Chapter Twelve: Setting the Standard
“I just don’t understand how you don’t see the problem here, Armando.”
That’s how I knew Jessica was mad, using my first name. Normally it was always either ‘babe’, or ‘sweetheart’, or ‘Flyboy’ when she was being sarcastic. She reserved my first name, and sometimes my full name as well, for when she needed to make a point.
And she wasn’t wrong.
After spending our entire relationship building an identity as a partnership, as a unit, I’d gone and made a drastic decision on a whim, not even considering my other half. But at the same time, it’s not like I’d agreed to quit my job and go on a cross-country extravaganza without her.
This was an opportunity for something bigger, an opportunity to make something of myself. I didn’t tell her that reasoning specifically, because when I said it out loud, it sounded more like criticism of the very life we’d built together.
So I kept it close to the vest, played the dumbfounded husband that didn’t understand why she was so upset. Let her get her frustrations out, surely once she’d vented it would all blow over.
Three days later, her shoulder wasn’t just cold, it was downright frigid. With nowhere else to turn, I finally listened to the counsel of my mother, whom I tried my best not to put in the middle of our relationship in an effort to keep the dynamic cordial on all sides.
“I’m not going to say who is wrong and who is right, I respect both of you too much for that,” she started after a while, “But also, son, how can you expect her to understand your reasoning if you haven’t given her anything?”
“That, more than anything, is why she is upset,” Mom continued, falling into her own lecturing tone without noticing, “You told her you made a decision without her, which would be fine. But you haven’t told her the reason and that, Armando, is the crux of the issue.”
So, I did what most husbands do in my situation, prepared to grovel. Bought all of the fixings for her favorite meal, purchased her favorite dessert, and had dinner plated and ready when she got home. For the first time since I told her about the new job, she softened.
As we ate, I told her to let me know when she was ready for me to grovel. Wrong choice of words.
“If you think I just want another husband who thinks cooking dinner and buying dessert, then begging for forgiveness is enough, then I don’t even know who you are anymore,” she huffed, storming out of the room.
This time, I didn’t need to go to Mom. She came to me, with a swift smack upside the back of my head.
“Fix it, you dodo,” she hissed. “What happened to not taking sides?” I muttered to myself, knowing she was right and already walking back towards our bedroom where Jessica had retreated.
“Groveling was the wrong choice of words, and I’m sorry, Jessica,” I whispered as I sat down next to her on the bed. She scooted closer to me, but clearly was waiting for me to continue.
“I owe you an apology, and not just for the brashness of my decision—but for neglecting to tell you the reasoning. I didn’t want to explain it to you, because I didn’t want it to sound like I was less appreciative of what we already have, what we’ve already built,” I started with more conviction, turning to meet her eyes as I continued.
“I love you, and love the life we’ve started to make together. But coaching football offers me an opportunity to be someone you can be proud of. Not just another recovery guy coping through the gym and making it work.”
Those beautiful brown eyes kept staring at me, half knowing I had more to say, half needing me to say it.
“I didn’t tell you that, because I didn’t want you to think this wasn’t enough for me. Cause it would be. But I feel like I can be more than just another trainer at the gym. I want to be the guy people look at and say, ‘he made a difference.”
“Then do it, Armando,” she finally declared, leaning into my chest. “But we do it together. That’s my only condition. I don’t want to simply be the ‘football coach’s wife’, I want to be his partner. I want to know that as much passion as you take to work every day, you’re bringing the same home for your family.”
My first season on the staff for the Havre Blue Ponies was chaos I wasn’t prepared for. I knew training, I could draw up a lifting and recovery schedule with my eyes closed. It wasn’t even working with the athletes, I’d been doing that already. It was managing egos, the kids that didn’t want to lift, the ones who were only there for their parents or to impress someone.
Add in the wrench called COVID and my first season was spent learning more than doing. With COVID protocols leading to cancelled games and quarantined coaches, I was often asked to contribute more than a regular S&C would. I helped with positional drills from time to time as coaches were absent, sat with DC Jake Eldridge and mocked up blitz schemes, filled in with the special teams unit after my time as a gunner with the Falcons. Heck, I even spent two weeks managing all of the equipment when our regular manager was quarantined in Seattle after a long weekend.
By the end of the 2020-2021 season, where we struggled to a 1-5 record amidst the chaos, I’d felt like I’d learned nothing and everything at the same time. And the learning was just getting started.
Coach Gatch promoted me to linebackers coach the following season, bluntly stating in the meeting he made the decision because, ‘I did more coaching on the field, than I did in the weight room last year.’
If I thought getting kids to commit to a lifting schedule was hard, I was in for a rude awakening. Trying to coach up sophomore, junior, and senior high schoolers, many of whom had no hopes of playing at the next level, was an arduous task all of its own. Throw in that time spent on the practice field, or studying the playbook, was time away from friends and girls alike, and it was nigh impossible. I quickly learned, the easiest route to success was to get a student themselves to buy in. Once you can bend the ear of one, maybe two students, kids who really love the game, then you start to see the difference. Because then, it isn’t just coach busting your balls. You’ve got guys you grew up with, and respected, calling you on your own bullshit in front of the team.
“Work first, success after,” I always told the team, and I meant it. Any guy on the squad could earn more playing time, simply by putting in the work, both in the gym and on the field. It made handling unruly parents easy. When they called undoubtedly questioning why their child wasn’t higher in the rotation, I simply laid it out for them.
We went 3-6 in the 2021-2022 season, but the defense was the best in conference. Defensive coordinator Jake Eldridge and I were on the same page philosophically and it made working together seamless. He wanted a fast, aggressive defense that stopped the run and hit the quarterback, so that’s how I coached the linebackers.
“We’re going to have you guys at the line of scrimmage, almost every play,” I explained at the start of camp that year, “But you guys need to be smart enough to read where you need to go, and explosive enough to get there. Cause you aren’t going to be rushing every down, it’s all a chess game and you guys are our bishops. We want you slicing across the field to close a passing lane, slashing through the right gap, at the right time, to blow up the running game.
“And of course, hitting the quarterback. A lot.”
