Chapter 13: A Fine Mess

“Hey, Joe, what do you mean the freshmen offense knows fourteen plays already? I thought Big John only wanted the freshmen to concentrate on getting in shape, until at least the first scrimmage,” Kevin Krebsback, the JV and Varsity defensive backs coach asked, once the freshmen left the coaches office for second period.

“It’s exactly what I said it was, Kevin,” Coach Alvarez said.

As he sat back down at his desk, he saw he had everyone’s attention, including Coach Barrett. The freshman coaches had decided earlier in the week they would not reveal the freshman being so far ahead of schedule until after the scrimmage with Alamo Heights next week.

“After the third day of two-a-days,” he continued, “we saw there were only a few kids who were out of shape. We pointed out to the group that we wanted to actually coach, and not just put them through the wringer to weed out the guys who couldn’t keep up. A couple of the flabbiest guys outright quit, and two others asked to be made team ‘managers’, and be allowed to continue working out, so maybe in the future they can help the team in a crunch.”

“You mean, right now, you have all the players learning positions and plays? You’re saying they are ready, right now, for their scrimmage next week?” Coach Krebsback was nearly apoplectic.

“Settle down, Kevin. They aren’t that far ahead,” Coach Barrett pointed out from his desk behind Coach Alvarez. “But I would say they are about ready for us to setup a game plan for the scrimmage. We won’t do that just yet, but we will work with the plays we have started them on. Maybe throw a wrench in the works when they are hitting someone they won’t have to shower around, later.”

“Mario is right. They aren’t ready to take on anyone, yet. But they will be, and quickly. I’m telling you, this Murphy kid is something amazing. I tell him once what and how to do something, and he understands perfectly. It is absolutely weird not having to yell at a kid for minutes at a time before he understands what I’m trying to get him to do. I tell him. He does it. If he doesn’t understand, he asks. Then when he understands, he does it perfectly. Every. Freakin’. Time.” Coach Alvarez was smiling from ear to ear, and Coach Barrett was nodding with him.

“Well sure, Joe, we can see he is in great shape; but certainly he has a few hitches in his giddy up? For sure you gotta get some wrongness out of him,” Steve Van Cleave, another JV coach but he also serves as the linebacker coach for the varsity asked with his Texas twang peppering his voice. He sounded Texan to Texans.

“Not much. Like he said this morning, he has never played football before, not even Pop Warner or middle school ball.”

Coach Alvarez was getting his briefcase together to go to class. When the others saw Coach Alvarez close his briefcase, it woke them out of their spell, and they sat up and started to get ready for their respective classes. Coaches were not just coaches. They taught other subjects as well. Being a coach was like a second full time job, in addition to teaching.

“All I know for sure, is that I can’t wait to see what the boy can do when we let him off his leash and he goes after the quarterback at full speed.”

“As a matter of fact, I think the freshman line needs a little work on the blocking sled. Is it open, this afternoon, or are the JV and Varsity using it?”

Coach Van Cleave said it was open for use this afternoon, and Coach Alvarez smiled as he said, “Well then, why don’t you two make sure you can see the sled at the beginning of practice this afternoon. You’ll get a little taste of what Tim Murphy might be able to do.”

While the coach’s office emptied, Coach Barrett made his way over to Coach Alvarez.

“Joe, I thought we weren’t going to clue them in yet on how good Murphy and the others might be?”

“Yeah, Mario, I know. That was the plan, but when I saw the look on Kevin’s face when I said we have sixteen plays already prepped ... oh, wow that was sweet!”

“I saw it, but you know the first thing he will do when he sees Murphy in action, is try to bring him up to the JV, and ride his ass until he quits. He doesn’t want anyone but himself to succeed and he will harpoon another team, even at our own school, just to try and prove he’s the best coach. He wants the head coach’s job when Big John finally retires, and he knows kissing John’s ass is the way to get it.”

Coach Alvarez looked sorry and asked, “Do you think we should warn Murphy about Krebsback?”

After a moment to contemplate the question, Coach Barrett looked at his friend and said, “No. Let’s just get the boy ready to play. Maybe we’ll have the pleasure of seeing him absolutely dominate at least one game, before Fontana and Krebsback try and bury him on the depth chart of the JV and Varsity.”

Coach Barrett had a knack for imitating the deep resonating voice-over actors you hear in movie previews and commercials as he said, “But, then again, he might be able to dominate at the JV level, and force Big John to put a freshman football player on the varsity! Then they’ll try to avoid the carnage, as Murphy destroys all in his path!”

