Chapter 58: Hiccups are Unexpected

The locker room was quiet -- except for locker doors closing, cleats tapping on the concrete floor, and hushed, one-on-one meetings all over the locker room area. Tim Murphy was sitting in what had become his spot to prepare for the upcoming game mentally, but he was not thinking about the game in a couple of hours. Instead, he was going over the last, very unusual school week.

There was no backlash from the fight with Tommy and his friends in the restroom. Tim expected to be called to either the principal’s office or, worse, to answer the police’s questions. The following day, Tim was a bit of a nervous wreck. His friends could sense something was wrong, but no one wanted to ask. They just notched it up to Tim getting ready for the game.

The majority of the student body was occupying their time worried over online comments from some of Robert E. Lee’s quarterbacks’ friends. It was nothing new, yet the discussion was getting ridiculously sophomoric. It seemed to Roosevelt fans as if little kids were clamoring to offend the Rough Riders into online fights. Tim and most of the players decided to ignore the Lee fans’ clumsy attempts to start trouble.

As a result of ignoring the online discussions, most of the Roosevelt players were now not taking the Lee Volunteers very seriously. It was easy to see, on film, the Lee football team always started the game strongly but, after a few setbacks, they would generally fall apart except for their quarterback. He never gave up and, even if everything was falling apart around him, his play rarely fell off. It was a significant reason why he was getting looks from colleges.

Taylor Benson was the exact kind of player college coaches yearned to have at their school; he was a natural leader and the type of young man fathers would not worry too much if he dated their precious daughters.

A few years earlier, Taylor’s world nearly spun utterly off its axis. He lost his older brother, Tyler Benson, to suicide.

Tyler Benson was a gifted quarterback with a strong work ethic and moderate skills. There was a good chance he could earn an opportunity to play college football. Experts believed significant schools would probably not come calling, but keen interest from smaller state schools would be more likely.

Being brothers, the two blended very well with each other on the field. They knew each other in-and-out. They appeared to play in each other’s brains. If Taylor saw a particular play possible against the defense, a simple look between the brothers, and they knew what to do. In club football, before high school, the brothers were popular. The high school talent sharks were circling the two, waiting for their premiere under the Friday night lights.

Being the faster brother, Taylor was always supposed to be a wide receiver, but Taylor took it upon himself to switch positions and work harder than ever to make his brother’s dreams come true. He honored his brother’s memory by wearing his number three and training hard to be the best quarterback he could be.

The pressure to succeed must have gotten to Tyler, or at least that was the public speculation for the elder brother taking his life. The family never disclosed why the Tyler Benson had done so, and neither had Taylor.

“Babe, you need to stop posting all this crap on the fan boards. It’s putting a big target on my chest, and it’s gonna get me hurt one of these days,” Taylor pleaded with the tiny blonde cheerleader seated between his legs. The two were out for a small date, a picnic off a scenic road in the Hill Country surrounding San Antonio. They had driven out to a favorite old hill a few miles off a farm-to-market road. Atop a low-rising hill was a massive ancient Live Oak tree that offered plenty of shade from the hot South Texas sun.

“Aw, come on, honey! If I don’t sing your praises, who else will?” The cheerleaders’ flirtatious grin exposed her train of thought. After a moment of some light petting, Jean Monroe, the lead cheerleader for the Lee Volunteers and girlfriend of the Lee star quarterback, seriously wondered what her boyfriend was thinking. “What’s bringing on this self-doubt? You never worried about me talking smack to the other teams before!”

“Sorry, babe. It’s just that, after practice, Coach had me watching some film of the Roosevelt defense. I’ve never seen anything like it before. They completely destroyed Judson. I’ve never seen ... hell, I’ve never even heard of a defense able to do that. That Mayhem kid is something amazing,” Taylor explained to his girlfriend, who was sipping on a Gatorade.

