Chapter 19: The Emperor is Wearing No Clothes

Losing their first game of the season was bad. But when Head Varsity Coach John Fontana pulled his truck into his driveway, his wife was waiting outside for him. She had received several calls from various school officials, wanting to know what was Big John going to do about the brewing controversy. She told everyone her husband was not yet home, as he usually went to dinner with the other coaches after a big loss. When the teams won, he would tell his coaches to go home and be with their wives and celebrate their job well done.

She got up from the porch swing overlooking the coach’s well-manicured front lawn. Coach Fontana thought she was coming to console him over the loss.

“John, you have about ten different messages here, about tonight’s game. I think you should call Coach Martin, first.”

Coach Fontana was confused because he didn’t remember a Coach Martin on the Warren staff. The confused look on his face was easily read by his wife. “You remember Coach Martin? From the Texas High School Coaches Association? He called to see what you want to do about what happened, tonight.”

“Well, darlin’, why would the THSCA be worried about my kids getting beat like red-headed step-children. They just gave up. The second half was god awful,” he complained to his wife.

“Oh, you don’t know what happened during the game, do you?” She curled her arm around his, and led him inside the house to his home office where they both had their own desks and computers. She woke hers up first since it was closest to the door. She brought up the TV station website and the top story headline read “Controversy at local football game.” Coach Fontana recognized the reporter from other stories he had done in the past but after watching the story, he could not believe what he was hearing.

“I didn’t hear a damn bit of this, honey. You know me, Francine! If I’d have heard one iota of that mess, I would have raised holy hell right there on the field.” The normally calm, cool and collected coach was having trouble getting his anger under control. He watched the story for a second time just to make sure he heard it correctly. “Okay! Dear, could you get me something to drink? I’ll make a couple of calls before heading to bed.”

Coach Fontana sat down at his desk and with the sheet of messages from his wife, he first called all the varsity coaches and told them to be in the office tomorrow morning at ten, so they could go over what had happened. Then he called the Director of the THSCA. It helped that he’d known the man for nearly thirty years, as they’d both came up the coaching ranks, together.

“Joe Martin, while I live and breathe. I can’t believe they haven’t fired you yet, after your bosses finally discovered that you can’t read, and have been faking your way through life this whole time.”

“Ha! And I can’t believe Francine hasn’t realized that she could do much better, and marry herself a solid human being like a the fry cook at the state prison.” The Texas drawls were heavy in this phone conversation. “Now, we got the pleasantries out of the way, what the hell happened out there tonight, Big John. When they told me it was your school that got it, I thought we were going to have make some kind of statement about you being sorry for strangling several of those boys, personally.”

“You know me too well, then, Joe. Yeah, that’s probably what would have happened; but the honest truth is, I didn’t hear a thing.”

“I figured it was something like that. But damn, Joe, some of the stuff on that recording was just awful. It was like a Klan rally, or something. I kept expecting to hear about some burning crosses, or something.”

“Well, like I said, Joe, I didn’t hear any of it during the game. In fact, I didn’t know about it until Franny played the news story off the web for me. I haven’t heard the unedited stuff, just the news story,” Coach Fontana said but quickly continued. “How did you hear what they said?”

“The reporter is a former player of mine and I have been in touch with him in the past. He sent me a link to download the unedited footage. Here, I’ll go ahead and send the link to you. I should go ahead and send a link of it to Warren’s coach, as well.”

After a moment, Coach Fontana’s email alerted him to the new email. Coach opened the email and opened the link to download the file off the web. Since the sounds were turned on for the computer, Coach Martin could hear it as well. “Go ahead and download it in the background, it is a pretty big file and will take a while. Now for the more important thing ... what the hell happened out there to your boys tonight, Coach? My goodness, I’ve never seen one of your teams ever take a beating like that before.”

“Yeah, it was rough. They seemed like they just gave up. I mean when we went in a halftime we were behind but there was some fight left in the boys and when we started the second half it was like all the air escaped the balloon, and no one wanted to try and blow it back up. I’m gonna have to look over the film with the coaches, and see what the hell happened.”