Seeing two coaches laughing as they made their way down a school hall had the strange power to clear the same hall of any students taking their time while getting to class. It was almost like cockroaches running for shelter when the kitchen lights get turned on in the middle of the night.

Tim found himself settling into his second period class, ‘Introduction to Journalism’, rather comfortably. It was a class he’d been looking forward to taking even before the pill changed his life. After taking the pill, rather than sitting quietly in class and regurgitating facts to keep up grades, he now had options he’d previously thought only existed in his dreams. Now they were ripe for the picking.

Signing up for the journalism class was a simple choice, because previous daydreams before the pill often saw Tim becoming a reporter. This was mainly because writing was one of the few things Tim enjoyed doing, and did well. When it came to writing, Tim would often do more than the necessary minimum. He would often turn in seven and eight page reports, when the assignment was for a three page report. Before the pill, writing was one of the few things Tim did well. Now, after the pill, though Tim’s options had multiplied, writing was something he still enjoyed. The idea of detailing important events and printing them for the world to see, was still very appealing to him. But now that he looked like a Greek god, with the strength and speed of ... well, a Greek god! Becoming a quiet alter ego of a Superman was laughable.

Rather than individual desks for each student, the classroom featured conference room tables in a “U” pattern with a podium at the open end. Tim did a double take when he saw the teacher come into the room, because he was a very large man. The last time Tim had seen anyone that fat, was when his future self first appeared to him at Salado Creek.

“My name is Mr. Baird. I am the Journalism teacher. I am also the faculty adviser to ‘The Big Stick’, as well as the yearbook. I will teach you the basics of writing. First we’ll cover writing a good news article, but we’ll also look at a feature article which is more in depth, as well as editorial and column writing. I save those for the end of the year, because before you can write about your opinions, you need to have some.” He barely took a breath before continuing on, just as though he was hoping no one would notice he had just told the class he didn’t think anyone there knew anything!

“I am here to see what kind of writer you are, so that we can show you how to be a better writer. If it is not the fact or a direct quote from someone, you do not write it in a news story. So, here is what I want you to write. Get ready to take some notes. I will give you a fake news conference, and I want you to try and write a small news story. Ready? Good. On we go.”

Bags were opened. Papers shuffled. Notebooks were ready for writing, and also a couple of laptops and tablets were powered up for use. Mr. Baird waited for everyone’s attention and then he began.

Mr. Baird spent the next fifteen minutes weaving a tale about a fictional high school baseball team all deciding to quit at the same time, because the coach kicked a player off the team who ‘came out of the closet.’ He gave a bit of background, and then acted out several different characters who would give quotes for the story. After about twenty minutes, he ended the mock news conference.

“Okay, everyone, I want at least a page, single spaced. I want you to write your best news story out of the information I have given you. If you missed something, too bad. As reporters, you need to find a way to get the information you need and to make sure it is correct. I will read your stories in class, tomorrow. You have the rest of class to work on it. Thank you, and good luck.”

Mr. Baird rechecked that his business shirt was properly tucked into his sans-a-belt slacks. It was a ‘nervous tic’ that the rotund man would perform countless times a day, probably as a subconscious worry over his obvious weight issues. He finished his body sculpting and collected some papers off the podium. Then he quickly made his way out the door and into his office across the hall. Tim, like the rest of the class, was a little flustered but began working on the assignment. The level of noise quickly rose as everyone was questioning everyone else about what one character had said, versus another character.

Tim had used shorthand to write down everything the teacher had said, even though he had total recall via a complete recording in his head, and could remember it all in an instant. On a hunch, Tim feigned a stretch as he stood up. He made his way to the podium, and saw that the teacher had left one sheet of paper folded in half. None of the other students paid any attention to him as he had walked over to the podium, so no one else saw that the teacher had left something on the podium.

Tim quickly and nonchalantly confiscated the paper, and returned to his seat. He opened the once folded over sheet of paper and it read: “Come across the hall to the office, right now. Don’t let anyone else know.”

Tim made his way to the door, exited the class, and crossed the hall to the closed office door and he knocked.

“Enter.”

In the small office were six different large screen computers, as well as three students all designing newspaper pages. On the left side of the office was a doorway to an even smaller office, featuring a desk with a computer and a framed picture, as well as several other framed pictures on the walls ... all of the same woman. The pictures were in different locations, but all were in prominent places where important news stories of the past had happened. Dealey Plaza in Dallas, the 9/11 Memorial in New York, Checkpoint Charlie at the Berlin Wall, and even the Lorraine Motel in Memphis.

