Chapter 60: Turn Up, Man!

Julianne Holmes was a shell of her former self. While at school, she wore her typical facade, which was especially difficult during her fourth-period class. That was the class with Tim Murphy. They had reached a silent agreement to ignore what had happened between them. Julianne had tried to convince herself that not seeing each other was the best thing for them both. Intellectually, she believed this to be correct, but emotionally she was slowly coming unglued, and Julianne knew it. She was still able to keep up her typical ways and kept everyone from discovering her truth.

However, Julianne stopped going out with friends. She spent the majority of her time alone in her apartment, floating in and out of deep bouts of emotional pain. Occasionally, her psyche would win control over her total being, pulling her down. Her emotional well-being fought back by wielding her intellectual side. During those rare hours, Julianne focused her pursuits on writing.

The high school English teacher began with a thoughts journal. It was a practice she started as a young girl, first blossoming into becoming an adult. All of her thoughts and feelings poured out into her daily journal entries. Julianne noticed the entries were expanding and growing from a page, maybe a page and a half, of thoughts into pages and pages of her deepest feelings and musings.

She decided to stop writing long-hand and purchased a new laptop computer with plenty of speed and disk storage. Julianne vowed to use that computer only for her journal writing. The laptop was able to keep up with her thoughts as she pounded the keyboard. The journaling helped, and she slowly recovered her normalcy while typing her deepest feelings.

On the weekends, after a few weeks of writing, she began going over her journals. She realized she had a lot of material for a good story. She gradually refocused her thoughts into a sensual novel about a teacher who has an affair with one of her students.

“Damn, girl!” Misty Anderson gushed as she put down the iPad she was reading and simultaneously wiped a sheen of sweat off her forehead and neck. “That is a hot story you have got there. I haven’t seen you writing anything that good in, like, in years.”

She leaned in closer to her friend. “You have more, don’t you?” Julianne’s best friend since high school asked, nearly panting in the heat. “I’m serious, girl! That’s hotter than that fifty shades of shit!”

“Really? Do you like it so far?” Julianne was treading water in a typhoon and desperate for a lifeline. Her best friend was, if anything, truthful and honest about her opinions. It was the one attribute on which Julianne felt the two women could build their friendship. Misty would tell anyone exactly what she thought. She had no tact, and many people thought Misty was conceited because of it. However, Julianne understood Misty simply did not want anyone to think she had any ulterior motives, so she had always been brutally honest whenever anyone asked for her opinion.

Misty nodded and asked, “Are you seeing this as a single novel or a series?”

“Well, I was originally thinking of just a single novel, but like you can tell, I think I have enough to take it to a full series of at least three books.” Julianne bit her bottom lip and pondered out loud. She was initially embarrassed to ask Misty’s opinion because of her brutal honesty, but her intellectual side told her she had the makings of some quality work. She just wanted to be sure in her mind, confirmed by Misty’s authentic impression, before deciding to open herself up to work for such a lofty goal.

“Yes! Good God, girl, yes!” Misty gushed to her friend and emphasized her feelings with a swift, deep hug. Their smiles could have powered the lights on Broadway. “I am so happy you are finally coming out of your funk!”

“So am I, Misty. So am I.”

The day before games was always a little strange for the members of the football team. There was still a worry of what was about to happen. Would they win? Would they lose? Would they have the game’s conclusion in their hands? What would have had to happen to ensure that? Since Tim Murphy started playing and the Rough Riders won each of their games easily, though, a feeling of invincibility permeated every player’s thoughts. The week of practice was okay—nothing terrible but nothing useful. A sense of going through the motions infected everything as they practiced – not enough to get coaches complaining but not enough for anyone to earn a coach’s pride, either.

“Tim, please come on in, son. Close the door and have a seat,” Big John reached out to his star player in the locker room as the team had just finished their final practice walk-through for Friday’s game. “Thanks for stopping by before you left.”

“No problem, Coach. What did you need?”

“How would you describe this week’s practices? Not the practices themselves, but rather the guys’ attitudes this whole week.”

Tim visibly relaxed into his seat and fought to keep a small smile from appearing on his face. “I wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed. I mean, it felt like everyone was going through the motions. No one slacked off or anything; they just weren’t putting in any extra effort. I wasn’t going to say anything ‘cause this is the first time I’ve ever really been on a team of any kind. I didn’t really know if anything was wrong.”

“Well, in the future, Tim, trust your instincts. You can always bring it up with the team captains or even a coach if necessary,” Big John answered and noticed Tim’s glance toward the door leading into the coach’s office area. “I know ‘snitches get stitches’ and all, like the kids like to say nowadays, but if something is hurting your team, think of the good of the team.” Tim nodded in understanding. “You’re going to be in a more official standing as a team leader in the future, and you need to be able to see those things as they happen. I’ll bet that next year you’ll be a team captain, and none of the other juniors or seniors ahead of you in seniority will raise much of a stink.”