“Have you ever seen him actually play?” She shook her head ‘no.’ Taylor pulled out his phone and pulled up some of the videos he watched earlier with his coach.

“My god, is that guy for real?” Jean exclaimed, after several of the star-studded plays Mayhem had performed since starting on the varsity. “Jeez, did they take that running back to the hospital?”

“Yeah, he was given a clean bill of health, and then kicked off the Judson team. I know a guy who plays for Judson, and he said the running back did something to Mayhem’s house as some dumb ass prank or something, and it went too far. Mayhem got back at him for doing it and almost put him in the hospital.”

“Is he a dirty player or something? Is that something you can like point out to the refs before the start of the game and make sure they watch out for him doing nasty stuff in-between or after the whistles?”

“No. He’s not a dirty player.” Taylor took a moment to brush away a few stray hairs from his girlfriend’s face. “I heard someone say that he was like Tim Duncan.”

“You’re gonna have to explain that to me,” Jean chided with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, Tim Duncan was like a coach out on the floor when he played. There are many stories from other players where he would do something to completely embarrass them, and then he would explain to them how to stop it.”

“That kind of sounds like an asshole move to me.”

“No, he wasn’t doing anything that bad. He would give small tips to younger players, even those on other teams. Tim would explain how to do things like move your pivot foot half a foot more inside to gain better leverage before making a move or to keep your hands a little bit higher to play on defense. Sure, some guys might have thought he was being a dick, but then they would try what he told them to do, and they were improving quickly. Mayhem is kind of like that, even though this is his first time actually playing football.”

Jean sat up and twirled around, still sitting on their picnic blanket. “This is his first year playing football? You didn’t ever face him in club play or anything?” Taylor shook his head no. “So, you don’t really know what you are going to face on Friday.”

“No, I know what I’m gonna face – an ass whopping, more than likely.”

“So you gotta sudden case of the ‘Holy Shits,’ then, huh?” she taunted and emphasized with a light pinch to her boyfriend’s stomach. Laughing together, the two saw the time and decided to end the rare weeknight dinner date and get home before it was too late.

Tim Murphy was halfheartedly watching more films on the talented Taylor Benson from Lee High School and looking over his teammates and their emotions. The mood in the room was calm and reserved, nothing like the focus and nervousness of the previous week. They expected to win this game easily, long before the emergence of Mayhem on the defensive line. This game was the one game from which they knew they were going to come home victorious. Evidence of this kind of thinking was in the number of planned after-game parties. Before the game, several players debated which party to bless with their attendance as they waited for the bus trip to their home stadium.

“I know exactly how you’re feeling, my guy,” Frank Robinson announced as he sat down on the floor next to Tim. “All these fools are thinking we already won. They ain’t worried about Lee. If we go out there like this, we gonna get our asses handed to us. Celebrating homecoming sure is a lot harder after a loss than after a win.”

“Then maybe someone should say something,” Tim encouraged. “Like maybe someone in some type of leadership role with the team should help to get their focus where it should be but, then again, what do I know?” Tim looked back down at his iPad and found his father’s new song for the game.

Stop, drop, shut ‘em down, open up shop.

Oh, no

That’s how Ruff Ryders roll.

Stop, drop, shut ‘em down, open up shop.

Oh, no

That’s how Ruff Ryders roll!

The booming bass and the background yelling of the slightly differently spelled “Ruff Ryder Anthem” was another of his father’s perfect choices for a hype song. Tim decided it was a no-brainer to keep on his favorite listening list.

“Tim, what does your father have for us this week?” Coach Alvarez asked. This had become a part of the pregame, weekly ritual in the locker room. Tim smiled, removed an AirPod from one ear, and handed it to the coach to listen.

On the iPad, the stunt man doing wheelies with motorcycles signaled the beginning of the video. DMX’s imitation dog growling started his biggest hit. The “Ruff Ryders Anthem” is a calling card for his peers who, when they released the single, were counter-programming against the shiny, party atmosphere prevalent in hip hop music. DMX proclaimed to be from the streets and lived his life dangerously and not living from champagne and slick music videos featured on MTV.

