Chapter Four: Blue Skies
Two months after arriving in Havre, I was on the field at Blue Pony Stadium trying out for the Havre Blue Ponies. Two days after arriving in Havre, I’d gotten the school admission form and filled it out completely for Mom, found a local farm hiring farmhands, and used that income to get myself a gym membership to be sure I was ready for tryouts.
As a result, I was in the best shape of my life at tryouts. At 6’0 and nearly 185lbs, I looked the part. While my football knowledge wasn’t as sharp as some of the other guys on varsity, the hours spent with Brady and Clint studying had me close enough to belong.
On the field, I excelled as an aggressive weak-side linebacker. Whether it was bending the edge, shooting the gap, or simply scraping over the top, I was everywhere. When they dropped me into coverage, however? Lost. Brady and Clint were defensive linemen, so we’d never worked on coverage skills.
Sitting in Coach Sukut’s office after tryouts, listening to him talk about what they loved about me on the field, gave me a rare moment of pride in what had been a tumultuous two years. Then the other shoe slowly dropped.
“But,” Coach Sukut paused, and my heart dropped. “Despite being a natural pass rusher, you can’t cover worth a lick, son. You’d be the Will in our 4-3 scheme, meaning you’ve got to be at least serviceable in coverage to keep from being a liability.
“We’re going to have you start the year at JV, which isn’t a knock since you’re only a sophomore with limited experience. But I promise, if you work on those coverage skills, learn when and where to go in zone coverage, then you’ll get your shot with the big boys.”
The feeling that came after that conversation reminded me of all those years striving to impress my father. But now, instead of floundering, searching for the secret to earn his pride, I had it right in front of me. I knew what I had to work on to get the praise I was searching for, only this time the praise wasn’t words of affirmation from my father, it was simply a chance to prove I belonged.
I had six sacks and two interceptions five games into my JV career, but the interceptions were the highlight plays in my head. Especially the second one that came on the road against Butte Central Catholic, when I disguised my quarters coverage by feigning a pass rush before dropping back, quickly closing the window as the QB fired, snatching the ball before he ever saw the window slam shut. It was after that game that Coach Sukut called me back into the office.
“Armando, you’ve been putting in more work than I think I’ve ever seen from a 15-year-old,” he began, “The player you are right now? Night and day from camp nearly three months ago. We’ve rotated through two different will linebackers on varsity this year and congratulations, cause you’re about to be the third.’”
I only recorded one more sack through the final four games on varsity, but I didn’t let it discourage me. I wasn’t brought up to varsity to be a playmaker—I was brought up to fill a need. So I made sure I did all of the small things. Fill the correct gap so the running back had nowhere to go, make sure to cover my zone so the QB had no clean window. If the call was to contain, I didn’t get greedy and chase the QB. I’d found my role as the guy who was everywhere, and most importantly, I finally felt like I belonged.
After spending much of my first six months in Havre to myself outside of football training, I’d finally started to open up. The timing coincided with the promotion to varsity, but it was more than that. We weren’t running anymore. Since leaving Las Cruces, we’d moved every six months. Christmas came and went without upheaval, same with New Year’s, and my 16th birthday.
The summer of 2008 marked the first time we’d been somewhere more than a year since leaving Las Cruces. No Black SUVs, no running from trouble. Just Mom, football, and hanging out with the guys.
During that summer, after another two-a-day on a Friday in July, the whole defensive unit went out to Ross Wallace’s farm for what they called a “Field Party.” Which was basically just a bunch of high schoolers getting drunk in a field, but as you can imagine, in Havre, Montana, there wasn’t much to do.
I never joined in the drinking— I viewed it as breaking the law, something I’d promised Mom not to do anymore. But I came anyway, content to hang out with my newfound group. What made this field party notable was that Ross’s family had a Cessna in their barn, and eventually, Ross decided to take it for a spin. I can neither confirm nor deny if Ross himself had partaken in consuming the Jungle Juice that night, but he insisted that he flew the plane “all the time.” Ross was the starting mike linebacker for the defense and had taken me under his wing, so when he volunteered me as his co-pilot, I felt I was obligated to join.