The six computer screens in the main work space showcased newspaper pages in different phases of design on the screen. Mr. Baird and another skinny student were obviously managing the three student designers who were working on the first edition of the student newspaper: ‘The Big Stick.’ Easy to figure out, since on the first screen was the school newspaper’s masthead and the large headline “Welcome to Roosevelt High” over a picture of the front entrance of the school.

“Ah, we have our first winner. My you are a big one, aren’t you. And who might you be?” Tim introduced himself, and asked what Mr. Baird meant about being a winner. “Well, normally during an Introduction to Journalism, we spend a majority of time learning about the inverted pyramid, and how to ask questions, then we practice writing, and then we practice writing again. You know, a couple of years ago, it took almost three weeks of doing the mock news conferences and leaving that note on the podium before someone actually found it.”

Tim was nodding and watching the designers as they created newspaper pages on the screen.

“Okay, Mr. Murphy, you have passed the first test. You are curious. That’s good.” Mr. Baird stuck his primary and middle fingers of each hand in the waistband of his slacks and working from his navel to his sides flattening the shirt into the slacks, even though Tim did not see the shirt coming untucked anywhere. Then with his thumbs he retraced the flattening from his sides back to his navel. “I’ll give you some advice for passing my class. Pay attention. Academia is a lot simpler than real life. I will be teaching the basics; however, I will teach some real life tools to becoming a reporter, also. Your curiosity will come in handy for that.”

“Damn, Dave, Helen is right about you. You talk to much,” said the skinny student who was standing with Mr. Baird. He offered his hand to Tim, and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m David Arnold. I’m the editor for ‘The Big Stick, ‘ this year.”

“Thanks. Nice to meet ya. Um, who’s Helen?”

While pointing his thumb towards Mr. Baird, “Oh, that’s this guy’s wife. Though what she sees in him, I’ll never know.” David leaned over to Tim and mockingly whispered, “But she did say she was waiting for me to graduate, so we could run off together to the south of France.”

“Good! Take her off of my hands. She’s too much trouble.” Mr. Baird made a shooing motion toward both Tim and David. The other student designers laughed at the obviously often-used joke as Mr. Baird continued, “Okay, Mr. Murphy ... as I was saying before being rudely interrupted,” he then lightly hip-checked David, and with Mr. Baird’s girth and David’s lack thereof, David mockingly stumbled into the open office, setting off another round of laughs from the designers. “Go ahead and go back to class. Keep working on the assignment, and as soon as you can without anyone noticing, try to put the paper back on the podium. Maybe a second from your class might be worth my time of learning their names. Now run along and finish the assignment. If I’m going to keep an eye on you, I would at least like to know if you can write,” he turned and looked at David and continued, “so I can at least once in my life teach someone who might become a reporter.”

Apparently the shooing motion Tim had seen just a moment earlier was a commonly used mannerism of the portly Mr. Baird.

While walking back to class, Tim decided he was going to stay with the class, and not take Coach Barrett’s advice to simplify his schedule a little. At least it would not be boring!

Third period found Tim going to Algebra. Now here was a class which, if he could get out of he would, in a hot second. Talk about going from ultra interesting and stimulating learning experience to mind numbingly boring! After ten minutes of the teacher droning on about the class requirements and weekly quizzes, Tim decided to go through the text book and do all the problems for each chapter, especially while the teacher ambled on monotonously through the exercise. Tim sat in the back of the class and did not even make eye contact with anyone else in the class. Plans for testing out of the class began to dance in Tim’s imagination. He thought he should probably wait for a couple of weeks until he could ask about that, just to be sure he can handle the day to day of school and football. Then he could begin pushing the boundaries, academically.

Fourth period would be English.

It was the one class every student in every grade was required to take. That way, any important information from the school to the students could be disseminated there. Hopefully it would not be as torturing as his Algebra class.

Now he entered the world of teenage hormones running wild. When the bell rang for class to begin, the door on the other side of the classroom opened and the teacher made he way to the front of the class. The phrases “cougar,” and “MILF” seemed to be appropriate terms for the tiny buxom blonde in a flowery dress and pale blue sweater. It was buttoned to the top and seemed to be fighting with every atom in its being, not to pop open. She walked right up the the podium climbed the small step risers to see clearly over the top, and brought the class to attention by tapping the side with a ring. Well at least she did not have to worry about the male population of the class since they were already at attention ... so to speak.

“Hello, everyone. I realize this is the last class before lunch, and after a summer of eating your parents out of house and home, your blood sugars are probably all out of whack. I ask that you act like young adults and pay attention to the lessons, because I spent a lot of time preparing them to aid your learning. I do not want to talk, just to hear myself talk!

