TCU Football: A Tribute To Bram Kohlhausen
Shortly after TCU's historic comeback win (47-41) over the Oregon Ducks at the 2016 Alamo Bowl, a friend of mine earned several hundred likes for a Facebook post that went something along the lines of: "A bunch of the incoming TCU class in 2034 are going to be named Bram."
Equally impressed, my mentor and late friend, Gregg Franzwa, whose apathy in all things sports-related rivaled only my own, called me shortly after the game, as he knew my parents had twisted my arm into attending, and said: "I didn't expect Superman to make an appearance at that game. I don't know what Frankenstein hijinks happened at the half, but it was nice to see that Superman decided to show up."
I've no doubt that anyone reading this column will have similar stories, insights, memories, and apercus to share, appropriate for the occasion.
As everyone in Frogdom knows, just over a week ago, Bram Kohlhausen, suffered a terrible fall and is currently fighting for his life.
We all send love to him and his family and dearly hope he manages a full recovery.
And though it goes without saying the man is a man, not merely the college football hero of seven years ago, he is, nevertheless, and deservedly, one of the great TCU alum, indeed one of the most memorable athletes in recent college football history, and a tribute to him on that level is due.
As I wrote, ad nauseum and infinitum, during the 2022-23 football season, TCU can boast what surely must be one of the great underdog stories of our time. Once and again, like the minute hand trotting the lines of the clock, against favored opponents and considerable deficits, the Horned Frog family has beaten the odds and pulled a smiling spitting lizard out of a victorious purple velour hat. Whether at the Rose Bowl, the Alamo Bowl, the Peach Bowl, or any game almost chosen at random from last year, it would seem that a dedication to underdog status is a prerequisite for TCU Football team membership.
And no one earned that membership more than Bram Kohlhausen, nor did more to establish it.
The man started in one game in his NCAA career, and in those few hours, he made history, leading his team from a 31-point deficit to win in triple-overtime. Exact stats: 28 completions, 351 yards, two touchdowns, two scores run in, 45 additional yards on his own (presumably two) feet.
And, for about thirty minutes, I hated him for it.
Allow me to explain.
Until I took this job, compliments of Barry Lewis and Ryann Zeller (blame them!), in the fairest weather, I was apathetic about sports. And when asked to brave inclement elements, I absolutely hated anything involving a ball and air. And as anyone who witnessed the great night of January 2, 2016 can attest, it was a cold, rainy, miserable game I had to endure for two quarters and a seemingly longer halftime.
Needless to say, as we were down 31-0, I made the modest demand of the Father that we leave as soon as possible. "We're getting tanked, I'm cold, pneumonia's about to set in, this is supposed to be fun, it's not fun, what are we waiting for?" I said some more things after that, I'm sure.
"Let's give them one more down," he said--by "them" referring, of course, to "us."
I don't recall what happened at that down. But I know that just as the Old Man stood, stoically braving defeat as the only member of our family who ever had anything resembling an athlete's career, the only one who knew firsthand how painful a defeat was, something happened that caused him to pause. I saw the look on his face and muttered "oh no."
"Give them another down," he said.
We did.
"Give them another quarter," he said.
We did.
Dear reader, can you possibly blame me for resenting this upstart who had taken it upon himself to ensure that he was going to put up a good enough fight that I'd have to freeze only to endure inevitable defeat?
Well, as we all know, that's not what happened. Rather, a miracle did, in the rain, and cold, and there came a time I recall, toward the end of the fourth quarter that the Father said, "We're going to win this game."
And we did. Bram Kohlhausen did.
The greatest achievements are only truly appreciable in retrospect. History reveals itself like hills of clarity, time's mist passing over, and when all settles, there is a gold-peaked chain of names: Dalton, Boykin, Duggan. And there, between them, connecting them, stands Kohlhausen.
Heroes are a good thing to have. Their benefit is both idealistic and pragmatic, as Aristotle understood--idealistic in reminding us what can be done, pragmatic in reminding us of what has been and can be again.
Bram Kohlhausen is a hero. The mightiest of all Underfrogs. All blessings to him and his family.
Want to join the discussion? Click here to become a member of the Killer Frogs message board community today!
Follow KillerFrogs on Twitter to stay up to date on all the latest TCU news! Follow KillerFrogs on Facebook and Instagram as well. Download the KillerFrogs app on Google Play or in the Apple App Store.