“Yeah, it sounds like you have your work cut out for you. Hey tomorrow when you talk to your coaches and the coach from Warren, let me know what you want to do about this. Apparently it was a slow news night and this is going to blow up like the Hindenburg. At this point, John, there is almost nothing off the table, punishment wise. But I think you should get some sleep, then talk to your coaches and the Warren coaches and see if it was an all over thing or just one really bad apple that’s damn near spoiled the whole bunch of them. Anyway, give me a call and let me know, tomorrow, what you want to do.”

“I’ll do that, Joe. Good to hear from you again even under these conditions.”

“Right. Give my love to Franny. God knows she deserves something after being married to you all this time.” Coach Martin quickly hung up before Coach Fontana could say anything else. He checked the download and it was about half through and right then his wife came in with a bottle of his favorite beer, Shiner Bock.

“Joe sends his love.”

“I’ll bet. Who did he think I should have married instead of you?”

“Fry cook at a state prison.”

Both laughed as Francine slid her way onto her husband’s lap and gave him a kiss. “Well, I wonder if that job comes with benefits?”

Big John laughed again and gave her a love tap spanking on her rear. But they were interrupted by another beep from the computer. “What’s that honey?”

“Joe sent me a link of the unedited stuff said on the field tonight and it seems it just finished downloading. Do you want to watch it with me?”

“Not really.” Francine made a face like she smelled something foul then stood up and while holding both of her husband’s hands made like she wanted to pull him up out of the chair. “Why don’t you wait until the morning to watch it? That way you can be over your mad about the loss; and concentrate on that, with the others, tomorrow.”

Coach Fontana thought about it for a moment and hesitated. He knew she was right and then he’d never be able to go to sleep without a way to get over his mad at what he will probably hear. He was about to explain to his wife that he would probably go crazy worrying over it, but she ‘cut him off at the pass.’

“Well, we already have a basic idea of what was said. There is nothing you can do about it tonight, anyways; so why don’t you come to bed with me, and then in the morning watch it and be mad all damn day. At least that way, you get a few hours of rest before diving head first into all of this.”

She picked up his half of a beer off the desk and finished it for him and smiled. “I already turned off the ringer on the phone cause it was going crazy before you got home.”

She smiled again and suddenly John Fontana was watching a 20-year-old Francine Allen, the beautiful girl he met in a sociology class back in college. When they first met in class and she smiled at him, his heart skipped a beat. When she finished his bottle of beer just now and smiled at him, his heart skipped a beat.

“I think Joe was right. You’re too good for me.”

“Of course he was right. I am too good for you.”

After a good night of rest, or as good a night as he could get worrying about what had happened to his team; he was lying in bed, thinking. Was he really coaching a bunch of kids who, when someone came at them with something a weak and pathetic as racial epithets, they did nothing about them at all? Is there something he’s missing? Did one of the assistant coaches stop them from doing anything? Are they openly rebelling already, and it’s just the first week of the season?

“Shit. Too many variables in this. I just don’t know what to do,” Big John said softly, hoping he wouldn’t wake up his wife.

“Well, you’ll never get it figured out by staying in bed all morning. I believe you have something to watch on the computer. That’s the one last thing to do before you go off on your mad, today,” Fran was standing on their side of the bed closest to the hall. She had already put on her ‘at home’ clothes and looked like she had been awake for a while. “I got up about thirty minutes ago, took a shower and got started on breakfast. You go ahead on into the bathroom, and I’ll have breakfast for you. You eat, and then watch the film. Then you go see if your assistants knew what went on. Who knows? Maybe one of them, maybe even your son, took it on themselves to keep the team from fighting back.”

She turned back around and went down the hall. Big John decided to heed her advice, since she seemed to be right, alarmingly often.

Halfway during his shower and morning ablutions, Coach decided he was going to ask his wife for a light meal, to keep himself from having an upset stomach if the worst came to fruition. If the team had already given up on themselves, then he didn’t want to be sick and lose the meal involuntarily. He put on a simple TR t-shirt and blue jeans along with his orthopedic white tennis shoes and went to the kitchen. Again proving she could read his mind, a light meal was waiting for him at his seat at the table. Her meal was normal sized. A simple look of astonishment must have shown across his face.

