Scramble
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 37
Monday, we were back to seven-on-seven practice. While we’d won the qualifying tournament, we knew there were going to be harder teams ahead of us and the tournament was in two weeks, the day after the last day of school.
“Listen up,” Coach Holloway said as practice started. “I watched the film from last weekend’s tournament, and while I’m proud we qualified for state, what I saw on that field was sloppy.”
Kenneth nodded. “Coach is right. We made a lot of mistakes.”
“Our timing was off. Some of you receivers were not doing everything you could on every play to get free and Blake, you have to watch your timing. I know there’s clock pressure but get set and then make your throw. But most of all, we had too many communication breakdowns. And defense, you need to play your assignments tighter. You cannot let them complete easy passes, which there were a lot of in the Amarillo game. You are just as important to our success as the offense. You need to hustle and keep the pressure on the entire time, forcing them to make bad passes.”
He was right about the timing issues. During the championship game, I’d overthrown Mickey twice and nearly thrown an interception because Hunter and I weren’t on the same page about his comeback route.
“The next two weeks are about fixing these problems,” Coach continued. “Because what we showed last weekend won’t be enough to win the whole thing. Not even close. Understood?”
Everyone nodded but otherwise didn’t have anything to say.
“Kenneth, start them with receiver drills against press coverage,” Coach instructed. “These boys need to work on their releases off the line. Too often, they are getting jammed up.”
“You got it, Coach,” Kenneth replied, then turned to address the team. “First-string offense with me. Everyone else, work with Coach on defensive reads.”
As we broke into groups, I jogged over to join Hunter, Mickey, and Miguel.
“How’s the ankle?” I asked Hunter as we lined up.
“Good to go,” he said, flexing his foot. “They cleared me this afternoon.”
“Good,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder.
Kenneth positioned himself as the defender, getting into a press coverage stance. “Hunter, you’re up first. Show me a quick slant against press.”
Hunter lined up across from Kenneth, who immediately got physical at the line, jamming Hunter’s shoulder and trying to disrupt his timing. Hunter stayed low, used his hands to create separation, and managed to get enough separation so that I would have been able to get the ball to him.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Kenneth said. “Mickey, your turn.”
For the next fifteen minutes, we worked through various routes against press coverage. Hunter was like a man on fire, like he had something to prove.
Things must not have been going as well with the reserves because Elijah was getting loud enough that I could hear him halfway across the field.
“Come on, Gabriel! I was open by three yards!”
Gabriel looked flustered. “Sorry, man. I thought you were going to keep running.”
“I ran it exactly like it’s supposed to be run,” Elijah snapped. “You just need to get the ball out faster.”
I tried to ignore him and focus on what we were doing, but he was being loud, obnoxious.
“Blake, get your head in the game,” Kenneth called, tossing me the ball. “Let’s see you do it again, Miguel.”
I managed to ignore Elijah’s bitching and get back to work. We were making progress, but the timing was still intermittent, especially with Miguel and Hunter. It wasn’t that they were doing stuff wrong or even that I was, I’d just made a lot more passes to Mickey, Miles, and even Jerry than I had with the guys on the freshman team.
A lot of that was just taking enough snaps with them so I could recognize their moves, know what they were going to do because the playbook may say one thing, but the only way to actually win was to adjust to what the defense was doing, and I needed to know them well enough to see the adjustment coming and make the right throw. And they needed to know the throws I would make.
After ten more minutes of straight throwing, Kenneth yelled, “Water break! Five minutes!”
Elijah was talking it up when we got to the sideline. He was talking to Jake and Aidan, but loud enough that it was clear he wanted everyone to hear.
“I can’t work with Gabriel anymore,” Elijah announced, like he was making some kind of official declaration. “The guy’s killing any chance I have to show what I can do.”
“Kenneth should see it if the coach doesn’t. You should talk to him,” Jake suggested.
“Oh, I’m going to. This whole starting lineup is backward anyway. I proved in the semifinal that I can make the big plays when it matters. I came in cold, no warm-up, and immediately made plays that helped us win. Meanwhile, Hunter makes a couple of easy completions and everyone acts like he’s some kind of superstar.”
