JESUP — If you come this way, you might consider scheduling lunch at a popular restaurant, Sybil’s, which most everybody seems to do. Lunch here recently turned into an old-home-week kind of gathering, as I was joined by two well-known local sports personalities, John Donaldson and Len Hauss — both of whom were highly regarded football players who became Georgia Bulldog heroes.

Donaldson spent 11 years coaching at Florida and Georgia before returning home to finish his career where it all started. Hauss left Athens for a 14-year career with the Washington Redskins, where he became an All-Pro center for a team that featured two of the best quarterbacks in the game: Sonny Jurgensen and Billy Kilmer. When Hauss retired, he came back home, too. He had managed his money well and spent time in the banking business, but he mostly took to laid-back living, which is easy to do in Jesup.

Donaldson, who has been slowed by health complications, was nonetheless his old insightful, wise-cracking self. He pointed to Hauss and said to a visitor, “He made me a good coach.” Hauss was a yardage-eating fullback in his formative years with Donaldson, who won two state championships in the ’50s at a time when Valdosta, under the legendary Wright Bazemore, was often unbeatable. Bazemore usually bested everybody because he had more depth and had developed a feeder system in Valdosta. Every kid in town went out for football and they learned Bazemore’s system in grade school. The numbers worked favorably for Bazemore in those days. He had more players to work with, and Valdosta was always keenly sharp and competitive. And, not coincidentally, well coached.

In addition, Bazemore sought every advantage, which is why he was famous for trick plays. Spring a surprise on the competition when they least expect it, like the center keep, which he often used in big games. His linemen were sleek, fast and quick. Bazemore always had a center who could run his pet play with the suddenness of a South Georgia thunderstorm. A lot of coaches thought the play should be outlawed, including Donaldson. The center hikes the ball to the quarterback, who then begins a series of fakes and maneuvers without taking the snap. The center holds the ball for a couple of counts, tucks it, and, before the defense is aware, pursues a clear path to the end zone. Donaldson figured two could play that game.

Without going any further, the old coach asked Hauss if Richard Johnson were still living. Hauss said no, but you could see the twinkle in the coach’s eye and the aurora of respect from Hauss when the onetime Jesup center’s name came up. It was Donaldson who had figured that he had a player who could run the center keep. If the play was legal, Donaldson would use it, too. The key with such plays is propitious timing. Donaldson called it at a critical juncture and caught Valdosta napping. It led to a touchdown and an upset of mighty Valdosta for the South Georgia championship — in Valdosta! Donaldson then had the band parade up and down the field playing, “The Old Gray Mare Ain’t What She Used to Be.” It was one of Jesup’s finest moments.

Hauss would move to center at Georgia, a move he opposed in the beginning but then cogently saw as an opportunity. A torn ligament shortened and limited his college career. Healthy knees and Hauss would likely have made All-America. In Washington, with his pals Jurgensen and Kilmer, he not only became a dominant NFL center — finishing his career under Vince Lombardi, who coached the ’Skins one season before succumbing to cancer — Hauss had fun playing the game. Much of that was over beers with the aforementioned quarterbacks, a laugh-a-minute post-practice ritual. When a Redskin player said he was going to write a book, Kilmer quipped, “Leave my chapter out.”

Once when Billy was groggy from a late hit, he was shaking the cobwebs out when defensive back Richie Petitbon came up to him on the sideline and said, “Billy, you got to shake it off and get back in there. am Wyche (then the backup quarterback with Jurgensen out with injury) is warming up, and he’s already thrown two interceptions.”

The Jurgensen–Kilmer quarterback rivalry may have been the most unusual ever in the NFL — in that there wasn’t one. They were the best of friends, Kilmer once telling a sportswriter, “We don’t care who starts as long as it is not No. 7.” That would have been the third-string quarterback, the arrogant Joe Theismann.

Baseball can have its hot stove league, but I would rather come to Jesup and reminisce at Sybil’s with John Donaldson and Len Hauss.