By JOHN JAMES MARSHALL/Designated Writers

Another August 12 has come and gone and happily, I have survived.

That might not seem like such a big deal to you, but there were a few years there — four to be exact — when I wasn’t sure I would.

Now, somewhat sad to say, August 12 is just another day. But if you were a high school football player in the mid-1970s, it was anything but that.

Those of a certain age remember when school wasn’t in session anywhere near August 12. Summer was still going on … for most people.

But August 12 was the day that Louisiana high school football two-a-days began. Believe me, you dreaded that day more than any final exam you didn’t study for. More than calling a girl and asking for a date to Homecoming. More than telling Dad that there had “been a little accident” with the car.

Every August 12, I would walk into the locker room with the same thought college basketball teams have during March Madness — survive and advance.

It was five days of practicing twice a day without pads — that was no fun — followed by that sixth day when we strapped it on — which was less fun. Soreness was your constant companion.

The coach would come around the corner and blow the whistle for the opening lap and it was on. As a freshman, you wondered why you were even out there. As a sophomore, you were a tackling dummy. As a junior, you questioned the sanity of these people they called coaches. As a senior, you wondered why you hadn’t bothered to get in better shape during the summer.

It was always a tough call whether morning or afternoon practice was tougher. Morning meant dew on the ground and we had to do “stations” (rotating every blow of the whistle to a different location for a different conditioning drill/torture). But afternoon practice was always Africa-hot and sticky, plus you were still tired from the morning.

Now, much has changed. Hardly anyone does two-a-days anymore. August 12 has been replaced by a much earlier date with different restrictions as to what can and can’t be done during practice.

We actually looked forward to school starting; it meant two-a-days were over. Gimme Physics over gassers any day of the week.

But to this day, I always stop to remember that no matter how bad things might be going for me on any given August 12, at least I don’t have to rotate between Figure 8s and the Up-Down drill on a dew-covered, itchy grass practice field.

We have always liked Derek Jeter, who seemed to handle his business well, was a perpetual New York Yankees captain, and helped the Yankees win a lot of titles. Designated Writers saw him years ago when Grambling and George Steinbrenner came to Grambling in a February or early March to play an exhibition game against the Tigers.

Because Steinbrenner was close friends with Grambling legend Eddie Robinson, he made the first-string come. I remember Darryl Strawberry striking out in the first inning, then lofting a homer to right-center his second time up, both off aGrambling junior who, just a few hours before, had been in history class.

What I remember about Jeter that day is him fielding a bad, REALLY bad hop grounder, making the play, then looking at second baseman Pat Kelly, making a funny face, and smiling.

Solid attitude.

But a Baltimore fan (guilty!) can never over-like any Yankee that’s not named Bobby Richardson or Mickey Mantle or Yogi Berra or Roger Maris. Jeter was tolerated and respected in this bureau.

Now he’s fallen off the face of the DW map, and if you look at the picture above, it’s easy to see why. I mean, I appreciate that Jeter was a fine ballplayer on some great clubs and a sharp-looking man. But there’s a new favorite Jeter in DW town.

This is a four-month old Australian shepherd named Jeter. He came from Choudrant, but he’s still an Australian shepherd, not a Choudrant shepherd.

His owner is Malcolm Butler, associate athletics director as the head of athletics communications for Louisiana Tech. Good man. Dog lover. Enough said.

A-Rod, Malcolm’s dog of many years, passed away a few months ago. I have fed A-Rod many times when Malcolm was on the road. A-Rod loved me–as long as there were plenty of bacon treats.

The day A-Rod, a border collie mix and a great American, passed away was a sad day for everyone. He was a wonderful furry guy, was a great friend to many, especially to Malcolm. A-Rod, despite his name (this is the opinion of an Orioles fan), had a great life.

I hope that Jeter has the same. With such an owner, I am positive he will.

You’ll like this: Malcolm bought him from Bill Waller in Choudrant. Bill owns a farm where he rasies border collies — and miniature horses. I know, right?!

“I guess my next dog will be named ‘Judge’,” Malcolm said.

If Aaron Judge heals up and keeps making the Yankees look good, I suspect Malcolm is right.

Malcolm is crazy, but that is beside the point. He has fine taste in dogs.

We are crazy too. About Jeets.

-30-