Chapter 21: To the Victors...

After informing the freshman football coaches of their opportunity to make changes to the football program, Roosevelt Athletic Director and Head Football Coach Big John Fontana decided to go watch the second half of the freshman football game.

The freshmen were finishing the series against the Warren Warriors. The junior varsity started the losing streak 21-0 on Thursday evening. The varsity team followed up, getting soundly defeated, losing their game 48-0. In the coach’s eyes, though, the team won the game by proving his hard work was working. The Warren team used racial slurs and other ethnic aspersions while outscoring, but the Roosevelt team decided, on their own, to not lower themselves to the level of the other team. They took the loss but proved they were the bigger men even while losing the game.

It was no big secret that Big John was not a fan of freshman football. He had long advocated for the elimination of the freshman football program and wanted to use their freshman year as a pure workout year. He felt the boys needed to strengthen themselves physically and psychologically for the rigors of junior varsity and varsity football. He did not believe freshmen were ready for high school football. He was in the minority, but he was the leader, and it was a vocal minority.

He had just decided to make wholesale changes to the way he ran his football program and had assigned his other coaches to come up with ideas on how to do so. The coaches took to their new orders with passion and vigor. That cemented the idea, in Big John’s head, that maybe he was wrong or maybe at least behind the times.

Walking to the field, he realized he had not seen a freshman football game in many years. He was having trouble even remembering how long it had been. The first thing he noticed, was the full stands and long lines at the concession stand. While unusual, he figured it was because this was the first game of the season. Of course, the parents would want to see their little boys playing football.

The two teams were back on the field and warming up for the second half of the game. He noticed the two teams looked fairly evenly-matched with the exception of a few of his players being much taller and more fully developed. At first glance, it seemed a few JV and Varsity players must have been intermingled, but he knew that wasn’t the case.

The report Coach Alvarez gave him was astounding. He looked at the stats and could not believe the Rough Riders were destroying the Warriors. The QB was having a good game with 165 yards passing and two touchdowns. The running back was running roughshod over the defense with 198 yards and two touchdowns himself. Easily the most valuable player, though, was Tim Murphy who had, so far, played each position along the defensive line. He’d accounted for 12 solo tackles, caused three fumbles – retrieving all three – and also had an interception ... which, for a defensive lineman, is almost unheard of ... and don’t forget the eight QB sacks, and all of this was just in the first half.

Big John was now remembering the story he heard after the scrimmages last week in which the Alamo Heights coach asked for Murphy to be held out of the second half. Apparently, the story was true, and this kid was decimating the opposing offense.

Big John also remembered the day in the weight room when nobody but freshmen were working out, and that one kid did 25 repetitions of 275 pounds on the bench press. That was NFL level weightlifting and this kid was just that: a kid. He needed to see it for himself.

Could this be the player he starts with on his new ideas of flexible positioning? Maybe this kid could be the first freshman to play varsity while he coached. He wouldn’t put the cart before the horse since, in his career of coaching, he had seen many young men who could lift all kinds of weight but could not play a lick of football no matter how much the coaches worked with them.

“And the Warriors go on offense, starting at their own 20 yard line after the second half kickoff goes out right of the end zone!” The booming voice of the PA announcer shook the coach out of his thoughts.

“I didn’t even know they had the PA system fixed, yet. I think there is still a request for repairs to it on my desk. I wonder how long they have been using it?” The coach was in danger of falling into his own thoughts again when the PA system squawked to life again.

“And that is sack number 10 for the game by number 99, Tim Murphy.”

“Sack number what?” The coach exclaimed out loud and quickly wished no one had heard him, but another voice a few steps away confirmed what he heard.

“Naw, Big John, you heard it right. That boy has ten sacks in this game already, but the team has around fifteen, total. I suspect he could have gotten those himself.” Big John turned and recognized Jim Baker, head football coach at Judson High School.

“Jim Baker, as I live and breathe! What in the hell are you doing here at a freshman football game?” The faux Texas twang in Big John’s voice was deep and resonating. The two coaches shook hands, having been old friends.

The coach pointed at the field, “YouTube, dummy!”

Coach Fontana couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, that was quite a sight last week.”

“Last week ain’t got shit on this week. This boy Murphy is amazing. I didn’t see you out here for the first half of the game. Why you out here now?”

“Well, I had to go over last night’s game with the coaches and see what the hell happened. Did you hear about it?”