“Is there something you wanted me to do for the game, coach?”

“Yes, it’s a little bit weird, but I think we need to slap some sense back into these guys. Would you be willing to sit out the first half of the game tomorrow night?”

“Um, coach, could you explain that a little. Did I do something wrong?”

“No! Not at all. Let me explain. I’d like for you to sit out the first half of the game tonight so that the team remembers that they have to play, also. Now, I realize it’s a little bit strange to ask you to sit out the first half, but I think it would be a great way to give a shot of motivation back to the team. I figure we fake an injury to you, maybe you fake pull your hammy or something, and you can sit the first half on the bench. This will help us figure out if the guys are ready to play or if they are just sliding by and waiting for you to destroy the other team, and then they can clean up afterwards.”

“Well, Coach, you’re the boss. If you want me to sit out the first half, I’ll sit out the first half, but I don’t really like the idea of lying to my teammates.”

“Oh, and it’s not something I’d normally ask of anyone, either, but like you pointed out, the team is just going through the motions, and no one had put out full effort, except you, for the whole week.”

“Yeah, that’s what it felt like to me, too, but we need the win for playoff seeding, don’t we?”

“Well, sure! If we win out for the regular season, then we get home field for the first round of the playoffs. Then again, the way the playoffs are lining up right now, we aren’t going to face anyone that hard to beat in the first round. We won’t see anyone interesting until the second round when we might get some school outta Austin.”

“What would my sitting out do to help the team’s attitude?”

“Good question. I think it would be a definite kick in the ass to each player. They’ll see they can’t just do the bare minimum. They gotta perform, or the team loses. They can’t just wait for you and then reap the rewards of a win.”

“Couldn’t we do the same thing by calling different plays on defense?”

“How do you mean, son?”

“Well, what if, instead of calling for me to break up their running game by penetration, I sit back and take up blockers, forcing the others to attack and make tackles. Sort of like a decoy; have me draw their focus and send someone else to kill everybody.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to miss the first half of the game.” Tim just nodded and turned a deeply embarrassing shade of red. “Alrighty then, you play, but I like your idea, and it fits within the style of play I want to emphasize.” Big John grinned and had a quick debate with himself about what to say next.

Big John leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and crossing his arms across his chest. “Son, you are the future of this program. I know we have had some good kids come through here, but we have not been getting much of a look from any of the larger schools for the last few years,” Big John admitted and continued. “Unfortunately, I think a big, honkin’ chunk of the blame lands on me and my hardheadedness in sticking with the way I had always done things. I just lost track of what was important, and that was to get these boys an opportunity to play college ball if they have the talent.

“I’ve been torturing myself recently by looking back over the last few years, and I’m seeing quite a few young men who have fallen through the cracks of my program. It actually makes me sick when I think about if I would have just opened up a bit. Hell, we might have had a real shot at state for a couple of those years. A lot of these boys had the talent to play football at the larger schools, but they barely got a sniff from the big boys because we were not winning. Everyone believed it was the players, but I’ve come to realize it was my system that held many of them back.”

Tim sat back and listened as his coach went over a small list of football players over recent years that he felt he had cost them an opportunity to play football at the college level.

“Well, Coach, if a player has the talent, won’t the schools find them? I mean, that’s what I read about from the different recruiting websites and what-not,” Tim pointed out.

“Ah, so you’ve been watching those things, huh? While normally that would be true, I think our overall lack of success as a program has gotten a stink slathered all over each player. I think we’ve run into a bunch of ‘well, if he could play for us, why didn’t he win a few more games?’ You know, that kinda thing. I noticed your generation doesn’t really put too much into what the local sports pages write about y’all.”

“Well, they have been the main press people I’ve talked to so far. They generally have more information about each school, and they usually are more interested in you and not just a quick quote for the newspaper deadline. On the internet, there is no limit to what you can say – they’ll post it all and let you ramble for as long as you need to since they aren’t restricted by empty ad space. Plus, I’ll admit, it’s fun to think about where I may want to go to school myself.”

Big John sat back in his seat and bellowed a resonating and robust belly laugh that echoed off the walls of the head coach’s office. “Oh, son, I don’t think you have the foggiest idea, do ya?” Tim’s confusion was glaring. “Well, only reason you ain’t drowning in recruitment letters and college materials is because they can’t start burying you in all that stuff until your sophomore season.”

Big John picked up a small writing pad off his desk and handed it to Tim. “Here, check this out. These are just the schools who have called this week asking for the film on you. And yes, several have reached out more than once.”

Tim flipped pages and saw that each page was filled, top to bottom, with names and phone numbers of different colleges all over the country.

“Some are asking about some of the other guys, but they are watching our program because of you. You are a great talent, and since you’ve never played before, there are no terrible techniques that we have to pound out of you. You have incredible strength, and that is enough to get you through these regular-season games and probably a majority of the district games. In the Judson game, you proved that you are more than just an abnormally strong young man. You also have the athleticism and drive to improve.”

