Spotlight - Joyce Hardy

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Posted by: Content Administrator	3/4/2007
Well, RUBP's, you did it again, just not in a game this time. You did it with words. You have dealt me so many heart stoppers during the past 34 years that I thought I was beyond meltdown. Surprise, tears, gratitude, disbelief, all of the above overwhelmed me Monday. I would have appreciated such sentiments at my funeral, but here and now on a plain old Monday, your tribute touched me deeply. I have always told my kids that when I die I want to be buried under the flagpole in center field, so I guess Rice lucked out on that one because come July, they would have had to dig me up. This is only to warn you all that no matter where I am or when, I'll still be cheering for my Rice Owls. I am the one who is blessed to have been part of so many young lives, so many young men whom I admire and love as my own. You've been good sports to put up with me all these years. Sometimes it's been obvious that my hugs brought you luck, other times there was no doubt that the bubblegum was pure magic. In between, it assured you, I hope, that win or lose, homerun or strikeout, there was somebody up there besides your Mother rooting her heart out for you. There have been games when players knocked each other down to get to that bag of bubblegum first; other days I could hang over the rail and nobody got up off the bench--those days I felt a little foolish, but I have never minded calling out a name to wake someone up. Last year, one of the freshmen came over and took the bag, said thanks, and walked away. I hollered at him, "Hey, you owe me a hug." Puzzled, he turned around and came back, wide-eyed, and gave me a hug, saying, "I'm sorry, I didn't know the rules." It hasn't always been easy to get the gum to you. At UT, it takes an edict from Congress and sometimes verbal indignation to get me past the gate (it wasn't as if I had a bag full of Big Macs,) At Rosenblatt Stadium, the word is always, "no way, lady." I always counter with, "Food? It’s just good luck in a brown bag!" When I won't go away, the ticket taker goes to his supervisor who goes to the director of events, who comes with an officer and escorts me to the Rice Dugout. No kidding, it happens. It's always an adventure on the road. At Minute Maid, I have learned to stuff gum in every pocket and hide the bag until I am safely inside, only then can I reassemble it and deliver it to my Owls. Flying to Omaha with a backpack stuffed with 1500 pieces of bubble gum presents a national alert as it goes through the scanner. After 20 questions and a pat down, they let me through; I've never missed a plane, but now I know to go early. Every season, I struggle to put new names with old numbers, wishing I could remember all of you who have worn the blue and gray for Rice through the years, but those are just names, I haven't forgotten your faces or your smiles. Or your hugs. I can still remember who always blew a bubble after throwing a strike, who always blew a bubble running to first base, who blew the biggest bubble and couldn't get it out of his hair, who won the most-pieces-in-the-mouth contest (44,) who organized the freshmen's chewing competition to alleviate boredom on the bench, who left bubblegum in his back pocket and the laundry left a pink splotch on his pants the rest of the season, who whooped out loud when I put Jolly Roger's in with the gum for a couple of years, who asked if he could take the leftover gum home after every game, who climbed up the concrete wall of our dugout at Texas just to get the bubble gum and give me a one-armed hug, who insisted on getting the bag of gum every game in Omaha and knocked in the winningest run of our 2003 National Championship Game, who signed his autograph, "I love you BGL." Who else has a bag full of memories like that? Every team has had its clown, its hero, its hard-luck kid, its go-to guy, its workhorse. Every team has been special in its own way, in its own time--with or without fences, in Cameron or in Reckling, with 5000 fans or 50--you have all brought your best to the plate and to the classroom and made Rice and all who love it proud. This January, on a sunny Sunday afternoon, as I walked into Reckling Park for the first practice of the season and heard that familiar sound of balls popping on leather, I knew, with joy in my heart, that it was time to fill up my trunk with cartons of Dubble Bubble for my baseball guys--one more time.

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Comments (1)

Re: Joyce Hardy

By Bboyne on 3/6/2007

If there was an award for the top fans in college baseball, Joyce would be first team All America. Her passion, enthusiasm, determination and good humor have no limits. If there was a Hall of Fame for boosters, she would be a unanimous first ballot selection. She makes everyone better, pay more attention and CARE. And she does it with the same kind of unconditional love that makes all her beloved players members of her extended family.
The young guys should know that her affections don't decline with lack of success or diminish after graduation. All RUBP's are "her boys" and always will be. I know- I have been one for over 30 years!
Thanks Joyce- you are a treasure!