Our story very well could have ended there, but thankfully Ross either truly hadn’t partaken in the festivities, or was simply a better pilot than we would give him credit for. We didn’t crash, merely took a spin around the sizable farm, but what was probably only a few minutes felt like a lifetime for me.
Up in the air, the problems of my life to that point seemed far away. Like I had ascended to a level that they simply couldn’t reach. It was the greatest experience of my life to that point—the highlight of my summer, even though I lost my virginity one month later after my on-again off-again girlfriend, Rachael Fitch, at another field party.
I became obsessed with flying, badgering Ross and anyone else with a plane to let me take to the skies. I looked into private flying lessons so I could get my own pilot’s license, but it was easily out of the price range of Mom’s modest budget.
Joining the Air Force, I had decided, was the easiest path to the skies.
When I told Mom of my newest obsession with flying and my decision that the Air Force was the easiest path to the skies, she didn’t protest. She understood that I felt I had finally found my purpose and more than anything, she was proud of me. The only stipulation, she said, was that I had to get an education along the way. “Something to fall back on,” were her exact words.
Before the start of my junior year in 2008, Mom and I took a trip down to Malmstrom AFB to speak with the recruiting officer. His suggestion? “Lean into football, kid.” He explained that with my limited income, getting a dual academic and athletic scholarship would help ensure I had a clear path through a bachelor’s at the Air Force Academy—allowing me to pursue flying while fulfilling my commitment to Mom.
With a plan set out ahead of me, I knew what I had to do. Excel at football to earn an athletic scholarship. I wasn’t on any recruiting radars going into my junior year, for good reason. I’d put 4 games of tape together at the Class A level, and while I prided myself as the glue guy—glue guys don’t get scholarships. I put anything that didn’t include school or football on the back burner. If I wasn’t at home doing school work, I was at the gym, or watching film.
The hard work paid off. During my junior year I notched eight sacks and three interceptions, while also joining JROTC to strengthen my application. I volunteered around town throughout the school year and followed it up with a 1265 on the SAT that summer. In June 2009, I attended the Air Force Academy Summer Seminar. At 6'4", 225 pounds, I dominated every physical competition and team-building exercise. My Element Leader, James Ramirez, pulled me aside on the last day and told me he'd write a recommendation that would "seal the deal."
But even with a near perfect application - sterling 4.0 GPA, excellent SAT score, standout football tape, glowing JROTC references - there was still one massive hurdle: the Congressional nomination.
That fall, I applied to both Montana senators and our district representative. The interviews were in November and become a welcome distraction to take the edge off the heartbreak of missing the playoffs in my senior year. Despite a dominant season featuring 12 sacks and 4 interceptions, a loss to Laurel in the season finale sealed our fate.
Instead of playing for a State Championship, I sat across from Senator Max Baucus's aide in a borrowed suit, answering questions about leadership and service while trying not to think about the disappointment of the missed opportunity, instead focusing on the future nailing the interview could provide.
Three weeks later, the letter came. Senator Baucus had nominated me.
And two weeks after that - December 2009 - I received my Letter of Assurance from the Air Force Academy. Pending final grades and passing the medical exam, I was in.
I was going to Colorado Springs.
No Father's Son
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 3794
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 13814
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
No Father's Son
Air Force, eh? Interesting turn of events 
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Soapy
- Posts: 13693
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
No Father's Son
lame ahh ROTC nigga 
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 3794
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
No Father's Son
Chapter Five: The Academy
After spending two years constantly moving, I thought moving to Colorado Springs after my senior year would be easy.
The difference this time, of course, was that Mom wasn’t coming with me. During my pursuit of joining the Academy, somehow that key factor had never crossed my mind. Even after getting my Letter of Acceptance, completing medical clearance, and receiving my final grades, it wasn’t until I started packing, alone, that the realization finally hit me.