“Yeah, I heard. Damn, so what happened?” Big John explained the use of racial slurs and epithets throughout the game. “And you didn’t hear any of it?” Coach Baker asked. “Wait a sec, of course you didn’t hear anything. Real story would of probably been how you were strangling some poor over-priv’leged white dumbass from Warren, and they needed the jaws of life to tear your hands off from around the kid’s neck.”

“You know me all too well, Coach. But that ain’t the half of it,” Big John continued. “Our two captains had threatened their entire team to not retaliate. Said they wanted to prove they were better men than the Warren team would ever be.”

“Shit, I bet you’re on cloud nine, right now.” Coach Baker grinned at Coach Fontana, “Big John, you are the only guy I know who could lose a game that badly, and consider it the finest work you have ever done.” Coach Baker offered up his hand again. “And I am totally jealous of you for it!”

Both coaches turned their attentions back toward the field, where the PA announcer again was helping keep both men informed with what they have missed. “Tackle by number 55, Gabriel Hawkins, loss of ten yards. Third down and 25 to go for the Warriors.”

“Well, I guess he can’t do everything by himself, huh?”

“Coach Baker, you sound a little disappointed.” Both coaches turned to their left and saw some of the other Roosevelt coaches also watching the game. Coach Van Cleave also knew Coach Baker since they were teammates in college. “Actually, he started with the left end and drew three blockers out that side and opened a great hole for the middle backer to come clean and take out the runner as soon as he got the hand-off.”

“Well, shit, I can see there is full on powwow going on here with the varsity coaches all coming to see the new star, huh? Well, I can see I’m not wanted. Good luck the rest of the season, Big John, fellas.”

Coach Baker shook Big John’s hand, waved to the other coaches and quickly made his way over toward the collection of what appeared to be several other coaches standing away from the field but also away from the general population. The array of obviously ‘coachy’ looking men was not unusual at high school football games, but they were not usually found at freshman football games. Each one was wearing school-sponsored polo shirts with their school’s insignia over the left breast. Some had notepads, studiously jotting down notes. A few were filming the game with either cell phones or tablets.

Big John nodded toward the gaggle of coaches, and a couple of the Roosevelt coaches said at the same time “YouTube.”

The third down play was getting ready to start, and Coach Fontana wanted to experience this one for himself, without interruption, so he stepped closer to the field yet still far away from any players or any other passersby.

Tim lined up directly in front of the center rather than his normal right defensive end position. This was the varsity coach’s first chance to see that the young man was rotating all along the line, playing every position.

The Warren offense lined up in a shotgun formation, without a running back but, on further examination, the shifty running back was lined up far outside as a wide receiver, off the line of scrimmage, with two other receivers in front of him. The play was obviously going to be a quick pass to the running back in hopes his running ability would net them necessary yards.

With the help of the nanites surging throughout his body, Tim knew the snap count and timed his attack perfectly. A straight bull rush on the center forced the snap to go high and the QB was unable to corral the ball before arching high above his head. Tim was underneath the center’s now outstretching arms and, with a combination lift and push, had the center unable to catch his balance, and Tim flung the man like a tackling dummy to his right side, away from where the play was designed to go.

The QB was scrambling to get control of the ball and caught a lucky break when the ball bounced straight back to him, and he was able to catch it. The QB then turned toward his receiver who was patiently waiting for the ball with two blockers in front of him who both, at the moment, had secured a path along the sideline if the QB could get the ball there quickly. Tim instantly realized he would not be able to stop the QB from throwing the ball, so he cut off his pursuit to find an angle to attack the running back, obviously the target of the play.

While turning to run at the receiver, Tim noticed Mazzu was a few steps behind him and furiously trying to reach the QB. Tim now knew he had backside protection, keeping the QB from deciding to run with the ball. That gave him a small jolt of reassuring energy, and he could put his focus on the running back and trust his teammate would control the QB.

The QB stopped running and turned, setting his feet correctly, and very rapidly zipped the ball toward his running back who, thanks to the good blocking from the other two receivers in the area, still had a clear path to run along the sideline. The ball was perfectly thrown. The ball was perfectly caught, and the running back was now trying to get his feet to go as fast as his body would allow.

While the ball was in the air, Tim was a good six or seven yards away from being able to make a play. He was not in the line-of-sight of the ball so he could not take a jumping shot at intercepting the ball or, at the very least, knocking it out of the air. The only choice Tim had was to run a strong enough angle to meet the running back along the sideline at the same time. The play was quickly developing, and it would easily be the most productive offensive play for Warren for the whole game, so far.