After back to back losing seasons, Coach Gatch’s contract wasn’t renewed by the board the following season. To make matters worse, during his final plea Coach Gatch made an offhand remark about hiring minorities for the coaching staff, making it seem more like a novelty:
"We help men, women ... we have an over-40 percent minority ratio on our football team, jeez we even hire minorities on our staff," Gatch said.”
To say I was upset was an understatement. Suddenly, the previous two years of coaching, two years spent building towards a newfound dream, felt like a sham. ‘Had he really hired me just to increase minorities on his staff?” I thought to myself. Jessica did her best to reassure me, to look at the positives.
“Even if it was under false pretense, look at the good you did last year,” she reminded me. “You got kids caring about football again, got Walt a scholarship from Montana State when he’d previously been considering quitting. You made a real impact, don’t overlook that.”
That afternoon it was announced that Jake Eldridge, the former defensive coordinator, would be taking over the head coaching duties and he immediately called me into his office.
“I want to be clear Armando, the views Coach Gatch expressed to the school board are his and his alone. I for one, am entirely grateful to have you on staff working side by side with me. Your love for the game is apparent, the passion you teach and coach with is infectious, and most importantly, you connect with the kids.
“That’s why, I’d love to offer you the position of defensive coordinator for the upcoming 2022-2023 football season.”
Despite my elation at being validated for the work I had done over the previous two years, I remembered the last time I was in this office.
“I need to speak with Jessica first, I hope you understand.” Jake was understanding, but this time, Jessica was not.
“You’re insufferable,” Jessica laughed when I called her immediately after the meeting with Jake. “You aren’t accepting a new job and shifting our lifestyle this time, you’re getting a promotion, Flyboy.”
Two years as a defensive coordinator, two years as the Montana Division A top ranked defense. We weren’t just an aggressive bunch, we were ruthless. It wasn’t exactly a 3-3-5, but it was close enough for high school ball that the other teams didn’t know what hit them. We were physical up front, aggressive in the middle, and fast enough to erase throwing lanes before you even saw them in the secondary.
The first year, we surged into the playoffs with a 6-4 record before being upset in the 1st round by our rival Whitefish High. But after two years of losing seasons, we felt like we were on the cusp of greatness. We had three All-State players returning for their senior seasons and I promised them, we were going to make some noise in their senior season.
Defensively, we started off 2023 on fire, only allowing more than 20 points once in our first four contests. The problem was, despite forcing seven turnovers in that time frame, we still had a -2 turnover differential and a 2-2 record.
Coach Eldridge called me into his office after the 24-3 loss to Billings Catholic that dropped us to 2-2 with a question, and a solution.
“I want to move Mack Rodgers to halfback full time, but wanted to see how you think the defense will hold up without its captain at Mike linebacker.”
Mack was the unquestioned leader of the defense, a versatile athlete who could cover sideline to sideline, and helped ensure even if our linebackers got caught in the muck, he was there to clean it up. But, if we weren’t going to be able to score, a dominant defense could only do so much.
As I contemplated what the move meant for my defense, Coach continued. “Brice just ain’t getting it done under center this year, and Caine ain’t ready to take the reins. If we move Mack to back, I think with his athleticism we can really run the dang ball and grind out some wins.”
“I can still scheme up the defense to make up for Mack’s absence, just make sure you leave enough in his tank that if we need him late in a game, we got him.”
Our team exploded to a 6-1 finish that year with our only loss to Laurel, a 30-17 defeat, featuring two punt return touchdowns by the opposition. We made the playoffs for the second straight year, and this time, we weren’t going down easily. A 23-0 demolition of Whitefish was followed up with a gritty 17-14 victory over Billings Catholic, avenging our previous loss during the season. The cherry on top of the win? Mack Rodgers filled in at linebacker for a crucial 3rd and 3 needing a stop, as we were trailing 14-10. He got the stop, delivering a punishing hit on Billings fullback on a dive, knocking the ball loose, scooping it up, then turning into a halfback on a 64-yard fumble return touchdown to give us the victory in the final two minutes.
After the dramatic victory over Billings, we steamrolled our rival Butte Catholic in a 24-0 victory, a win where their top-ranked offense didn’t cross midfield until their desperation final drive in the 4th quarter. The box score read like a classic 2001 Miami Hurricanes line. Six sacks, two interceptions, seventeen tackles for loss. We didn’t just beat them, we overwhelmed them, then broke their spirit.
The championship was the perfect cap to an incredible year. But the real news came two months earlier. Jessica was pregnant—due with our first child, a baby girl, in January of 2024. Mom had wept when we told her, already planning nurseries and buying tiny clothes. Watching her excitement, knowing the immunotherapy was still holding the cancer at bay, I felt like maybe, just maybe, everything was going to work out.
Jessica and I were out finishing up our last-minute Christmas shopping, deciding if a gift for Mom that revealed the baby would be named after her counted, when my phone rang. Glancing at it, I saw that it was an unknown Montana number, which usually meant a player’s parents, or sometimes grandparents, were calling, lobbying for more playing time. But with the season over, and the caller ID registering Bozeman, Montana, I was ready to let it simply go to voicemail.
“I’ve got to run to the bathroom anyways, take it while I’m gone,” Jessica urged.
As she stepped away, I pulled out the phone and clicked answer on the last possible ring before sending it to voicemail.
“This is Armando.”
“Coach, this is Brent Vigen over at Montana State.”
No Father's Son
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 3787
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
No Father's Son
Last edited by redsox907 on 05 Jan 2026, 11:28, edited 1 time in total.
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 13812
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
No Father's Son
Armando struggling to get buy in from workout warriors, gamers, guys who are sneaky athletic, glue guys should’ve been a bit of a knock on that resume.
ETA: Imagine a world where Brice would be starting over Caine.
ETA: Imagine a world where Brice would be starting over Caine.
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djp73
- Posts: 11478
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 3787
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
No Father's Son
was supposed to point out more Generational / Socioeconomic differences and Armando's lack of experience. He's used to guys coming to him and wanting to learn as a personal trainer, now he's convincing kids to commit when they may be there for reasons not football relataed. Also, not many of the kids he's coaching faced hardships like he did that instilled a work ethic.