Coach Alvarez smiled as the song finished and handed back the AirPod to Tim. “Damn, your old man does have good taste in music. I’m ready for some football, what do you think?” The locker room exploded in cheers and off-key renditions of the Ruff Ryder Anthem. It took a few minutes for the team to calm down.

As if on cue, “Okay, let’s go, ladies. Time to get on the bus!” Big John bellowed out to the lounging players.

During the pregame warm-ups, the mood circulating among the Riders was still one of near-boredom. Tim was feeling himself getting more and more upset. Luckily, Tim was not the only player feeling the impending doom.

“Dammit, fellas! You better get your heads in this game and off them fuckin’ parties this weekend. Y’all sound dead. Are y’all expecting a win just handed to us? But I tell you something ... those boys are getting ready for battle. They gonna run all over us if you don’t get your heads in the here-and-now,” Troy Williams yelled at his teammates.

Annoyed grunts were the only response to the offensive captain. Troy could not believe what he saw from his team.

“Yo, fuck that! What the hell are y’all doin’? You actin’ like you bad! Like we gonna walk right over these fools! Bullshit, guys! If you’d paid attention during film, these boys play each play all game long. Even when they were losing by 30 to Marshall, they each kept playing. Believe it or not, guys, we ain’t good enough to just turn it on whenever we want,” Frank Robertson preached to the team.

“They are just like us before Mayhem,” Troy added to Frank’s sermon. Several teammates’ looks changed, and it was easy to spot the message getting through to some of them ... but not enough.

Frank and Troy took the little win and restarted the team warm-ups and got a much stronger effort. The team soon broke into their different positions to continue the game day process of warming up before the game.

Tim jogged over to Big John to ask for a favor. “Coach, can you keep me out of the first series?”

Big John flinched and looked Tim in the eye to state his reasoning for putting the team at a disadvantage. Tim continued, “Well, Troy and Frank did a pretty good job getting the team ready when they noticed their lack of edge for pregame.” Big John nodded along with Tim’s explanation. “I think we need to give them a touch of the old game feeling to get them ready to play.”

“Tim,” Big John answered while putting his hands on his shoulder pads, “don’t go looking for problems when there is a whole mess of them already waiting to be solved.” Tim was confused, and his emotions were unmistakable to the head coach. “Don’t worry about your teammates. You were right, though. Troy and Frank did a fine job getting them refocused, but once those boys bust through the paper and the band and the fans set off on the school fight song, emotions will catch up, and they will realize to themselves just how close they came to screwing up.”

Big John gave Tim a couple of hits on his shoulder pads, “Now, get to your warm-ups!”

Big John turned away from the team and gazed at the rowdy fans filling up the stadium’s home side. “Damn, I’ll bet they freak themselves out about almost letting this game slip through their fingers,” he giggled to himself. “But, I need to heed my own advice and get back in the game.”

He paused and saw his wife, Franny, standing in her usual spot before each home game. She had a weird smirk on her face, like when she waited for the love of her life to figure out the correct answer on his own. He smiled and gave her a quick wave. She waved back and nodded to herself as if she knew what he was thinking.

Big John meandered his way across the field to supervise the warm-ups but thought to himself, “No way she knew what I was thinking.” He risked a quick peek at her again, and she mimed back to him with her finger pointed down, then twirled it around in a small circle in front of her. She was telling him to get back to what he was doing. He smiled again and went back to supervising, and she also smiled, knowing he was finally out of his head and back to worrying about the football game.

The game began with Lee winning the coin toss and asking for the ball to start the game. The kickoff was standard with Roosevelt’s Juan Cano kicking the ball out of the back of the end zone. Lee would begin the game on the twenty-yard line.

