Bonner: Dak Prescott's final Dawg Walk through my eyes
STARKVLLE — I experienced the Dawg Walk before I tasted a Mississippi catfish filet or nugget of fried okra. Less than a month into my tenure at the Clarion-Ledger, I followed Mississippi State’s baseball team into Hoover Metropolitan Stadium for the Southeastern Conference Tournament weeks before their run into the 2013 College World Series.
More than two-and-a-half years later, I’ve watched Dawg Walks from Kentucky to Alabama and Memphis to Miami. Nothing compares to the experience of Dak Prescott’s final journey through the Junction on Saturday.
The fifth-year senior emerged from the second team-bus about two minutes after they parted a sea of maroon on Stone Blvd. Prescott followed De’Runnya Wilson down the steps of the bus. He wore a maroon Letterman jacket with gray sleeves. A white “M” popped on the left side of the unbuttoned jacket that revealed a white dress shirt and a Mississippi State bowtie.
The sight ignited clangs of cowbells mixed with high-pitched screams. The two meshed for the next 10 minutes as the quarterback began his final pilgrimage to the locker room inside Davis Wade Stadium.
A police officer behind me asked, “Are you with the team?”
I replied, “Yes, I’m filming Dak Prescott.”
“Push him along.”
More than a walk, the tradition that takes place two-hours before every football game felt like the current of a river.
At the start, it’s slow. There’s time to appreciate what lies ahead. Prescott hugged a handful of fans. He posed for a selfie. He embraced MSU’s long-time bus driver Everett Kennard, then met Megan Mullen, the wife of coach Dan Mullen. They shared a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She said something in his ear and patted him on the shoulder. He was off. The current took over.
The officer on Prescott’s left guided the quarterback downstream with his right thumb inside the waist of the senior’s khakis. The guard’s index and middle fingers wrapped around the outside for a better grip.
Another officer stood on the right. A third cleared a path ahead. At times a fourth closed in, bumping me aside, to complete the force-field around Prescott.
Arms, cowbells and cell phones extended over the pathway like limbs of a tree. Occasionally, a set of arms would entangle the quarterback for a quick hug.
Prescott high-fived as many open palms as he could. He shook as many hands as were offered.
He worked back upstream occasionally to meet with those he recognized, including one fan in a wheel chair.
The current didn’t allow for anything more than a few sentences and pushed the best player in Mississippi State history forward. On a day where presidential hopeful Jeb Bush visited campus, no one captivated Starkville more than Prescott.
I’ve witnessed Prescott capture 38 school records, lead Mississippi State to No. 1 in the country and accommodate hundreds of autograph requests, yet his effect on campus never felt greater.
The traffic ahead slowed the stream only a few times. Fans took advantage by snapping as many selfies as they could.
Halfway through the journey, the cream-colored facade of Davis Wade Stadium looked down on the final straightaway. It felt like a comforting homestretch after bouncing through the twists and turns of pats on the back.
A familiar crew from Haughton, Louisiana, Prescott’s hometown, greeted him down the backstretch. Rodney Guin, Prescott’s high school coach, hugged him and patted him on the back. The 10-second exchange began with Guin’s wife kissing the quarterback on the cheek.
Pride beamed from them both. The moment highlighted the best aspects of the walk. The worst stretch immediately followed.
The straightaway turned turbulent when group of fraternity brothers clogged the current, forcing security to bulldoze through. The speed at which Prescott’s white Jordans carried him along the route picked up.
The exhilaration of the first seven minutes turned chaotic. Celebration turned to anxiety.
Prescott’s efforts to connect with someone, who he appeared to know, were no match for the force of the guards pushing him through.
The hurried pace settled at the mouth of the Dawg Walk. The final steps took the longest and brought the most emotion.
Familiar faces paused Prescott’s final walk. His brother Tad, his uncle Phil, aunt Valrie and grandmother Margaret all embraced the man that thousands waited to see. Each wiped tears from their eyes.
One final hug, with his father wearing a maroon No. 15 jersey, ended the 10-minute journey.
Prescott disappeared into the locker room for his final home game as a Bulldog.
Thousands of players have walked the same path. Many more will in the future.
For those in the Junction and from someone who accompanied No. 15 on Saturday, it’s difficult to envision anyone ever following the footsteps of Dak Prescott.
Contact Michael Bonner at mbonner@jackson.gannett.com. Follow @MikeBBonner on Twitter.