My last night in Havre, I made sure to take Mom out to her favorite restaurant, Bow & Marrow. We talked about life, how far we’d come, what I could expect once I finally settled in at Colorado Springs. But finally, I asked the question that had been weighing on my mind since graduation:
“Are you going to be okay when I leave, Mom?”
Her usual practiced smile quickly arose, ready to dismiss any concerns. But then there was a falter, only a slight wavering before she refocused. But I saw it and it broke my heart.
Was I abandoning her, just like my father had?
She, of course, reassured me that she would be fine. “I don’t need to be with you every day to be proud of you and the man you are becoming,” she said, before jokingly adding, “Besides, with you out of the house maybe I can start dating again. 40 is the new 30, I hear.”
That lightened the mood, causing both of us to break into laughter that didn’t stop until a coughing fit slowed Mom’s genuine joy.
Once I reached Colorado Springs, it was a relief. I’d spent the last two years of high school structuring my regimen to ensure I was in the best position, physically and mentally, to be as ready as possible for the Air Force.
I relished the strict schedule, intense workouts, and heightened expectations that broke many basics. During high school, my friends on the football team always teased me for my structured, planned, and calculated approach. But here? It was welcomed. Expected even.
The expectations weren’t any higher than the lofty goals I’d always set for myself, the schedule only slightly more intense than my normal routine. To add to the challenge, I hadn't chosen an easy major like other student athletes, opting instead for a sports medicine degree.
If I was going to get an education, I was going to do it learning about something that mattered to me. I'd used the gym not only to distract myself during the chaotic nomad years, but the way I saw it, it helped guide me towards my ultimate goal of flying. I wanted to understand how my body worked.
The first two years flew by in the blink of an eye. Between workouts, class, flying lessons, and playing football, one month blurred into the next. Even when we didn’t have football practice, the rigorous service academy requirements kept me busy year-round.
However, even with the structured schedule and rigorous demands, boys will be boys. The other guys and I somehow always found a free weekend to hit the town. We were too young to drink, legally, but Colorado Springs is still a college town and we knew where to go with our uniforms, either football or ABUs depending on the location, to get served.
The uniforms did more than help us get drinks. When I say I never had a serious girlfriend while attending Air Force, it was not for lack of opportunity. More a conscious effort to avoid any moral conflict on my own part, to keep “all of my options open” as I would explain to my friends.
But suddenly in August of 2011, that conscious effort was tested when Jessica Carson walked into Gasoline Alley. She was hands down the most beautiful woman I had laid eyes on. The fact that she fit perfectly into my type, which could only be described as “blonde with great ass-ets”, was simply an added bonus. But beyond her blonde hair and soft brown eyes, there was something else that drew me in, something warm. I don’t know how, but I knew that beneath her beauty was a true, genuinely caring person.
I approached her to spark a conversation, but to my dismay it was quickly shut down. That night, we’d opted for our ABU uniforms that usually got us in without a problem at Gasoline, something that immediately put her on edge.
“Not my type,” she quickly dismissed as I approached. Not to be deterred, I quickly countered. “Tall, handsome, and athletic isn’t your type?” In retrospect, most definitely not my best line.
“You mean, dumb, vain, and clearly in need of someone to give you instruction?” She shot back, pointing at my uniform. Suddenly, the uniform that had helped me seal the deal with more women than I kept count of was betraying me.
We didn’t become friends that night. She quickly walked away laughing at her own wit as I stood there unable to find the words to counter her jab. But since she was enrolled in the nursing program at UCCS nearby, we eventually found ourselves in the same friend group.
Turns out, her father was a Lieutenant Colonel at the nearby NORAD Complex and had a strict “no military” dating rule, which she dutifully obeyed. She neglected to tell me this fact—her best friend Donna eventually spilled the beans—and Jessica brushed it off when I finally brought it up. “Someone had to knock you down a peg or two,” she laughed.