Tim took huge strides, trying to find the best attack angle, but happily saw he didn’t need to make the play himself when Troy Jefferson, several steps closer to the sideline, hit the running back with all his might, sending the swift runner sideways out of bounds in a heap. Jefferson had also diagnosed the quick pass to the side and, rather than trying to stop the pass from reaching the receiver, he focused on getting away from any blocks, setting up to catch the receiver, and make the tackle. It was a beautiful play.

The whistles blowing signified the end of the play, and everyone stopped running except Tim, now slowly jogging towards the running back slowly getting up from the jarring hit.

“You okay, man? That looked like it hurt,” Tim asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. Damn, I thought I was gone for that one.” The running back’s focus shifted from Tim’s face to something over his shoulder. “Good hit, man.” He quickly took off across the field to get ready for the next play. He looked like he was on a mission.

Tim turned to see Troy Jefferson jogging over to gloat over the hit. “That’s right. You’re lucky I didn’t hit you with everything I got. I would have sent you clear across the city if I hit you with that!” The statement was punctuated with several muscular poses and high fives with some of his teammates but were aimed at the Warren running back’s rear end as he sprinted off the field toward his sideline.

“Jefferson!” The bark was loud from the freshman football defensive coordinator. “Jefferson! What in the hell are you doing, son? Act like you’ve made a play before. Don’t over-celebrate.” Coach Alvarez then pointed to the field. He looked at the other defensive players and pointed toward the field. “Good play. But I was wonderin’ if ya’ll could possibly be nice enough to GET YOUR ASSES BACK ON THE FIELD FOR THE PUNT!”

The change in mood was palpable and even caught Tim by surprise. The Warriors were already lining up for the punt while half the defense was congratulating the first-down-saving tackle.

The majority of the defense sprinted to get in position to receive the punt, but they were too late. The ball was snapped, and the punter, or actually the Warrior’s second string quarterback, released a high rainbow of a pass to a wide open receiver on the far side of the field. He happened to be all alone and bolted down the field for an easy catch and touchdown.

The crowd who just a few seconds earlier were celebrating the great tackle were now moaning in disgust of the long touchdown completion by the other team.

Luckily, Coach Barrett was able to call a timeout before the snap, and the touchdown did not count. Despite the protests from the Warren coaches, the side referee assured them he did blow his whistle to stop the play as Roosevelt had indeed called their first timeout of the half. Because of the celebrations both on the Roosevelt sideline and in the stands, however, the whistle was difficult to hear – difficult but not impossible, at least for the other referees on the field who all were waving their arms and blowing whistles before the snap and continued blowing while the ball was spiraling down the field.

Needless to say, the Roosevelt coaches were apoplectic when the defense ran to the sideline. “What the hell was that?” Both Coaches Barrett and Alvarez yelled at the same time. They even looked at each other and smirked just slightly when they realized what they had done.

After a moment to collect himself, Coach Barrett started in on the team, all having taken a knee and demurely paying attention to their coach. “I hate to say ‘I told you so’ but I freakin’ told you so!” The veins in his neck and forehead were highlighted and visibly pulsing with rage. They were easily visible because of the coach’s deeply tanned and reddened skin from hours outdoors in the South Texas summer sun. He continued, “You lose focus for one second, celebrating a good play by one of your teammates, and they damn near score a touchdown on you.” Coach Barrett was pacing and still unsuccessful in his attempts to calm down.

Seeing this, Coach Alvarez saw his chance to say something. “Guys! I know you won’t do something that absolutely stupid ever again on a football field ... will ya?”

The ‘NO’ was loud, direct and quickly given by every kneeling Rough Rider on the sideline.

“Well, you’d better not, or we’ll give you over to him and let him tell you what he is thinking.” Coach Alvarez pointed over to where Coach Big John Fontana was, being physically held back by his son Greg, the varsity offensive line coach. Big John was livid and no one wanted to hear what was on his mind at that particular time. The other varsity coaches were making their way between the players and Big John to form a barrier, keeping them separated.

Johnnie Boynes stood up and faced the rest of the team. “Okay, let’s get our heads back in the game. Celebrate when you come off the field. Keep your heads in the game. We are winning but we want to destroy these guys! We wanna do it like we’re used to doing it and expecting it to happen, because that’s the way we practiced it!” Johnnie was acting like the team captain.

