I loved the anticipation. I loved the Sunday routine. Church. Ye Ole Fashioned Ice Cream. Sunday NFL Countdown. Panthers Football. It was all so much innocent fun

Then something happened though. The Panthers, who had played so well in the preseason, got down 17-0 to the Mark Brunell led Jacksonville Jaguars. It was frustrating. I was young, and irritated, but determined that we would win that game. And after halftime, something happened.

You know his name. You know the story. He trotted out onto the field, a video image stained in my mind in only the way it can affect you when you’re younger. He stepped into the huddle. Brimming with confidence. Even a young me knew something special was happening.

And he did it. By gosh, by golly, he did it. A blocked punt and some Ricky Proehl heroics later (along with Muhsin Muhammad bad words that were captured on camera at the back of the endzone after what I believe was an almost-touchdown and stuck in my mind.)

Jake Delhomme and the Panthers fought back-and they did it. And I was hooked. The following week, they would do it again, blocking an extra point off a Keenan McCardell touchdown at the end of regulation before going on to win on a John Kasay field goal. He would do that many time that season. My father even let me stay at home from church that evening by myself so I could catch the end of it. A big thing, for a young teenager.

John Kasay wasn’t the only one though who would pull off last minute heroics that season though. Time and time again, the team kept fighting and kept pounding. I remember so much about that year. My first loss as a fan to the Titans, who I’ve fan-loathed ever since. Being grounded and unable to watch television the night of our Sunday night game against Atlanta-and me not caring, muting the television, turning off all my lights so it wouldn’t shine out from underneath my door-so I could watch the game ina  muted state, hoping the door wouldn’t fly open any second to an enraged set of parental units. To this day I still think they knew, but didn’t care. The OT loss was punishment enough, afterall.

Above all else though-I remember a team fighting for two sick men. Never giving up, despite all odds, despite all press commentary (though a midseason stats analysis that projected us and the Chiefs as Super Bowl favorites sent me into fits of lasting glee) despite everything- the team never gave up-and that stuck with me.

Playoffs would roll around, and on a chilly night against everybody’s favorite team, Sam Mills would say two words that would define what this team stands for. I won’t repeat the story. You know it. But the thing is-those two words got out-and suddenly, so much made sense. The team that never quit fighting had a mantra. The team would embody that idea the rest of the season and the Cardiac Cats were born. X-Clown, The Run, and even the out of bounds kick, I had the privilege of those lasting memories being part of my first season as a fan. Whereas others may think back on 38 and think of Janet Jackson or the birth of YouTube-I think of men who never quit. I still remember how I felt in the moments as the clock ticked zero. Sure the anger would come later, but in those moments-I felt nothing but pride-because I knew-no matter how long it would take-that that was the birth of something special. I knew we had the better men. I knew we were something special.

 

 

 

Christmas 2004, I would tear the paper off of a moderately sized pink box. Across the top of the box were written the words ‘Victoria’s Secret’ and there was, obviously, a lot of confusion on my part. But then-I opened the box. I looked down, and saw a rectangular piece of a paper that read “Carolina Panthers Vs. New Orleans Saints.” And my jaw dropped. I felt it fall. I still have that ticket. The team didn’t win that game-but I didn’t care. I remember seeing cars ferrying their drivers decorated in Panther blue all the way up. I remember the upper deck trembling as the crowd roared to life and wondering in excitement if it would hold. My old man was disappointed for me when we lost-but the experience never left me. I was anything but disappointed.

The Panthers would epitomize Keep Pounding over the years. In 2004, they fought a war against injuries and fought back to within a field goal of the playoffs, spinning touchdown throw and all. In 2005, Steve Smith would fight back from an injury his doctor told him may threaten his career to establish his case as the greatest to every play. In 2014, Coach Rivera would weather a house fire and Cam Newton would start against the Cleveland Browns only two weeks after being injured in a car wreck. I could list endless displays of courage, from TJ Olsen to Coach Beam and beyond.

 

 

Like so many of you, Keep Pounding is more than the motto of my favorite team. Behind my faith, the ideology set forth for this team that cold January evening would be a rallying cry for mine own life. And also like many of you, I have had dark days, and like many of you-Keep Pounding was a source of inspiration for me that would become a foundation for mine own character. Perhaps perseverance is why I argue with some of you so passionately-I don’t know. I do know though, that if on Gamedays I demand they never give up-then I have to demand such of myself the rest of the week, lest I be a hypocrite. If I’m given these tickets, I can assure you that when it comes time for the first ever Keep Pounding playoff chant-that I won’t just be yelling it-it will be a battle cry. A battle cry representative of what we are, and of who we are.

You’ve heard the talk of “destiny” this week. I challenge you to know something and accept it-Super Bowl 50 is ours. It has always been ours. I have Super Bowl 38 on DVD, and have never been able to watch it-this year-that changes. I want to see where this all began. The Golden Super Bowl belongs to us. When you yell Keep Pounding this Sunday, don’t do it as a fan who can pick out man vs. zone. Do it not as a fan concerned with supposed areas of strength vs. weakness. Do it because you know we have the best team in the league. Do it because you’re a fan of a team whose battle cry, unlike other teams, was forged in the flames of a man’s ultimate battle. Do it as a fan of the one team who never gives up. Let that young Panther fan in you who has waited so long for this, scream keep pounding.

 

On Sunday, the Panthers roar. On Sunday, we roar. Keep Pounding.

 

 

Yea but do you love the Panthers more than your wife and first born? 

[Ivan The Awesome]

 

You forgot this graphic.

[Khyber53]

Good OP. Nice work!