Football invades our house in late August, with no firm retreat date. Joseph, my seventeen-year-old stepson, is the starting noseguard on the Rock Bridge High School football team, and Louis, my fifteen-year-old stepson, plays percussion in the Rock Bridge band. Normally, the season ends by Halloween — but not this year.

The Rock Bridge Bruins won their first three games handily, and were ranked second in the state of Missouri, but then lost their next game at home to an inferior team. “They punched us in the mouth,” Joseph told me after the game, “and we never recovered.”

After defeating their archrival, the Bruins lost their final four games, the final one at home to a team that injured Rock Bridge’s starting quarterback and an offensive lineman. And the Bruins would have to play them on the road the following week in the first round of the play-offs.

No one was very optimistic during the first several days after the last loss, but as time passed, Joseph became more confident. “We know we have the talent to beat them,” he told me. And then the starting quarterback’s father sent an e-mail informing us that the fans of the team we would be playing were gloating about how their team had injured his son on purpose.

“We’ll kick their asses,” Joseph stated as he left the house for the game.

And Rock Bridge did, in large part due to the heroics of one of the sons of the photographer who took the pictures on the covers of my memoir “Breaking Barriers: Working and Loving While Blind.” And Joseph was “a beast,” according to several people who saw the game.

The Bruins advanced to the semifinals of the playoffs by winning two more games on the road. Several days prior to each game, the quarterback’s dad would send an e-mail informing us of how the Rock Bridge team was being dissed, and exhorting us adults to tell our young men to keep winning.

I asked Joseph about his thoughts about the team Rock Bridge would be playing at home in the semifinals.

“They suck!” he grunted.

“So why are they undefeated?” I asked.

“They have a good running back and wide receiver,” he growled. “But the rest of them suck.”

The “good” running back ran for more than 300 yards; the “good” wide receiver accounted for more than 100 more yards; and Rock Bridge’s quarterback threw six interceptions. But somehow, the Bruins won when that “good” running back fumbled the ball near the Rock Bridge goal line with less than a minute to play. “A gift from God,” Joseph told my wife and me later that evening.

The championship game took place the day after Thanksgiving in the dome where the St. Louis Rams play. Around 100 people cheered the Rock Bridge players as they boarded the busses after eating breakfast at a local Cracker Barrel. (Louis and I got the attention of a local journalist by rattling a cowbell and hitting a wood block.) Despite our noise, the Bruins lost, but the team left the dome in high spirits.

Thank you, Rock Bridge Bruins football team, for taking us on a wild journey. Thanks for reminding us that the right combination of talent, good leadership, and the exhortations of a disgruntled dad can turn things around. And thanks, Joseph, for answering my questions and listening to my advice.

Rock Bridge high,

Rock Bridge low;

Rock Bridge rocks

Wherever they go.