“I figure you would want to have a small meal just in case you find out that those boys won’t even fight for their own teammates. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to be around those boys anymore if I knew that about them. Now, I turned the phone back on, and listened to a couple of voicemail messages. They’re mostly from your coaches who have all confirmed they will be at school at ten this morning. So, you still have time to watch the video a few times. I also went ahead and sent you an email with the Warren’s coach’s number, since he called last night and left it on the voice mail. He said he’ll be there at nine, since he had to see off his freshman team before they got on the bus to Roosevelt.”

The only thing Big John could do was smile. He was still seeing the twenty year old college coed who had just agreed to go steady with him. “What are you grinning about?”

“Nothing important. But I might have something important to talk with you about, when I get home.”

“John, what is it?”

“You know my contract is up after this school year.”

“Yes, you told me that this summer.” Fran put down the morning paper she was skimming to look her husband in his face. “Are you finally thinking about retiring?”

“Last night, before I went to bed, I decided if these boys did not have the heart to fight for themselves; then why should I keep trying to kill myself, teaching them to become good young men. I can just go into regular teaching or stay the athletic director and promote someone else,” he looked up quickly to see the smile come across his wife’s face at the thought of her husband and best friend turning over the job of head coach to their son. “I mean Greg is ready for the job, and if these boys won’t fight anymore, then they need someone else yelling at them; ‘cause apparently my ways don’t work, anymore.”

“John, why are you so stringent in your ways? I mean, yes, they have worked; but you yourself said you would never change your offense. When you started the wishbone was everywhere, then the West Coast offense became the rage. You changed the offense a tiny bit to adapt some of the stuff they did in the West Coast and you were called a genius because when people played against your boys, they didn’t know if you would dink and dunk around them or if you would just smash them in the mouth via the running attack. Then came the run and shoot, which you rightly kept away from, mostly; but you did open up, and put in a shotgun for when you needed to throw the ball. Now with everybody running that spread offense for the last few years ... I remember Mary Ann, you remember Mary Ann, Dr. Johnson from the boosters his wife ... well, anyways, she was telling me the boosters were getting upset with you last year not letting up on some of your rules. Mostly about not letting younger kids play, and letting all the seniors play even over younger ones, who are just better; and about not letting the boys talk to the press. You know the kids nowadays understand the media. They understand that if they say something wrong, it could turn back and bite them on their ass. You know, little things like that.”

Big John was perplexed. “I tell you I’m thinking about retiring, and you want me to up and destroy everything I set up as a program. Is this just for the sake of blowing it all up, and forcing our son to have to rebuild everything?”

“John, if you give him the job, he will blow up a lot of the things you have instituted. He will have to, just to put his face on the program; and have it be his, and not yours with a younger looking you at the helm.”

She got up and sat on his lap in the way that always got him to listen to her. Most times once she sat on his lap, he knew he was going to go with her ideas; but in all their years, she had never butted into anything to do with the football program.

“Don’t worry about all that. I know you won’t quit, yet; and like you said, it was just the first game.”

“I was in the shower thinking about that. I didn’t even say it out loud,” he said.

“I know, I was reading your mind,” she kissed him on the cheek and made her way back to her seat. But before she sat down, “Why, John Fontana! I would never do such a thing. I am a lady.” She took the dirty dishes from breakfast to the kitchen while over-exaggerating the wiggle in her hips.

“Yep, she can read my mind,” he thought to himself with a smile on his face as wide as Texas.

“Thank you again, coach, for calling. I understand you tried to clamp down on all that extra curricular stuff going on between the boys; but to tell you the truth, I am really proud of the way my boys behaved. They didn’t take the easy way out and start fighting, because of all the trash talking coming from your boys.” Varsity Head Coach John Fontana was talking on the phone with the head coach varsity football coach from Warren High School.