Caine ain't used to the cold
even the editor didn't catch it lmao good looking out
this is my way of trying not to get too big, too quick. As an OC or HC you can make the offense better than it is and we've seen the sim defense can be OP. Now, we'll see if the sim offense is any good.Plus, playing DC will be a unique challenge
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 3787
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
No Father's Son
Chapter Thirteen: Bozeman, Bobcats, and Babies
“You still in playing shape, Armando?” Coach Vigen continued.
The question threw me off guard. With all the time in the gym I was definitely back in playing shape, but what did that have to do with coaching?
“I wouldn’t be a very good strength and conditioning coach if I wasn’t, Coach,” I continued, still trying to figure out where he was taking the conversation.
“You still got a year of eligibility left over from your Falcon days, yeah?” he continued.
“I think the five-year clock ran out almost ten years ago, Coach?” Surely, he wasn’t calling me simply to try and see if I could play one more year of football at the FCS level—right?
“Yeah, I know. Just wanted to throw you off for a minute, see what you were made of. I know it’s late in the holiday season, but I’d love to bring you down here to Bozeman and talk about some open positions we’ve got on the team. We could put you and the missus up in a hotel for the night, save you from having to double back?” It sounded less like a question, and more like a statement. As he finished the question, Jessica had made her way back.
“One sec, Coach. Let me see what my wife thinks,” I said, putting the phone against my shoulder to mute the noise.
“Wanna go to Bozeman this weekend?” I asked her, quieter than I normally would have. She caught the vibe, raised an eyebrow, then shrugged her shoulder as if to say she was up for whatever.
“Sure, Coach. Does this weekend work for you guys?”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Send me your and your wife’s info and we’ll get you a hotel booked for Friday and Saturday night. Spend some time in the city before Christmas and give you a chance to think about what we talk about. See you Friday afternoon, say 2:00 p.m.?”
Once again, more of a statement than a question. “Sure thing, Coach. I’ll send the info when we get home,” I answered.
Once I had hung up, the questions came quick. I retold the short conversation to her before telling her I assumed it would be a conversation about the open coordinator position, especially with their DC Willie Mack Garza leaving for Grambling State.
“He wouldn’t put us up in a hotel for two days to ask questions about a recruit,” I reassured Jessica, after she inquired if it was about another player’s recruiting, reminding her that when Walt was being recruited, it was a handful of phone calls to see how he responded to coaching.
While Jessica was clearly excited about the prospect of potentially moving, I was not. I didn’t voice my opinion, not wanting to dampen her spirit, but with the baby due in a few months’ time I didn’t want to force Jessica into an uncomfortable situation for my career.
On the drive to Bozeman, she finally questioned my lack of enthusiasm. “Even with us on the way to Bozeman, a trip you agreed to, you’re still down, Flyboy. What’s up?”
“I just don’t want to uproot our entire life based on my career. You’ve got a job in Havre, Mom’s lived here since we stopped running from my father’s ghost, I’m accepted in the community,” I explained before adding, “And you’re pregnant. Is this really the right time to move?”
“Oh, Armando. I would rather move now, before the baby, than try and pack everything up after. I’ve already started my maternity leave from the hospital, so long as I give them notice that I’m leaving, it isn’t an issue. Besides, it would give me time to start nesting in the new place before the baby comes, really make it unique for Tara Lydia.”
She spent the rest of the drive selling me on the prospect of Bozeman—how she was already on maternity leave, so putting in her notice would be no problem; the Cancer Center in Bozeman, where we’d visited before to run tests on Mom, and how she could continue immunotherapy there, maybe finding success with the cancer still not in remission.
By the time we’d gotten to the hotel to check in, she’d sold me. “Fine,” I declared as I changed into a dress shirt and khakis, “If I’m even offered the job, I’ll take it.”
“They’d be lucky to have you,” Jessica retorted, straightening my tie. “And if they go somewhere else? You’ll just have to take a job with Montana and beat their ass every year.”
The interview was exactly what I expected, going over schemes, personnel grouping, seeing how I’d attack certain offenses, certain adjustments, developing players. By the end, I felt like I’d passed the NASM all over again.
“Armando, I have to be honest,” Vigen began as the interview neared its close. “After all the worry, he isn’t going to offer me the job anyways,” I thought to myself.
“I was already impressed with the defenses you’ve put on tape. I was even more impressed talking to your peers and former coaches about your work ethic. Coach Calhoun down at the Academy raved about your work ethic, Coach Eldridge did the same. The way you’re able to motivate those around you and lead by example, it’s exactly what we’re looking for down here in Bozeman. Someone who walks the walk, doesn’t just talk the talk. Have you talked to the wife about heading down to Bozeman for the upcoming season?”
I tried to hide my excitement—“act like you expected the offer,” I told myself—but it still caught me off guard. I let a small smile slip as I shook Coach Vigen’s hand to accept, informing him we’d talked about it enough on the drive over that I felt confident taking the job without calling her. From there we spent the next thirty minutes planning the logistics, when I would join the team, him giving me a few contacts to get housing set up, the usual. “Before or after the baby is born, we’re ready when you make it down,” Coach reiterated as I was walking out the door. “Just let us know and we’ll get rolling from there. Happy to have you with the Bobcat family, son."
Jessica still yelled at me once I got back to the hotel, but this time out of excitement instead of anger. She was so excited she couldn’t even feign being upset I’d made the decision already, which is saying something since I often joked ribbing me was her favorite pastime. But once the excitement wore off, we both came to a realization—we hadn’t spoken to Mom about it.
Mom, of course, was content to see us happy. “You’re my home, Mando,” she stated with pride. “You, Jessica, and that baby girl. Wherever you guys are, I want to be.
“Besides, I would have moved to Colorado Springs when you went off to college if I didn’t think you’d kill me for it,” she joked.
With Mom on board we started making the arrangements. Jessica put in her notice at work, Mom spoke to her doctor about transferring her care to the Bozeman Cancer Clinic, and I started calling the rental agencies Coach Vigen put me in contact with.
