Antelopes’ Title-Game Performance Was One From the Heart

Talk about mood swings.

Fifty-three weeks ago, Caleb Smith was the last person to leave the football field at Antelope Valley High. Heck, they even turned out the stadium lights on the poor guy.

Yet there he stood, under a goal post, ruminating on the Antelopes’ emotional 15-11 loss to Mater Dei in the Southern Section semifinals. Nobody was left in the stadium but Smith and a custodian. Smith couldn’t let go. A nagging notion kept caroming around in his noggin as he tearfully stared into the sparkling desert sky.

We should be good in ‘94, but will we be this good? Will we make it this far? I sure hope so.

And when you wish upon a star. . . .

Antelope Valley’s 36-15 upset of Hart in the Division II championship game Friday night was as one-sided as it was shocking. At jam-packed College of the Canyons, a stadium mothballed for much of the season because of earthquake damage, this was another hefty jolt for the Richter scale.

Top-seeded Hart (13-1) entered not only unbeaten but unbowed, having scored more than 50 points in two preceding playoff victories. It was over so quickly, only one sound was audible on Hart’s half of the stadium: Gasp.

The Indians were dispatched efficiently and expediently. Unbelievably, Hart committed five turnovers and trailed by 29 points at the half--precisely the team’s average margin of victory over the first 12 games. No previous opponent had scored more than 23 points.

“Somebody had to put pressure on (quarterback Steve McKeon),” Antelope Valley Coach Brent Newcomb said. “Or they’ll rain down on you all night.”

Antelope Valley issued thunder from asunder in the form of Smith and defensive linemen Chad Shrout, senior co-captains who played like Smith and Wesson in accounting for seven sacks and much of the team’s early lead.

Smith, the kid with the Biblical first name, was whooping and hollering like a hellion. Shrout was busting heads in such a frenzy that he nearly knocked himself cold.

In no place was Antelope Valley seemingly more undermanned than on its defensive front. Throw Hart’s massive offensive line in a hot tub and they’d issue flash-flood warnings throughout the Santa Clarita Valley. With an average size of 6 feet 4 and 266 pounds, the front five were immovable--but hardly impermeable, as it turned out.

Antelope Valley (11-2) threw a few subtle wrinkles at Hart. Seconds before the snap, the defensive line would shift slightly and line up in the gaps. The first step was critical as each player tried different slants and angles. Hart ballcarriers were relentlessly pressured in the backfield.

“I think our speed really helped,” Smith said. “When their linemen got their hands on you, they did a good job. But sometimes, we could get around the corner or get inside on them.”

Said Shrout: “It was tough getting around those big guys. But we changed things up and used our speed to outmaneuver ‘em.”

Smith (6-4, 220) looked like a latter-day Fred Dryer. Shrout (6-2, 235) is built more like Fred Flintstone. McKeon, hopelessly behind from the first quarter on, was the quarry.

Even when he had a moment to throw, McKeon was ceaselessly pounded. Antelope Valley had more delivery sacks than a take-out restaurant.

Considering the Antelopes’ inability to throw--how the heck did they manage a 29-0 halftime lead without completing a pass?--it was crucial for them to score first. Otherwise, Hart’s quick-strike offense might have hopelessly buried them. Leave it to Smith and Shrout, which rhymes with twist and shout, a theme played over and over and over in the first half.

Hart running back Ted Iacenda fumbled twice before halftime. In each instance, Smith pounced on the ball and curled around it in the fetal position.

Hart was in a futile position, already down, 16-0, with 9 minutes 14 seconds left in the half. Shrout, an all-state kicker who thumped field goals of 45, 28 and 43 yards, might have added another sack or two had he not missed a series in the second half. After making a vicious third-quarter tackle, he wobbled to the sideline, complaining that he couldn’t see straight. Hart could relate.

Shrout briefly had trouble finding his chin strap. Assistant coach James Richards pulled Shrout aside, helped yank off his helmet and administered the ol’ concussion test.

Richards: What day is it?

Shrout: Uh, Friday.

Richards: Who are we playing?

Shrout: Hart.

Richards: What’s your phone number?

Shrout: Two, three . . . Oh, come on!

The pair broke out laughing. By that point, this was not an isolated response.

Smith popped his lid, too. Moments after the final gun sounded, Smith tossed his helmet to the ground and joined the raucous rugby scrum at midfield. Five minutes later, he hadn’t located it and wasn’t the least concerned.

Last year, Smith played in the playoff loss to Mater Dei with a shattered bone in his thumb. A few weeks later, two pins were surgically inserted to mend the break. A nasty scar remains.

Broken hearted, broken thumb. . . . What a different ending in ’94. He couldn’t begin to put his finger on the difference in terms of emotion.

“It’s awe-inspiring,” said Smith, the Golden League’s lineman of the year. “I can’t even speak right now. I don’t have the words.”

Shrout, however, had plenty.

“Sometimes, a year, a game, a play, goes exactly the way you want it,” said Shrout, whose every move was watched by a scout from Notre Dame. “This year was that way for us.

“All the time we put in, the running, the sweat. We deserved this.”