“Punt return, back on the field,” Coach Barrett yelled to end the discussions. The point was made, and Coach Barrett knew the team leaders would take care of team discipline from now on. It was an unusual feeling for the freshman football team coach to have. All the freshman teams he had coached in the past were not cohesive enough to deal with problems like that on their own, but he felt this team was different. It wasn’t just one player, either, but several, and that was a good foundation to build on. This team had a chance to be a winning unit.

“Well, I don’t care if you think he is a good guy, I don’t like him much, and I bet they think we don’t belong here with them,” Tim’s mother Juanita whispered to his father Raymond during a minor lull in the game.

“What makes you think that? He seemed okay to me.”

“It’s just the way they looked at us ... like we aren’t good enough to be associated with them,” Juanita explained and scooted a little closer to whisper in her husband’s ear. “She sized me up when we shook hands, and I could have sworn she wiped her hand on her jeans as soon as we finished. Like she was trying to rub the ‘me’ off of her hand.”

“Well, maybe she is a bitch, but why is he not good people?”

“‘Cause he married her.”

Raymond started chuckling so she punched him in the arm. The punch was not hard but it did get his attention. “Well, don’t get mad at me because you don’t like some guy’s trophy wife. I like him. I don’t completely trust him, but his job, as president of the booster club, is to get the parents of the athletes to raise money for these kids with incidental costs associated with the sports.” He paused, slightly rubbing his arm but pointed out to the field. “Look at how those boys are ripping and tearing at each other’s uniforms. Do you think they will last the entire season without being repaired or replaced? Look at the white pants they wear to hold in their knee pads and whatnot. You know they probably bleach the hell out of those things, and they, for sure, won’t last the year still in the good-looking condition they started.

“I know. Okay, so he is a friendly, personable ass with a bitch of a trophy wife we will not be regularly associating ourselves with.”

“Maybe she was having a bad day. You can see she ain’t exactly dressed to watch a high school football game, so she probably got roped into coming here before she was to go wherever she is dressed for. But if you don’t wanna be friends with her then whatever you say Juana, whatever you say.” Raymond held her hand for a moment then brought it up for a quick kiss, and he also leaned over for a quick kiss on her cheek.

“I’m telling you, she was looking me up and down and making judgments about me – without even knowing me. How in the hell am I supposed to get her to join us in the booster club if she probably thinks I’m some sort of air-headed trophy wife just after you for your money?” Mary Ann Johnson was also a podiatrist who retired from practice in order to be an at-home mom. She simply could not fathom how women would want to stay in the workplace and not be around their children while they were growing up. She was partners with her husband in their small practice, and he could easily handle all of their patients.

Mary Ann looked young for her age and, since she was the athlete of the two parents, she continued working out while raising the kids. As a result, she looked several years younger than women her age. The more vindictive acquaintances often believed she regularly went under the plastic surgeon’s scalpel and started rumors indicating so, but her real friends knew the truth, and that satisfied Mary Ann.

“I mean, it was like she sized me up in two seconds flat and is probably over there telling her husband everything she thinks about me.” From their seats, a few steps above and in the center of the stands, they could see Juanita punch her husband in the arm. “You see, she is trying to convince him right now to stay away from us. She knows everything she needs to know about us.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about that honey. Raymond has a good head on his shoulders and, if what I am hearing about his boy is true, not only is he a great football player, he is going to easily carry all As in all of his classes. I’ll bet, at some point, there will be a teacher who wants to get him to move up a grade and graduate early.”

“Darling.” Mary Ann stretched out the word to several syllables, forcing her husband to look at her. When he turned his head to her, she punched him in the arm. “I’m trying to tell you something important and you are worrying about someone else’s boy like he is your own.”

Dr. Johnson was rubbing his arm and smiling because he knew, when she playfully punched him just once, she was merely trying to get his attention focused on the point she wanted to make. “Honey, what do you want me to do? We are going to become friends with this family because we want to make sure the booster club is solid for when the last of our kids come through this school. That family’s child is going to be such a great football player, he is going to make the other boys look good, as well. That will attract college scouts, and those boys who play on this team could get themselves to college, just because of how they look playing beside that young man. He is that good.” Dr. Johnson took a second and continued looking at his wife, now beginning to come down off her mad.