As we were looking at potential rentals, Jessica casually asked what kind of pay raise I was expecting, laughing that in all the excitement she hadn’t even thought about it.
“I mean, it’s a pay raise,” I acknowledged, “But it definitely ain’t Crumbl cookie money,” I joked.
“And definitely not enough to up and buy a house,” I added, already picking up where the questioning was leading. She put her hands up in surrender and we kept perusing the rentals until a three-bedroom caught our eye.
As we finished all of the final preparations to move, I was once again hit with a deep feeling of gratitude. There was Jessica once again spearheading everything, down to the last-minute detail, like she was made for this. Of course, all the years spent moving as a ‘military brat’, a name I often called her in jest, this was second nature to her.
I snuck up behind her while she was wrapping up Mom’s knickknacks, things we’d collected in Havre and others accumulated during our trek from Las Cruces, and held her tightly, without intent. She leaned into me without words and we both stayed there for a moment, content to be grounded by each other.
“You know,” I started, finally breaking the silence, “If this coaching thing takes off, it might not be the last time we have to pack up and move.”
“Then, you’re lucky you were able to tie me down, cause you’d be lost getting your Mom packed on your own. How do you draw up a playbook for an entire team?” She added a scoff at the end for emphasis, knowing I’d be in the deep end without a life vest.
With all of the particular details finally ironed out, we set out for Bozeman on January 2nd.
The next month was busy in ways I couldn’t imagine as a small-time high school DC. Between getting settled in Bozeman, getting Mom a new immunotherapy treatment at the Cancer Center, Jessica nearing her due date, and getting thrown into the mix with the transfer portal opening as soon as we arrived, it was a whirlwind.
Everything was put into perspective February 5th, 2024.
Tara Lydia Leon was born. 20 1/2 inches long, 7 pounds 8 ounces of pure joy.
Sitting in the hospital room after the birth, holding Jessica’s hand while my Mom beamed over baby Tara, the little girl named after her as an honor for the struggle to get me this far, it all felt worth it.
I rubbed my left hand, felt the numb pain that never went away, a small reminder of what I’d overcame to get to this beautiful moment. Coaching felt like my calling after all of the years spent wandering. But this? Nothing could top this, I thought to myself, as Mom handed back my baby girl.
“You still in playing shape, Armando?” Coach Vigen continued.
The question threw me off guard. With all the time in the gym I was definitely back in playing shape, but what did that have to do with coaching?
“I wouldn’t be a very good strength and conditioning coach if I wasn’t, Coach,” I continued, still trying to figure out where he was taking the conversation.
“You still got a year of eligibility left over from your Falcon days, yeah?” he continued.
“I think the five-year clock ran out almost ten years ago, Coach?” Surely, he wasn’t calling me simply to try and see if I could play one more year of football at the FCS level—right?
“Yeah, I know. Just wanted to throw you off for a minute, see what you were made of. I know it’s late in the holiday season, but I’d love to bring you down here to Bozeman and talk about some open positions we’ve got on the team. We could put you and the missus up in a hotel for the night, save you from having to double back?” It sounded less like a question, and more like a statement. As he finished the question, Jessica had made her way back.
“One sec, Coach. Let me see what my wife thinks,” I said, putting the phone against my shoulder to mute the noise.
“Wanna go to Bozeman this weekend?” I asked her, quieter than I normally would have. She caught the vibe, raised an eyebrow, then shrugged her shoulder as if to say she was up for whatever.
“Sure, Coach. Does this weekend work for you guys?”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Send me your and your wife’s info and we’ll get you a hotel booked for Friday and Saturday night. Spend some time in the city before Christmas and give you a chance to think about what we talk about. See you Friday afternoon, say 2:00 p.m.?”
Once again, more of a statement than a question. “Sure thing, Coach. I’ll send the info when we get home,” I answered.
Once I had hung up, the questions came quick. I retold the short conversation to her before telling her I assumed it would be a conversation about the open coordinator position, especially with their DC Willie Mack Garza leaving for Grambling State.
“He wouldn’t put us up in a hotel for two days to ask questions about a recruit,” I reassured Jessica, after she inquired if it was about another player’s recruiting, reminding her that when Walt was being recruited, it was a handful of phone calls to see how he responded to coaching.
While Jessica was clearly excited about the prospect of potentially moving, I was not. I didn’t voice my opinion, not wanting to dampen her spirit, but with the baby due in a few months’ time I didn’t want to force Jessica into an uncomfortable situation for my career.
On the drive to Bozeman, she finally questioned my lack of enthusiasm. “Even with us on the way to Bozeman, a trip you agreed to, you’re still down, Flyboy. What’s up?”
“I just don’t want to uproot our entire life based on my career. You’ve got a job in Havre, Mom’s lived here since we stopped running from my father’s ghost, I’m accepted in the community,” I explained before adding, “And you’re pregnant. Is this really the right time to move?”
“Oh, Armando. I would rather move now, before the baby, than try and pack everything up after. I’ve already started my maternity leave from the hospital, so long as I give them notice that I’m leaving, it isn’t an issue. Besides, it would give me time to start nesting in the new place before the baby comes, really make it unique for Tara Lydia.”
She spent the rest of the drive selling me on the prospect of Bozeman—how she was already on maternity leave, so putting in her notice would be no problem; the Cancer Center in Bozeman, where we’d visited before to run tests on Mom, and how she could continue immunotherapy there, maybe finding success with the cancer still not in remission.
By the time we’d gotten to the hotel to check in, she’d sold me. “Fine,” I declared as I changed into a dress shirt and khakis, “If I’m even offered the job, I’ll take it.”
“They’d be lucky to have you,” Jessica retorted, straightening my tie. “And if they go somewhere else? You’ll just have to take a job with Montana and beat their ass every year.”
The interview was exactly what I expected, going over schemes, personnel grouping, seeing how I’d attack certain offenses, certain adjustments, developing players. By the end, I felt like I’d passed the NASM all over again.
“Armando, I have to be honest,” Vigen began as the interview neared its close. “After all the worry, he isn’t going to offer me the job anyways,” I thought to myself.