“Yes, sir. Thinking about it later, I was proud of your boys, too. I should apologize to you because I heard one boy doing it. I made the mistake of not chastising him in front of everyone. I pulled him aside and told him to cut it out or I’d kick him off the team. But,” the Warren coach took a breath and let it out slowly. “But, apparently he didn’t take me seriously. Later in the game, he did it again. From me to you coach, I kicked him off the team this morning. I just finished the paperwork to have him officially cut from the team. I can see a fight coming, though, because his old man is big with the sports boosters. But, thanks to the footage Coach Brown from THSCA sent to us, it’s easy to tell who said what to who, and when.”

“Well, at least you got one of them to fess up to what he did.”

“Oh, no, sir! The little shit doubled down on his lie that he did not do any of it. He even started naming other players he said he thought he heard doing the same thing. I’m actually right now cue-ing up some of the plays to show his old man, when they come down here later today ... with lawyers, no doubt ... and try to get the kid back on the team.”

“Well, good luck with that, coach. It sounds like you are going to have your hands full just keeping the rest of the season together.”

“Oh, absolutely. But between us coach, I’m not to sure if that wouldn’t be an entirely wrong thing to do either. The film is pretty devastating and those boys certainly had no trouble throwing those words around as if they had done it their whole lives. I know a bunch of them are stuck up, and feel like the world is theirs for the taking; but the only reason I’m going through with this, is for the few good kids stuck in with these rotten to the core bad apples.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Coach Fontana sat back in his chair and decided at that moment he would let the Warren coach handle the discipline, but let the THSCA and his friend Coach Brown act as a watchdog over what he does to his team. “Coach, regarding all this mess ... I consider it closed, from our end. I think our boys either had the intestinal fortitude to stop from retaliating against your boys last night, or they don’t have a lick of fight left in any of them, and they decided as one to sit down and take it. I’m hoping for the former; but from the way they played, I wouldn’t at all be surprised about the latter.”

The coaches finished their conversation, and Coach Fontana decided he needed to get actual answers from his coaches. He got up from his desk and entered the main coaches office used by the rest of the men’s coaches. Frank Robinson and Troy Williams the defensive and offensive varsity team captains respectively, were also there. Coach Fontana gave the boys a slight nod when he entered the office.

“Okay, fellas. Tell me what happened last night.”

It was quite indicative to Big John, when each coach looked to his son, the Varsity offensive line coach, Greg Fontana. So Big John grabbed a seat at the table and waited for a reply.

“Well, personally, Coach; I didn’t hear anything like the news caught last night. I was trying to get the offense figured out, and back on the right track,” the coach’s son answered. One by one each coach said they had not heard any of it.

“Did you boys hear anything like the stuff reported on TV, and in the paper, this morning?” Big John asked while looking at the two boys who were pathetically trying to burrow through the butt underneath the bench they were sitting on.

Frank Robinson visibly took in a large deep breath and started to describe what happened. “Coach, nothing really got outta hand until the third quarter, but I started hearing it in the second quarter.”

Troy Williams looked over at his fellow captain. “I thought it started in the third. Well, at least that’s when I started hearing it on the field, and from their sidelines.”

“I heard it first in the second quarter, when that big running back of their ran through my tackle and scored on the toss sweep, late in the second. He said something like ‘can’t no one stop me, especially not no good for nothin’ nigger.’ Then a bunch of his boys started slapping him on the shoulders and congratulating him as he ran off before I could get to him.”

Troy started in on his story from there. “That must have been what started it, then, ‘cause that’s when I heard guys up and down their defense going on about nigger this and wetback that. Get your ass back to Africa, and pile your twenty or thirty brothers and sisters into the one Toyota and drive back across the border. It really threw me for a loop, since no one was doing anything. I asked the ref about it and he said tell our coach to file a complaint with the coach’s association, because there is nothing in the rule book against anything like that. So I came back to the sideline, and saw Frank telling his defense to not stoop to their level. ‘We’ll keep our heads up, and in the game! We’ll show them our character!’ he said.” Troy slapped Frank’s shoulder and continued, “I liked that message and told him to come and say it to the offense as well. I ended up telling the offense to not fight back but to just keep on doing their job.”