As far as football went, I won’t lie and say I was some force of nature. During my freshman and sophomore seasons, I was merely a special teams contributor. But during my junior year, I finally broke through.
My linebacker coach Alex Means had convinced our new defensive coordinator, Steve Russ, that I would be an asset rushing the passer in certain situations. That suggestion earned me enough playing time to make a difference, and I finally made an impact outside of special teams, notching 6 sacks my junior year.
That summer in 2013, I felt like my life was on the verge of finally beginning. My Single Scope Background Investigation (SSBI) had been submitted the previous fall, the final hurdle before starting my commission after graduation. All that stood in between me and finally realizing my dream of flying jets was completing my senior season.
Even though football was going to be an afterthought after my senior year—I had no illusions of being drafted—I was hopeful of turning my junior breakout into a strong senior season, if nothing more than pride.
As I finished my final lift of the July off-season program, a notification came through in the group chat from Jessica.
“We meeting up at Gasoline tonight or what?” her message to the group read.
“I’ll be there if you are,” I typed back, just to Jessica. Hanging out with her had quickly become a priority over the rest of the group, and while I wouldn’t admit it out loud, I was quietly hoping that she would be a part of my future too, no military rule be damned.
“See you then,” she had typed back with a winking emoji.
“Maybe the rule was more of a guideline,” I thought to myself as I gathered my gear.
“Or maybe not, but regardless. I’m ready for whatever comes next.”
After spending two years constantly moving, I thought moving to Colorado Springs after my senior year would be easy.
The difference this time, of course, was that Mom wasn’t coming with me. During my pursuit of joining the Academy, somehow that key factor had never crossed my mind. Even after getting my Letter of Acceptance, completing medical clearance, and receiving my final grades, it wasn’t until I started packing, alone, that the realization finally hit me.
My last night in Havre, I made sure to take Mom out to her favorite restaurant, Bow & Marrow. We talked about life, how far we’d come, what I could expect once I finally settled in at Colorado Springs. But finally, I asked the question that had been weighing on my mind since graduation:
“Are you going to be okay when I leave, Mom?”
Her usual practiced smile quickly arose, ready to dismiss any concerns. But then there was a falter, only a slight wavering before she refocused. But I saw it and it broke my heart.
Was I abandoning her, just like my father had?
She, of course, reassured me that she would be fine. “I don’t need to be with you every day to be proud of you and the man you are becoming,” she said, before jokingly adding, “Besides, with you out of the house maybe I can start dating again. 40 is the new 30, I hear.”
That lightened the mood, causing both of us to break into laughter that didn’t stop until a coughing fit slowed Mom’s genuine joy.
Once I reached Colorado Springs, it was a relief. I’d spent the last two years of high school structuring my regimen to ensure I was in the best position, physically and mentally, to be as ready as possible for the Air Force.
I relished the strict schedule, intense workouts, and heightened expectations that broke many basics. During high school, my friends on the football team always teased me for my structured, planned, and calculated approach. But here? It was welcomed. Expected even.
The expectations weren’t any higher than the lofty goals I’d always set for myself, the schedule only slightly more intense than my normal routine. To add to the challenge, I hadn't chosen an easy major like other student athletes, opting instead for a sports medicine degree.
If I was going to get an education, I was going to do it learning about something that mattered to me. I'd used the gym not only to distract myself during the chaotic nomad years, but the way I saw it, it helped guide me towards my ultimate goal of flying. I wanted to understand how my body worked.
The first two years flew by in the blink of an eye. Between workouts, class, flying lessons, and playing football, one month blurred into the next. Even when we didn’t have football practice, the rigorous service academy requirements kept me busy year-round.
However, even with the structured schedule and rigorous demands, boys will be boys. The other guys and I somehow always found a free weekend to hit the town. We were too young to drink, legally, but Colorado Springs is still a college town and we knew where to go with our uniforms, either football or ABUs depending on the location, to get served.
