“No, sir,” the kid answered as he licked his lips and cleared his throat because his voice had cracked. Actually cracked.
“You got some hot rally girl on your mind?” Cam asked.
A pink flush filled the kid’s cheeks. Oh yeah. There was definitely a rally girl.
Brian shook his head, then swiped the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. “No, sir. I mean, she’s not really my rally girl but—”
“Yeah, okay,” Cameron cut him off. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re not running the play I gave you.”
Brian shook his head, as though not sure how to answer the question. Probably because he didn’t know. Probably the kid thought he had been running the play, only the play in his head wasn’t the play Cam had given them.
Blake kept silent while Cameron did his thing with the player.
“Remember, ninety percent of the game is in here,” Cameron said as he tapped the kid on the forehead with his knuckle. Then he slapped Brian on the shoulder. “Now get your ass back out there.”
Instead of responding, Brian replaced his lid and sprinted back on the field. Blake hooked his hands on his hips, blew his whistle, and clapped his hands three times. The kids, recognizing the signal to lend their undivided attention to their coach, snapped their heads toward Blake. Some of them removed their helmets; others tried to get their labored breathing under control.
“You expect to win games with that half-assed display you just showed me?” Blake called out to his players. The kids alternated between panting and shifting their feet on the grass. “If you expect people to spend their hard-earned money on tickets to watch you play, you’ve got to do a hell of a lot better than that. Otherwise all they’re going to get is a bunch of sorry-ass pansies who couldn’t outplay a peewee league.”
The team stared back at Blake with wide eyes, reminding him he was dealing with a bunch of kids who didn’t have the hardy exterior of professionals. Were they not used to a coach who told them like it was? Blake rolled his shoulders, attempting to loosen his muscles and the tension that came with the enormous responsibility of whipping these kids into shape.
“I didn’t hear a ‘yes, Coach’!” Cameron called out.
The kids responded with a “yes, Coach” that sounded like a bunch of defeated rejects, bringing Blake back to the reality of their situation. Seeing their faces, looking into the eyes of kids who’d never tasted victory, who’d never known the exhilaration of having the town at their backs, stands filled with screaming fans, was like someone letting the air out of Blake’s balloon. Having experienced that firsthand, Blake knew how walking around on cloud nine could fuel a player’s motivation to exceed to the next level. To elevate the game even higher so the fans knew they could depend on them to bring them another win.
These poor kids didn’t have the first clue what that was like, and they deserved to feel it, even for just a brief moment. Blake swore to himself they would have that for more than just a moment.
“Again!” Cameron demanded. “Make them hear you in Pagosa Springs! Remind those guys that we’re still here!”
This time their collective “yes, Coach” was loud enough to be heard on top of Chimney Rock.
Blake blew his whistle again. “Y’all will keep running that play until you can execute it in your sleep!”
The grunts and smacking of helmets that followed brought a fresh wave of nostalgia over Blake. There wasn’t quite anything like the sounds and smells of the game. The feeling was something only someone with a passion and drive for football could understand. For years it was all Blake had known. All he had cared about and he had never wanted or imagined doing anything else with his life.
He only had himself to blame for effing it all up. Knowing how things ended, would he have done anything differently?
Hell yes, he regretted the use of illegal drugs to enhance his body. And, sure, he could’ve outed the trainers. But ultimately, he was the one responsible for his own body. Ultimately, he’d allowed them to do whatever it took to win.
Blake turned his attention back to the kids on the field as Matt West, his cousin’s son, executed some serious blocking, paving the way for Scott Porter to move forward and receive the ball.
“Now that’s the kind of passion I like to see.”
Blake gritted his back teeth when Drew Spalding sauntered up next to him. The school district’s athletic director managed to radiate cockiness and charm all at the same time.
“Something I can help you with, Drew?” Blake asked as he kept his focus on his players, hoping Drew would take Blake’s not-so-subtle hint and go the eff away.
“Just thought I’d stop by for a few minutes and watch the first practice of the season,” the guy answered.
Invaded was more like it, because they both knew Drew was there to see the coaching staff more than the kids. Drew and Cameron had a rivalry that went back to high school, and things had only gotten worse from there.
Drew pointed toward the end of the field. “Why is Cody doing push-ups over there? Seems to me he ought to be running the play with his team.”
The muscle in Blake’s jaw clenched even tighter. “He mouthed off to Cameron.” Damn, was this guy going to question everything he did?
“You shouldn’t overwork your quarterback,” Drew scolded. “He could pull a muscle.”
He shot the athletic director an impatient look. “Then he shouldn’t be talking back to his coaches. The kid needs to understand that he’s not in Texas anymore.”
Cody Richardson was one of the few kids on the team with real talent. The problem was he had a chip on his shoulder the size of Rhode Island and an entitled attitude to go along with it. In Blake’s world, respect had to be earned. Apparently Cody had gotten used to it