“My goal, by the time we finish at the end of the academic year; is to help each of you gain a more well-rounded appreciation for literature, and gain the ability to understand the basic building blocks used to create world renowned literature. Hopefully, that will plant a seed in each of you that will have each of you continue reading, and perhaps enjoying some of our country’s classic literature for the rest of your lives.” Her smile was genuine and was hiding just a hint of playfulness. This woman knew exactly what the male, and probably a few of the female students in her class, were fixated on. She would use that to keep their interest in her lessons, as long as possible.

“My name is Julianne Holmes, and this is freshman English. Together this year, we will read a few books and discuss them in class. Hopefully, we will do some writing as well. Maybe we can find a budding author or two in this class. Now, let’s make sure the school gets paid by the state for shepherding each of you into a class, and make sure you are where you are supposed to be.” She placed reading glasses from the chain holding them around her neck onto the bridge of her nose so she could read the class attendance. Her flowery sundress did not hide her obviously voluptuous body well. But she probably did not want it to and rather enjoyed showcasing the ‘promises of what might be’ underneath her tight sweater. She looked like Central Casting’s answer for a thirty-something lover of poetry and the pairings of correct wines and cheeses, right down to the use of a faux feather pen while she was taking roll.

The boys in class were dumbstruck. Even though it was easy to see the petite, buxom blonde was probably in her early thirties, she had a young vibe about her and she easily commanded the attention of each person in the room. Her clothing choice just added to the mystery and begged to be investigated even further. At that moment, Tim was thankful for his new memory prowess, because he had just realized he had not heard anything the teacher had said right after calling attendance.

Lunch was lunch. Except that now Tim could eat with his new friends, rather than in middle school where he would cower off to a far away place where hopefully no one would bother him while he ate.

Apparently, Ms. Holmes’ English class was farther away from the cafeteria than his friends’ fourth period class, since he noticed all of them had already commandeered a table for them all to share.

“And here is the last member of out loyal troop of freshman elite football players! We are the men who will bring football greatness to Roosevelt high for the next four years, starting with a freshman district championship.” He waved his hands with a flourish toward Tim and continued, “This, ladies, is Tim Murphy! Tim, these are girls. Try not to bench press any of them.” Apparently Tony Parker was blessed with the gift of gab in front of girls, as he had the five of them giggling up a storm.

“Um, hello.”

“Um, hello? That’s all you have to say?” Tony was playing up to the crowd.

“Um, hello. I’ll be right back I gotta get something to eat.” Everyone at the table started laughing, and Tim blushed from embarrassment while making his way to the lunch lines. The entire time in line waiting for his turn had him worried over what he would talk about with a bunch of girls. He had no idea how to do it in the first place. The line moved quickly. Actually, a little too quickly for Tim’s tastes, since now he could no longer use it as an excuse for not returning to the table with his friends.

“Don’t worry about the girls, man. Tony will get rid of them. He just promised each of them that he would introduce them to you. If there had been a girl in the group worth getting to know, he’d let you know. But I think he is just trying to set up some booty calls for himself later. Because apparently, my friend, you are the main object of the affections for the females here at Roosevelt,” Johnnie said. He was standing behind and whispering around his arm where no one else could hear. “Tony has been promising those girls he would introduce them to you all morning. He is probably wishing you don’t come back to the table, so he can keep trying with those girls. The boy has it bad.”

“Has what bad?

“Puberty. He. Is. Horny,” Johnny added. He emphasized each word as he grabbed another item of food from the available selection.

With the tension broken, Johnnie continued the whispering, “Don’t worry about how to act around girls. They don’t know how to act around you, either. The only girls you need to worry about are the juniors and seniors. If any of them start sniffing around you, be careful; because they know what they want, and they know how you should react. They can smell fear.”

“Now Tony knows you don’t exactly have any game when it comes to sweet talking the girls. So he has graciously offered himself as a human shield to keep the young lassies at bay, and off you.”

The hefty black woman behind the counter laughed, pointed at Johnnie and announced, “Son, you might need to offer yourself up also, if you are tryin’ to keep the girls off this good lookin’ drink of water! Ain’t that right, Maria.”

An equally full figured Latina woman mimed fanning herself like she was trying to cool herself down on a hot, southern day. “Ooh, my, I do declare that just the sight of him has given me the vapors.”

The laughter grew, further embarrassing Tim, but Johnnie gave him a confident few pats on the shoulder and said, “See what I mean. They are coming out of the woodwork for a shot at you.”