“I was already impressed with the defenses you’ve put on tape. I was even more impressed talking to your peers and former coaches about your work ethic. Coach Calhoun down at the Academy raved about your work ethic, Coach Eldridge did the same. The way you’re able to motivate those around you and lead by example, it’s exactly what we’re looking for down here in Bozeman. Someone who walks the walk, doesn’t just talk the talk. Have you talked to the wife about heading down to Bozeman for the upcoming season?”
I tried to hide my excitement—“act like you expected the offer,” I told myself—but it still caught me off guard. I let a small smile slip as I shook Coach Vigen’s hand to accept, informing him we’d talked about it enough on the drive over that I felt confident taking the job without calling her. From there we spent the next thirty minutes planning the logistics, when I would join the team, him giving me a few contacts to get housing set up, the usual. “Before or after the baby is born, we’re ready when you make it down,” Coach reiterated as I was walking out the door. “Just let us know and we’ll get rolling from there. Happy to have you with the Bobcat family, son."
Jessica still yelled at me once I got back to the hotel, but this time out of excitement instead of anger. She was so excited she couldn’t even feign being upset I’d made the decision already, which is saying something since I often joked ribbing me was her favorite pastime. But once the excitement wore off, we both came to a realization—we hadn’t spoken to Mom about it.
Mom, of course, was content to see us happy. “You’re my home, Mando,” she stated with pride. “You, Jessica, and that baby girl. Wherever you guys are, I want to be.
“Besides, I would have moved to Colorado Springs when you went off to college if I didn’t think you’d kill me for it,” she joked.
With Mom on board we started making the arrangements. Jessica put in her notice at work, Mom spoke to her doctor about transferring her care to the Bozeman Cancer Clinic, and I started calling the rental agencies Coach Vigen put me in contact with.
As we were looking at potential rentals, Jessica casually asked what kind of pay raise I was expecting, laughing that in all the excitement she hadn’t even thought about it.
“I mean, it’s a pay raise,” I acknowledged, “But it definitely ain’t Crumbl cookie money,” I joked.
“And definitely not enough to up and buy a house,” I added, already picking up where the questioning was leading. She put her hands up in surrender and we kept perusing the rentals until a three-bedroom caught our eye.
As we finished all of the final preparations to move, I was once again hit with a deep feeling of gratitude. There was Jessica once again spearheading everything, down to the last-minute detail, like she was made for this. Of course, all the years spent moving as a ‘military brat’, a name I often called her in jest, this was second nature to her.
I snuck up behind her while she was wrapping up Mom’s knickknacks, things we’d collected in Havre and others accumulated during our trek from Las Cruces, and held her tightly, without intent. She leaned into me without words and we both stayed there for a moment, content to be grounded by each other.
“You know,” I started, finally breaking the silence, “If this coaching thing takes off, it might not be the last time we have to pack up and move.”
“Then, you’re lucky you were able to tie me down, cause you’d be lost getting your Mom packed on your own. How do you draw up a playbook for an entire team?” She added a scoff at the end for emphasis, knowing I’d be in the deep end without a life vest.
With all of the particular details finally ironed out, we set out for Bozeman on January 2nd.
The next month was busy in ways I couldn’t imagine as a small-time high school DC. Between getting settled in Bozeman, getting Mom a new immunotherapy treatment at the Cancer Center, Jessica nearing her due date, and getting thrown into the mix with the transfer portal opening as soon as we arrived, it was a whirlwind.
Everything was put into perspective February 5th, 2024.
Tara Lydia Leon was born. 20 1/2 inches long, 7 pounds 8 ounces of pure joy.
Sitting in the hospital room after the birth, holding Jessica’s hand while my Mom beamed over baby Tara, the little girl named after her as an honor for the struggle to get me this far, it all felt worth it.
I rubbed my left hand, felt the numb pain that never went away, a small reminder of what I’d overcame to get to this beautiful moment. Coaching felt like my calling after all of the years spent wandering. But this? Nothing could top this, I thought to myself, as Mom handed back my baby girl.
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djp73
- Posts: 11478
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
No Father's Son
Things are looking up 
hoping you’re not about to pull the rug out
hoping you’re not about to pull the rug out-
redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 3787
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 3787
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
No Father's Son
Chapter Fourteen: This Ain’t the Academy
One of the sticking points Coach Vigen and I had talked about in our interview was the subject of scheme. Vigen was adamant we continue to run his preferred 4-2-5, stating “the players are already in place, the system works. I just need someone to step in and keep the discipline.” I had agreed, telling him that adapting to a new scheme would be no problem, “defense is defense,” I confidently stated, earning a wide grin from Coach.
But by the end of our first day of camp - July 25th, 2024 - I knew I was going to struggle adapting. Coach Vigen’s scheme was designed to stop the spread, keep teams from airing it out however they wanted. And to that end it worked. But I grew up playing smash mouth football in Havre and again as a Falcon. Stop the run, force them into long-distance conversion attempts, and then punish them.
This was the complete opposite. Bend, don’t break. Keep everything in front of you. It felt like playing not to lose. Watching film of the previous season, I had seen it on tape but was confident I could tweak small things here and there to help narrow the gap between Vigen and myself.
That was an egregious miscalculation on my part. Coach Vigen wasn’t exactly telling me it was ‘his way or the highway,’ but the message on the first day of camp was clear.
“There will be time for adjustments,” he said to me as we wrapped up our first morning meeting, “But right now? It’s about instilling discipline in these players, setting the standard for the season, and building teamwork.
“I love your creativity, but let’s see how everything plays out before we rebuild Rome, ok?”
I had no problem following orders—I had planned on building a career out of it in the Air Force. I gave the 4-2-5 my all and to anyone on the sideline, you couldn’t tell that I hated the scheme in my bones. But inside, I felt like a puppet dancing on stage, with someone else pulling the strings.
But even as I preached one way while believing another, I was taking notes. Who could play the nose guard, the five tech, which guys would be the stack linebackers, and most importantly, who would play the rover.
The week before our opener, a week zero contest against the New Mexico Wolfpack, I was still complaining to Jessica and Tara Lydia about how our defense was going to get gashed.