Lee quarterback Taylor Benson got his team in a shotgun formation and called out the signals. The ball snapped, and Benson immediately turned and fired the ball to the receiver lined up across from him near the sideline. It was one fluid motion, quick and decisive. Just as he released the ball from his hand, he felt himself get pulled down to the floor with great force.

He sat up and looked for the play results but could only see a massive Roosevelt jersey with the number one offering a hand down to help Taylor off the floor.

“Good job. You completed the throw, but we stopped it before it got going. Maybe you can get lucky and get a couple more of those to work tonight,” Mayhem Murphy offered with a Cheshire grin.

“Gain of two yards on the play, second down and eight to go for the first down,” the game announcer bellowed over the stadium speakers. Taylor smiled.

“Yeah, we will,” Taylor vowed and smiled back.

On the second down, Taylor got back in his normal shotgun formation and saw the Roosevelt defense in the same formation as the previous play. He called for the same play in his pre-snap instructions. The ball was snapped to him, and Taylor turned and fired the pass to the same receiver. This time, though, instead of being pulled down in a tackle, the quarterback had a front-row view of the same number one jumping in front of the pass and knocking it down to the ground before it could reach the receiver. The whistles signaled the end of the play.

“Fool me once,” Mayhem sang to the Lee offense.

“Well, I guess that was gonna only work once, right fellas?” Taylor asked his offense while they huddled up for the next play. Taylor looked to the sideline and noticed a rotund player they had playfully nicknamed ‘Slim’ jog onto the field. “I’m pretty sure that is the fastest he has ever run in his life,” Taylor thought to himself.

Taylor took a couple of steps away from the huddle, at the twenty-two-yard line, and toward the approaching replacement player who was coming in with the coaches’ next play. The only problem was ‘Slim’ was having trouble trying to catch his breath from the simple jog out.

“Okay, hang on a sec and catch your breath,” Taylor suggested as they waited for Slim’s huffing and puffing, but he still could not talk after a few seconds. The coaches were now insistent from the sideline to hurry along with the play.

“Does coach want that play we worked on in practice?” Slim nodded his head, and a look of thanks came over his face. “Don’t thank me too soon. You still gotta block that guy. Save your strength until then.” Slim nodded and followed Taylor to the huddle.

The other huddled players gave their friend some inspiring words. This plan was designed just for him in his varsity debut. The boy was in the best shape of his life, but he still was not in good enough condition to be trusted with actually playing, or so the Lee coaches felt. The coaches all openly admired Mayhem and his gameplay, but they figured Slim’s girth and weight might be enough to pause the almost unstoppable rush from the fantastic Roosevelt defender.

When Taylor came up with this idea to use Slim as a blocker in a toss play, they figured, ‘why the hell not?’ The boy never missed practice but was never good enough to play, but that did not phase Slim. He was a member of the team.

Slim was at least 450 pounds of barely moving flesh. Roosevelt had their share of large guys, but the vast majority of them were, for lack of a better phrase, run off the football team.

Slim lined up in his three-point stance to the left of the shotgun quarterback. The running back was also in a three-point stance with the quarterback on his right. Anyone who knew anything about football could tell the Lee Volunteers were about to hit the irresistible force with their version of an immovable object.

Taylor Benson saw Mayhem not lined up in his normal outside defensive end position but rather directly over the center in the middle of the defense. This formation and the play the Volunteers had called were perfect for what they wanted to try right now. They were all going to see what happened when these two behemoths hit each other. The running play depended on how much of a block Slim could get on Mayhem. In the back of the offense’s and their starting quarterback’s mind, they all believed they could use this play maybe once. Maybe that was all they would need. “Set. Hut!”

The ball snapped, and the quarterback took two steps to his right, toward the running back who took a step back to wait for the designed blocking to form. In what could only be described as a miracle, Slim fired out from his position and, with even more speed than in his jog from the sideline, fired forward, toward the rampaging Mayhem Murphy.