The uniforms did more than help us get drinks. When I say I never had a serious girlfriend while attending Air Force, it was not for lack of opportunity. More a conscious effort to avoid any moral conflict on my own part, to keep “all of my options open” as I would explain to my friends.
But suddenly in August of 2011, that conscious effort was tested when Jessica Carson walked into Gasoline Alley. She was hands down the most beautiful woman I had laid eyes on. The fact that she fit perfectly into my type, which could only be described as “blonde with great ass-ets”, was simply an added bonus. But beyond her blonde hair and soft brown eyes, there was something else that drew me in, something warm. I don’t know how, but I knew that beneath her beauty was a true, genuinely caring person.
I approached her to spark a conversation, but to my dismay it was quickly shut down. That night, we’d opted for our ABU uniforms that usually got us in without a problem at Gasoline, something that immediately put her on edge.
“Not my type,” she quickly dismissed as I approached. Not to be deterred, I quickly countered. “Tall, handsome, and athletic isn’t your type?” In retrospect, most definitely not my best line.
“You mean, dumb, vain, and clearly in need of someone to give you instruction?” She shot back, pointing at my uniform. Suddenly, the uniform that had helped me seal the deal with more women than I kept count of was betraying me.
We didn’t become friends that night. She quickly walked away laughing at her own wit as I stood there unable to find the words to counter her jab. But since she was enrolled in the nursing program at UCCS nearby, we eventually found ourselves in the same friend group.
Turns out, her father was a Lieutenant Colonel at the nearby NORAD Complex and had a strict “no military” dating rule, which she dutifully obeyed. She neglected to tell me this fact—her best friend Donna eventually spilled the beans—and Jessica brushed it off when I finally brought it up. “Someone had to knock you down a peg or two,” she laughed.
As far as football went, I won’t lie and say I was some force of nature. During my freshman and sophomore seasons, I was merely a special teams contributor. But during my junior year, I finally broke through.
My linebacker coach Alex Means had convinced our new defensive coordinator, Steve Russ, that I would be an asset rushing the passer in certain situations. That suggestion earned me enough playing time to make a difference, and I finally made an impact outside of special teams, notching 6 sacks my junior year.
That summer in 2013, I felt like my life was on the verge of finally beginning. My Single Scope Background Investigation (SSBI) had been submitted the previous fall, the final hurdle before starting my commission after graduation. All that stood in between me and finally realizing my dream of flying jets was completing my senior season.
Even though football was going to be an afterthought after my senior year—I had no illusions of being drafted—I was hopeful of turning my junior breakout into a strong senior season, if nothing more than pride.
As I finished my final lift of the July off-season program, a notification came through in the group chat from Jessica.
“We meeting up at Gasoline tonight or what?” her message to the group read.
“I’ll be there if you are,” I typed back, just to Jessica. Hanging out with her had quickly become a priority over the rest of the group, and while I wouldn’t admit it out loud, I was quietly hoping that she would be a part of my future too, no military rule be damned.
“See you then,” she had typed back with a winking emoji.
“Maybe the rule was more of a guideline,” I thought to myself as I gathered my gear.
“Or maybe not, but regardless. I’m ready for whatever comes next.”
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Soapy
- Posts: 13693
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
No Father's Son
just peeped the dates and the timeline
hmmmmm
hmmmmm
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 13814
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
My guy can't help himself even in the writing. Hopefully he doesn't do her like his daddy did his mama.-
redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 3794
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
No Father's Son
born in 1992, hmmm indeed.
Coach Calipari did complain recently about dudes with wives and kids playing college sports
Had to throw it in
boy just wants some prime milk - Hilary Duff type ya know
Funnily enough, in the original drafts Jessica is a brunette with dark features. But after throwing in the line about Leslie, had to change it up
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 3794
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
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redsox907
Topic author - Posts: 3794
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
No Father's Son
one more bump?