“Every time I see a run in practice break for more than 3 yards, I die a little inside,” I joked as Jessica handed me Tara Lydia. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the entire season.”
“Not that I’m praying for your downfall,” Jessica began, quickly raising her hands in defense as I glanced over my shoulder at her, “But maybe there will be a game where it’s simply unavoidable anymore and you can talk to Brent about it.”
“Double-edged sword though, hon. He could just turn around and say I’m not the right guy to coach his defense. I’m trying my best to buy in, but I don’t know how long I can keep pretending to enjoy a defense that I hate.”
I ran the tape I was watching back again, a clip of last year’s semifinal loss to North Dakota State where they gashed the defense for nearly 300 yards on the ground, before awkwardly jotting some notes down with the hand Tara was cradled in.
“You guys are going to play New Mexico to open the season, right—they’re an FBS school?”
I was surprised, although I shouldn’t have been. Jessica was always plugged in with what I was doing as a coach, not wanting to simply be another pretty face. I gave her a slight nod to confirm she was right before doubling down, “We’re double-digit favorites, the first time an FCS school has been favored that high over an FBS team.”
Without missing a beat, Jessica pivoted, “Have you thought about how you’re going to feel, being back in New Mexico for the first time?”
“I’m not trying to distract you,” she added more defensive than anything, “I just know you’ve been caught up in the grind and I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”
She was right, I hadn’t thought about it. I hadn’t even registered it was my first time being back in New Mexico since
May 29th, 2005. The day Mom and I had fled.
“I mean, it’s not Las Cruces. We never actually went to the ABQ,” I said as I turned back to the game tape to another 16-yard run by the Bison.
She could recognize at this point when I wasn’t ready to pick at the old scab and rehash the past. Instead of continuing to question, she planted a firm kiss on my head, then Tara’s. A kiss that was symbolic as much as it was loving, a kiss that said I’m here when you’re ready, that was grounding without being heavy.
We opened the season with a win against the Lobos, a 35-31 victory where we stiffened in the 4th quarter after being run all over, and the rest of the season continued much in the same fashion. Beat Utah Tech handily, coasted against Maine despite 149 rushing yards, then slaughtered a handful of opponents as we cruised to 7-0. We bent and didn’t break and Coach Vigen was more than pleased with the results, praising me multiple times for accepting the bigger picture.
On the outside, I was happy and celebrating with the team and the coaching staff, doing everything I was supposed to. But inside, I was still taking mental notes. We’d improved since giving up 149 to Maine, but after back-to-back sub-100 rushing yards, the numbers were once again creeping up. It felt like a dam right before the supports give out. 101 to Northern Colorado was followed by 101 to Idaho, then 149 to Portland State. Still, we were rolling.
That all changed in Cheney, Washington. Eastern Washington was supposed to be another cakewalk; they were 2-5 entering the game and had lost two straight heading into the contest. But the conditions were frigid, 0 degrees at kickoff that felt more like 10 below, reminding me of the late season games I used to coach in Havre.
“Coach, it’s going to be a run the damn ball kind of day out here in the cold,” I noted walking up to Coach. “Let’s load the box and make them beat us through the air.”
“We’ll keep running it like we have all season, ain’t let us down yet, Armando,” he responded, with a look that said he wasn’t open for more suggestions.
225 rushing yards later and we narrowly escaped the biggest upset of the year at the FCS level. They did exactly what I predicted—they shoved the rock down our throats until we choked, then kept the pressure on anyways. We had built a 28-14 lead going into the half, but Tuna Altahir became a one-man wrecking crew with a pair of touchdowns to will the Eagles back into the game.
After the 11-yard touchdown tied the game, Coach Vigen and I locked eyes on the sideline. I simply raised my eyebrows at him and finally, after a few moments with a stony expression, he gave me a slight nod.
“ALRIGHT BOYS HUDDLE UP,” I immediately yelled as the defense came off the field.
“We’re switching it up. Paul, you’re nose tackle with two-gap. Clog the lane and make sure Kenny, Brody, and McCade have lanes. Same for the rest of the D-Line, just eat blockers.”
Turning to the trio of linebackers I had just named, I gave one simple command, “Attack. I want you guys on the line of scrimmage no matter what the call is. I want their QB thinking the entire defense is run blitzing every down, then we adjust to what they adjust.”
Finally, I pointed at #26, Rylan Ortt. “You’re the rover. You clean it all up and make sure if they get past the front, you bring them down.
“I know we haven’t practiced this a lot, so we’re keeping it simple.”
The sudden switch worked to perfection—the Eagles didn’t gain another first down as we pulled away with a pair of touchdowns to win 42-28.
On the flight back to Bozeman, Coach made sure to take the seat adjacent.
“Alright, Armando. You’ve been chomping at the bit all year, let’s hear your ideas.”
As I started to protest that I was 100% committed to his play style, he quickly brushed me off. “I appreciate it, but you can drop the act. I didn’t bring you here to be a yes man, this ain’t the Academy. You have a way you want to play and while I appreciate you appeasing me, after today I can’t ignore that there are some holes in the scheme. So let’s hear it.”
For the rest of the flight, Coach Vigen and I broke down what the new gameplay was going forward. It wasn’t a drastic, jarring shift, which made it brilliant.
“They know how you run this defense, hasn’t changed since you got hired in ’21,” I confirmed, “So we don’t change full bore. We pick and choose, sometimes for an entire drive, sometimes for a play. And we start playing a linebacker, someone like Kenny who is athletic enough to play end or backer, on the line full time. That way, we can switch out of it without subbing and really catch them off guard.”
We finished the season undefeated, holding rival Montana to just 11 points in the season finale and were cruising into the playoffs. Only UC Davis gave us a run for our money, scoring 20 points in the 4th quarter behind two turnovers by our offense, but a potential game-winning drive was snuffed out by a pair of sacks when we switched defenses on the fly, preserving our perfect season while ending theirs.
We ran through the playoffs, never allowing more than 20 points in a single contest as we beat UT Martin, Idaho, then South Dakota for a rematch against North Dakota State.
It felt like we were destined to avenge last season’s loss and close out an undefeated season with an FCS Championship, our first since 1984.