Big John read off about fifteen different universities known for the football programs. “Each of these has asked me to forward game film of you for them to watch over. I’ve heard more than just a few of these guys are not just looking for highlight footage but looking for the complete game footage. They want to see the plays when you aren’t making plays.” Big John dropped the pad back on his desk. “That one made me laugh. I always tell ‘em, ‘when you find one, let me know.’”

Tim was now sitting back in his chair and pondering what the coach had just told him about his future. “I can tell you one person who I know will not want to be associated with you in your coming future.” Tim’s eyebrows raised, but he waited with bated breath for his coach’s answer. “Your mailman! That fool is gonna be working hard!”

“I had a really interesting meeting with Big John today,” Tim said as the song on the radio ended and blended into a commercial.

“Oh yeah? What about?” Jeff Smith asked as he pulled to a stop at the light.

“Well, about the team, really. He is worried that the team isn’t ready for the game tomorrow night.”

“Aww, he’s just worried for no reason. He’s a coach. If shit is going right, then he has some sort of biological need to find a problem. We’ve been having good practices all week. We’ll be ready.”

The two defensive line men practiced a well used, complicated handshake and sat quietly as teenage boys would do comfortably. “I think he had a good point is all I was gonna say. We had good practices, but no one went out of their way to get everybody better. I mean, think about it. Did you try your absolute best at any time during practice at all this week?”

The senior defensive tackle did not answer but was suddenly interested in positioning the vents in the car’s dashboard.

“See? That’s what I pointed out when he asked me the same thing. Thinking about it now, sure, we had okay practices, but no one stood out.”

“Yeah, but no one fucked up all week either! Gotta take that into account when you think we didn’t practice hard this week.”

“Okay, but was that because we practiced hard or because we are taking these guys for granted, and we think we’re gonna walk all over these chumps?”

The two were quiet in their thoughts the rest of the way to Tim’s house until they pulled up beside the curb. “You know what, you are an asshole. Here I was thinking we had a good week of practice, and now you got me thinking we ain’t ready for tomorrow night. You make it really hard to like you sometimes,” Jeff said. The smile on his face took away any sting from his statement. “I’ll talk to the other leaders tonight. See you tomorrow morning for practice.”

A couple of practiced fist bumps and the classic car roared down the street, and Tim stood on the curb with a goofy smile before walking inside.

“Hey! I’m home!” Tim yelled automatically upon entering the house.

“Hi, honey!” Tim’s mother announced from the kitchen. Once he heard his mother’s acknowledgment of his arrival, Tim hurried to his room. He blew a kiss to Cindy on the wall and placed his backpack on the bed. Then he pulled out his assignments for the night and separated those on his desk for later in the evening.

Less than a minute later, the front door opened and closed again.”Hey! I’m home!” Tim’s father announced from the front door. One-by-one, everyone else in the house acknowledged the man of the house’s return.

“Oh, lovely! The two favorite men in my life have returned. Dinner will be ready in five. Carmen! Please come set the table!” Tim’s mother called out.

Tim met Carmen as they entered the kitchen, and the two children retrieved the plates, utensils, and glasses for their family meal. While setting the table, the two Murphy children got caught up with each other’s days. Carmen eagerly talked about being invited to another sleepover birthday party for the coming weekend. “This is a very important party because Jenny Silvers is a really popular girl, and she is not even in my class.”

“What do you mean she’s not in your class? There is nothing separating her and you. You can be anything you want to be, and she can be anything she wants to be, also. No one is above you, and no one is below you,” their father, Raymond, extolled parental and life-defining advice.

“No, daddy! I know all that,” Carmen carefully explained. “She IS in a different class. My teacher is Mr. Flores, and she is in Ms. Davila’s class. See? Different classes.”

Raymond was flustered and blushed a deep red while taking his spot at the head of the table.

“Sorry about that, honey. So, how did you get invited to a party with a girl in another classroom?”

“Only the most popular kids are going, and there are going to be even a few sixth- and seventh-grade girls there, too.”

“So what do you think is going to happen at this party,” Tim asks while pouring his drink.

“Well, we are definitely going to be talking about boys. I just hope none show up. They would just mess up everything.”

“Yep. You’re probably right about that. So are you going to miss my game tomorrow night for this party?”

A look of terror took over Carmen’s face, and obvious to everyone else at the table, the youngest Murphy child did not even think about her older brother’s football game. “Oh! Sorry, Tim. If I go to the party, I’ll probably miss the game, but you need me there to cheer for you. I can miss the party if you need me to,” she moaned and tried, unsuccessfully, to convince herself.

“Oh, that’s okay, Carmen. You said it yourself – it is a very important party. I would not want you to miss it for just a football game. It’s not like it’s a playoff game or anything. I think we can manage without you for one week,” Tim explained to his little sister.

The smile immediately returned to her face. “Good. We still need you guys to win, though, so don’t let them lose!”

“Yes, ma’am.”