There’s a wonderful scene in the 1979 sports film “Take Down,” of which I have a very hard-to-come-by copy.

The movie revolves around an English teacher at a small high school.The instructor is forced into service as the school’s head wrestling coach because no one else wants the job.

With an incredible lack of enthusiasm, the teacher — who is more into Shakespeare and disdains sports competition — takes charge of an eclectic group of athletic misfits and diverse personalities tied together only by a desire to have success.

On a side note, the film featured Edward Herrmann, Lorenzo Lamas in his film debut, Maureen McCormick (Marcia from the “Brady Bunch”), Kathleen Lloyd and future wrestling superstar Maxx Payne (known then as Darryl Robinson).

During a pivotal moment in the movie, the teacher (Herrmann) is asked by his wife (Lloyd) if he ever played sports as a kid.

He recalled playing baseball and hoping to be a pro someday.

She asks what happened to his dream, and he says something like when you don’t have a dream to share with someone it dies.

Several years ago, I recall interviewing a Copan High player who told me he wanted to play in the major leagues.

That impressed me — not because of whether I thought he had a chance or not, but because he dared to dream big.

The taller our dreams the higher we climb — even if fate and uncontrollable circumstances prevent them from being completely fulfilled.

I can’t help but think back to the Greatest Generation.

Many of the young men who enlisted or went into the military via the draft had exceptional athletic ability or skills. Some had already had a taste of professional ball; others had excelled in college or the minor leagues.

But, fighting the war quashed forever their chances of playing on the highest level, at least as a star.

For one thing, many had reached their mid-20’s by the time they came marching home. For others, many battled life-changing injury.

For others, their skills and athletic gifts had eroded, or their interests changed.

Even so, hundreds, if not thousands, still crowded the rosters of minor league baseball teams, college football or basketball rosters or other sports.

They still dared to dream. They still defied the odds. They still clung to the youth and promise that they had sacrificed in one of the most noble causes in the history of mankind.

Not many of them ever rode the elevator to the top of their youthful competitive potential. But, they became All-Stars of determination and persistence.

They never had to wonder “What might have been,” because they traveled the course to the end.

One gritty warrior that made it all the way back was Lou Brissie.

It was exactly 10 years ago when I contacted Brissie to interview him for a feature for the E-E.

Brissie — who served in later years as the National Director for American Legion Baseball —

entered the Army in 1942, at the age of 18.

Two years later, an exploding shell nearly destroyed his left leg.

Doctors initially planned to amputate, but he begged them not to, because he planned to become a pro baseball player.

After nearly 24 major operations, Brissie — who had wear a metal brace on his leg — returned at age 22 to baseball, signing with the Philadelphia A’s.

In his first pitching start of 1948 season for the A’s, Brissie against the Boston Red Sox.

Red Sox legendary hitter Ted Williams lashed a line drive off Brissie’s bad leg. He instantly collapsed like a man falling through a hole and writhed in agony.

He told me later that as soon as he reached first base, a concerned Williams ran over to check Brissie out.

Somehow, despite agony few of us might ever experience, Brissie got up. Somehow he stayed in the game. Somehow he went the distance, striking out Williams for the final out in a 4-2 victory.

Brissie would go on to record 44 wins — and be named an All-Star — in six full seasons.

As someone has said, dreams are stubborn things.

What makes them special is they force us to climb higher, try harder, continue to get up when we’re down and endure more growing pains than we would otherwise.

They make us stronger, regardless of the ultimate result. And, when we have someone supportive to share them with, they can be kept alive.

I hope we’ll always be supportive and respectful of someone else’s dream, no matter how large it might seem.

This article originally appeared on Bartlesville Examiner-Enterprise: TUPATALK: The nature of dreams of progress