“With the new wrinkle in the defense, they aren’t running for over 200 yards against us again,” I boasted to Jessica. She sat in the same familiar position next to me on the couch where we had watched film all year, except now she was rubbing her belly, the pregnancy just starting to show. I paused as their back cut through the defensive line, then pointed to the wide-open gap. “We’ve got them dead to rights this time,” I reiterated, pulling her close and placing my hand on top of her belly. We sat there together, watching tape while Tara Lydia babbled in her bouncer, like we had done all year.
Cam Miller had different plans as he ran the QB option to perfection. When he wasn’t gashing us on the ground, accumulating 121 yards on just 18 carries, he was throwing it over our heads with 200 yards on a nearly flawless 19/23 effort.
By the half, we were trailing 21-3 and had already broken out the aggressive 3-3-5 look for the entire 2nd quarter. We simply weren’t physical enough up front to make enough room for the backers to get through. Add in the misdirection from the read option, and we were simply out of position more often than not.
We stiffened enough in the 3rd quarter to claw back into it, pulling the score to 21-18 near the end of the 3rd. But from there, they matched us score for score, never allowing us to get close enough to have a shot at taking the lead.
As the green and gold confetti spilled onto the field, I acknowledged each player on their way through the tunnel, offering words of encouragement that felt hollow, but necessary as a leader. After the last player drifted into the locker room, I turned back towards the field as the Bison continued to celebrate, watching solemnly.
Coach Vigen came up on my right side, patted me on the shoulder, and pulled me back towards the locker room.
“Don’t be cliché, Armando,” he muttered, “Win or lose, gotta act like you’ve been here before.”
I was supposed to be happy. We’d had a great first season with me as the coordinator—I was able to convince Coach to adopt some of my philosophies, and Jessica was pregnant with our second child—a baby boy due in the summer of 2025—but now that I’d had a taste of success, simply making it wasn’t enough.
At my end of the year interview with Coach Vigen, I didn’t mince words.
“Give me the green light to go all in on my defense, Coach. And I promise you, we’re winning it all next year.”
One of the sticking points Coach Vigen and I had talked about in our interview was the subject of scheme. Vigen was adamant we continue to run his preferred 4-2-5, stating “the players are already in place, the system works. I just need someone to step in and keep the discipline.” I had agreed, telling him that adapting to a new scheme would be no problem, “defense is defense,” I confidently stated, earning a wide grin from Coach.
But by the end of our first day of camp - July 25th, 2024 - I knew I was going to struggle adapting. Coach Vigen’s scheme was designed to stop the spread, keep teams from airing it out however they wanted. And to that end it worked. But I grew up playing smash mouth football in Havre and again as a Falcon. Stop the run, force them into long-distance conversion attempts, and then punish them.
This was the complete opposite. Bend, don’t break. Keep everything in front of you. It felt like playing not to lose. Watching film of the previous season, I had seen it on tape but was confident I could tweak small things here and there to help narrow the gap between Vigen and myself.
That was an egregious miscalculation on my part. Coach Vigen wasn’t exactly telling me it was ‘his way or the highway,’ but the message on the first day of camp was clear.
“There will be time for adjustments,” he said to me as we wrapped up our first morning meeting, “But right now? It’s about instilling discipline in these players, setting the standard for the season, and building teamwork.
“I love your creativity, but let’s see how everything plays out before we rebuild Rome, ok?”
I had no problem following orders—I had planned on building a career out of it in the Air Force. I gave the 4-2-5 my all and to anyone on the sideline, you couldn’t tell that I hated the scheme in my bones. But inside, I felt like a puppet dancing on stage, with someone else pulling the strings.
But even as I preached one way while believing another, I was taking notes. Who could play the nose guard, the five tech, which guys would be the stack linebackers, and most importantly, who would play the rover.
The week before our opener, a week zero contest against the New Mexico Wolfpack, I was still complaining to Jessica and Tara Lydia about how our defense was going to get gashed.
“Every time I see a run in practice break for more than 3 yards, I die a little inside,” I joked as Jessica handed me Tara Lydia. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the entire season.”
“Not that I’m praying for your downfall,” Jessica began, quickly raising her hands in defense as I glanced over my shoulder at her, “But maybe there will be a game where it’s simply unavoidable anymore and you can talk to Brent about it.”
“Double-edged sword though, hon. He could just turn around and say I’m not the right guy to coach his defense. I’m trying my best to buy in, but I don’t know how long I can keep pretending to enjoy a defense that I hate.”
I ran the tape I was watching back again, a clip of last year’s semifinal loss to North Dakota State where they gashed the defense for nearly 300 yards on the ground, before awkwardly jotting some notes down with the hand Tara was cradled in.
“You guys are going to play New Mexico to open the season, right—they’re an FBS school?”
I was surprised, although I shouldn’t have been. Jessica was always plugged in with what I was doing as a coach, not wanting to simply be another pretty face. I gave her a slight nod to confirm she was right before doubling down, “We’re double-digit favorites, the first time an FCS school has been favored that high over an FBS team.”
Without missing a beat, Jessica pivoted, “Have you thought about how you’re going to feel, being back in New Mexico for the first time?”
“I’m not trying to distract you,” she added more defensive than anything, “I just know you’ve been caught up in the grind and I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”
She was right, I hadn’t thought about it. I hadn’t even registered it was my first time being back in New Mexico since
May 29th, 2005. The day Mom and I had fled.
“I mean, it’s not Las Cruces. We never actually went to the ABQ,” I said as I turned back to the game tape to another 16-yard run by the Bison.
She could recognize at this point when I wasn’t ready to pick at the old scab and rehash the past. Instead of continuing to question, she planted a firm kiss on my head, then Tara’s. A kiss that was symbolic as much as it was loving, a kiss that said I’m here when you’re ready, that was grounding without being heavy.
We opened the season with a win against the Lobos, a 35-31 victory where we stiffened in the 4th quarter after being run all over, and the rest of the season continued much in the same fashion. Beat Utah Tech handily, coasted against Maine despite 149 rushing yards, then slaughtered a handful of opponents as we cruised to 7-0. We bent and didn’t break and Coach Vigen was more than pleased with the results, praising me multiple times for accepting the bigger picture.