Hunter was only about ten feet away, close enough to hear every word. I could have sworn he’d react, but he kept his head and ignored them while he drank some water.
Which just seemed to piss off Elijah more.
“I mean, look at the numbers,” Elijah continued, kicking into high gear. “In the time I played in that semifinal, I had more yards per catch than Hunter had in the entire tournament.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Hunter’s been consistent,” Mickey said.
“Consistent at being average,” Elijah shot back. “If we’re going to win, average isn’t going to cut it.”
I guess Hunter had had enough because he turned around and said, “You done?”
“Actually, no,” Elijah said, stepping toward Hunter. “I think it’s time someone said what everyone’s thinking. You figured out that the only people who get spots at this school are the guys who kiss up to the coach’s wonder boy. I don’t blame you, honestly. You saw your shot and decided you’d rather sell out your real friends and get a spot than try to actually earn it.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Elijah said. “The problem is, you’re not good enough, so you’re going to hold everyone else back. I’m not Blake, I want our team to actually win some games and not just play favorites.”
“You know what, Elijah?” Hunter said. “You should stop complaining to the coaches about playing time and try earning a spot on the field by not being such a goddamn prima donna.”
“Prima donna?” Elijah said, giving a forced laugh. “That’s rich coming from someone who acts like he’s entitled to a starting spot just because he showed up to practice every day.”
“Hunter’s done everything the coaches have asked him to do,” I said, stepping closer to Elijah. “He’s bought into the team concept, he doesn’t cause drama, and he’s made the whole offense better. He deserves that starting spot.”
Elijah’s eyes flashed. “And there it is. Blake Sims, freshman quarterback, deciding who deserves what. Tell me, Blake, when did Coach Holloway hand over the keys to the team?”
I was done listening to him rant. He could complain all he wanted, but I wasn’t going to stand by while he dragged me through the mud.
“What did you just say?” I asked, taking a few steps toward him.
“You heard me. What this program should value is talent,” Elijah shot back. “Not who’s friends with the quarterback. Talent.”
“That’s rich considering who’s saying it. You’re the one trying to bully your way into a starting position instead of earning it.”
The argument was starting to draw a crowd. Mickey and Jerry moved closer to our group, clearly on my and Hunter’s side, and Jake and Aidan flanked Elijah. It wasn’t hard to see the standoff from a distance.
“Screw that,” Mickey said. “Team chemistry is way better with Hunter starting.”
“Chemistry?” Elijah laughed bitterly. “Grow up. This is the big time. We’re not on the playground anymore.”
“Hunter doesn’t complain, doesn’t cause drama, and catches everything thrown his way. That matters,” Jerry said.
“What matters is making plays when the game is on the line,” Jake said. “And Elijah proved he can do that this weekend.”
There was a real divide starting to happen. Between Elijah’s guys and everyone else, but all he needed was one or two more to make it a real problem. The whole point of this practice was supposed to be to fix our problems, not create new ones.
“You see what you’re doing?” I said to Elijah. “You’re splitting the team apart because you can’t handle not being the star.”
“I’m trying to win,” Elijah fired back. “Unlike...”
TWEET!
Coach Holloway’s whistle cut off any more arguments. We all turned to look at him, and he looked pissed.
“Everyone take a knee! Now!”
No argument was going to make us forget who was really in charge. We all dropped to one knee in a circle. Coach Holloway stomped over to us, stopping in the center of the impromptu circle.
“I’m tired of this constant drama,” he said. “Tired of personal conflicts disrupting my practice field. Tired of players who care more about their own stats than the success of this team. Blake, Elijah, you want to have a pissing contest? Fine. Do it on your own time. But another outburst like this, from either of you, and you’ll both be watching the state tournament from the stands. Are we clear?”
That was bullshit. Elijah was the one out here causing problems, and I was getting called out for defending myself.
Not that I was going to say that to Coach.
“Yes, sir,” I said immediately.
Elijah hesitated for a moment, then added, “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Coach said, then turned his attention specifically to Elijah. “Now, since you seem to have some concerns about the starting lineup, let me address them directly.”
Elijah straightened up slightly. Did he really think, hearing the tone of Coach’s voice, that he was about to get what he wanted?