East St. Louis coach gets guarded after landing the nation’s No. 2 running back
I arrived at Clyde C. Jordan Memorial Stadium on Monday about 40 minutes before the first official practice of the 2025 season for the defending state champion East St. Louis Flyers. I figured it was best to get there early, anticipating a rush of local—and maybe even national—media.
After all, Myson Johnson-Cook, the No. 2-ranked running back prospect in the nation for the class of 2027, would be making his practice debut for the Flyers, fresh off a transfer from a powerhouse Texas high school.
A 6-foot-2, 220-pound junior running back who has clocked a 4.39-second 40-yard dash, Johnson-Cook already holds scholarship offers from college football heavyweights including Georgia, Alabama, Florida, LSU, Notre Dame and Ohio State. You name the school—they want him.
As it turned out, the media “crush” consisted of just me and Belleville News-Democrat photographer Josh Carter, who spent about 90 minutes photographing Johnson-Cook and every other Flyers player.
Carter left as practice continued for another hour and a half. The on-field temperature had to be over 100 degrees, and as a 60-year-old red-haired man with a decidedly Dracula-esque aversion to the sun, I was legitimately struggling with the heat near the end.
I’m still somewhat new to the Midwest, having moved from Denver a couple of years ago. It gets hot there too, but the humidity is nothing like this. I’ll be forever grateful to East St. Louis athletic trainer Destiny, who kindly told me I could have some water from the team’s setup—a contraption with several hoses spraying ice-cold water at high pressure.
“Thank you for not letting me die,” I said, only half-joking.
When practice finally ended, I worked my way over to Johnson-Cook, certain I’d get an interview that would make the boss happy. Johnson-Cook smiled as I introduced myself and started my first question. Just then, a voice boomed from across the field.
“No interviews!” yelled a man in a floppy hat, blue sweatpants, blue sweatshirt and orange sleeves.
There might have been a swear word between “no” and “interviews,” but I can’t say for sure.
The man was Illinois Hall of Fame coach Darren Sunkett. Instantly, Johnson-Cook and the other Flyers players adopted a “I don’t know this guy” look and quickly left the field.
After a moment of hesitation, I walked to the middle of the field to ask the five-time state champion coach, mumbling something along the lines of, “So, no interviews, I take it?”
I’m paraphrasing, but his response was short: “No.”
In my head, I wanted to mention the text I’d sent him last week about being at the first practice, or the fact our photographer had been shooting near him the whole time, or even the small matter of me risking heat stroke for this interview. Instead, all I managed was, “OK, you’re the boss,” before making my way to the car for the 100-mile drive back to Springfield.
Sunkett called out, “Give me a week, then I’ll know more about this team,” then followed with a comment about how his team looked on Day 1 that I won’t repeat here.
Gee ,I thought I’d just seen a ton of perfect spirals from expected starting quarterback Reese Shanklin to multiple fleet-footed receivers, along with Cook looking every bit the five-star blue-chip prospect he’s described.
But, I get it. He’s a tough coach, and he can be tough with the media. Not the first football coach to have done that.
And hey, I’ve been chewed out by the best. In 1996, legendary hockey coach Scotty Bowman called out in a hallway, “I’m looking for a guy named Dater.” After I sheepishly approached the Detroit Red Wings bench boss, he tore into me over something I’d written as the Colorado Avalanche beat writer.
The late former Avalanche general manager, Hall of Famer Pierre Lacroix, once told me in front of the whole team the only sport I was qualified to cover was the “kennel club.” A prominent Denver car dealer once canceled all his advertising with The Denver Post over a story I wrote about issues at a race track he owned—and called me every one of George Carlin’s seven words you’re not supposed to say on TV.
The car dealer came back a week later (every word I’d written was true). Bowman wrote the foreword to a book I published 20 years ago about the Red Wings-Avalanche rivalry, and I even wrote a letter to the Hockey Hall of Fame that may have helped get Lacroix in a few years ago, posthumously.
The point: It’s nothing personal. In fact, I’m honored to have received my first proper chew-out from a high school football legend.
But here’s the thing, Coach: I’ll be back, ready to tell the stories of your kids. I saw nothing but well-behaved, courteous young men out there. One player—a placekicker I hope to write about soon—even brought me a chair at practice, possibly saving my life.
The world deserves to hear the stories of these hungry young athletes, regardless of stars. And I’m here for it. And next time, I’m not taking no for an answer.
Well, except if that’s Sunkett’s actual, you know, answer.