On the outside, I was happy and celebrating with the team and the coaching staff, doing everything I was supposed to. But inside, I was still taking mental notes. We’d improved since giving up 149 to Maine, but after back-to-back sub-100 rushing yards, the numbers were once again creeping up. It felt like a dam right before the supports give out. 101 to Northern Colorado was followed by 101 to Idaho, then 149 to Portland State. Still, we were rolling.
That all changed in Cheney, Washington. Eastern Washington was supposed to be another cakewalk; they were 2-5 entering the game and had lost two straight heading into the contest. But the conditions were frigid, 0 degrees at kickoff that felt more like 10 below, reminding me of the late season games I used to coach in Havre.
“Coach, it’s going to be a run the damn ball kind of day out here in the cold,” I noted walking up to Coach. “Let’s load the box and make them beat us through the air.”
“We’ll keep running it like we have all season, ain’t let us down yet, Armando,” he responded, with a look that said he wasn’t open for more suggestions.
225 rushing yards later and we narrowly escaped the biggest upset of the year at the FCS level. They did exactly what I predicted—they shoved the rock down our throats until we choked, then kept the pressure on anyways. We had built a 28-14 lead going into the half, but Tuna Altahir became a one-man wrecking crew with a pair of touchdowns to will the Eagles back into the game.
After the 11-yard touchdown tied the game, Coach Vigen and I locked eyes on the sideline. I simply raised my eyebrows at him and finally, after a few moments with a stony expression, he gave me a slight nod.
“ALRIGHT BOYS HUDDLE UP,” I immediately yelled as the defense came off the field.
“We’re switching it up. Paul, you’re nose tackle with two-gap. Clog the lane and make sure Kenny, Brody, and McCade have lanes. Same for the rest of the D-Line, just eat blockers.”
Turning to the trio of linebackers I had just named, I gave one simple command, “Attack. I want you guys on the line of scrimmage no matter what the call is. I want their QB thinking the entire defense is run blitzing every down, then we adjust to what they adjust.”
Finally, I pointed at #26, Rylan Ortt. “You’re the rover. You clean it all up and make sure if they get past the front, you bring them down.
“I know we haven’t practiced this a lot, so we’re keeping it simple.”
The sudden switch worked to perfection—the Eagles didn’t gain another first down as we pulled away with a pair of touchdowns to win 42-28.
On the flight back to Bozeman, Coach made sure to take the seat adjacent.
“Alright, Armando. You’ve been chomping at the bit all year, let’s hear your ideas.”
As I started to protest that I was 100% committed to his play style, he quickly brushed me off. “I appreciate it, but you can drop the act. I didn’t bring you here to be a yes man, this ain’t the Academy. You have a way you want to play and while I appreciate you appeasing me, after today I can’t ignore that there are some holes in the scheme. So let’s hear it.”
For the rest of the flight, Coach Vigen and I broke down what the new gameplay was going forward. It wasn’t a drastic, jarring shift, which made it brilliant.
“They know how you run this defense, hasn’t changed since you got hired in ’21,” I confirmed, “So we don’t change full bore. We pick and choose, sometimes for an entire drive, sometimes for a play. And we start playing a linebacker, someone like Kenny who is athletic enough to play end or backer, on the line full time. That way, we can switch out of it without subbing and really catch them off guard.”
We finished the season undefeated, holding rival Montana to just 11 points in the season finale and were cruising into the playoffs. Only UC Davis gave us a run for our money, scoring 20 points in the 4th quarter behind two turnovers by our offense, but a potential game-winning drive was snuffed out by a pair of sacks when we switched defenses on the fly, preserving our perfect season while ending theirs.
We ran through the playoffs, never allowing more than 20 points in a single contest as we beat UT Martin, Idaho, then South Dakota for a rematch against North Dakota State.
It felt like we were destined to avenge last season’s loss and close out an undefeated season with an FCS Championship, our first since 1984.
“With the new wrinkle in the defense, they aren’t running for over 200 yards against us again,” I boasted to Jessica. She sat in the same familiar position next to me on the couch where we had watched film all year, except now she was rubbing her belly, the pregnancy just starting to show. I paused as their back cut through the defensive line, then pointed to the wide-open gap. “We’ve got them dead to rights this time,” I reiterated, pulling her close and placing my hand on top of her belly. We sat there together, watching tape while Tara Lydia babbled in her bouncer, like we had done all year.
Cam Miller had different plans as he ran the QB option to perfection. When he wasn’t gashing us on the ground, accumulating 121 yards on just 18 carries, he was throwing it over our heads with 200 yards on a nearly flawless 19/23 effort.
By the half, we were trailing 21-3 and had already broken out the aggressive 3-3-5 look for the entire 2nd quarter. We simply weren’t physical enough up front to make enough room for the backers to get through. Add in the misdirection from the read option, and we were simply out of position more often than not.
We stiffened enough in the 3rd quarter to claw back into it, pulling the score to 21-18 near the end of the 3rd. But from there, they matched us score for score, never allowing us to get close enough to have a shot at taking the lead.
As the green and gold confetti spilled onto the field, I acknowledged each player on their way through the tunnel, offering words of encouragement that felt hollow, but necessary as a leader. After the last player drifted into the locker room, I turned back towards the field as the Bison continued to celebrate, watching solemnly.
Coach Vigen came up on my right side, patted me on the shoulder, and pulled me back towards the locker room.
“Don’t be cliché, Armando,” he muttered, “Win or lose, gotta act like you’ve been here before.”
I was supposed to be happy. We’d had a great first season with me as the coordinator—I was able to convince Coach to adopt some of my philosophies, and Jessica was pregnant with our second child—a baby boy due in the summer of 2025—but now that I’d had a taste of success, simply making it wasn’t enough.
At my end of the year interview with Coach Vigen, I didn’t mince words.
“Give me the green light to go all in on my defense, Coach. And I promise you, we’re winning it all next year.”
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Soapy
- Posts: 13693
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
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djp73
- Posts: 11478
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
No Father's Son
3-3-5 for life for Armando