Chapter 80: Reality Bites

Leonard Huffnagle was getting winded as he hurried down the hall, avoiding eye contact with several others, headed for the building wing for the football coaches’ offices. He could not often run because of his asthma, or so he always said to others.

He slowed down before reaching the office of his long-time friend, the current linebacker coach for the IMG Academy Ascenders. He stopped entirely before reaching the correct door and tried to freshen himself, running fingers through his hair and adjusting his clothes. Leonard took in a final deep and, he hoped, cleansing breath before knocking. A brusque “Enter!” could be heard, and Leonard carefully opened the door.

“Hey, Leonard! Take a chair. What brings you around to my neck of the woods?” Andrew Thomas, an up-and-coming coach with a bright future, asked with a practiced smile. It was just after lunch on Monday after the Georgia, North and South Carolina, and Texas high school football playoffs, and he was watching some game film from one of the weekend playoff games.

At a glance, Leonard recognized he was watching the highlights from a game in California.

“I wanted to bring this over as soon as I saw it. I sent you an email with a link. I think it is important.” The words came pouring out of the strange man’s mouth like they were one long word. That was how Leonard usually spoke, and Coach Thomas had developed the skill to understand his verbal salad.

“Okay, lemme take a look.” The coach opened his work computer and began searching for the email.

“Um, I sent it to the other email.”

“Oh,” was the coach’s answer. He reached underneath his desk and pulled out a laptop computer Leonard had prepared for him. It had much more robust security measures built inside.

Andrew quickly entered the unique three-tier identification passwords Leonard forced him to create for himself. The additional security on these laptops allowed the two to talk privately about their careers while still working for the school. Coach Thomas and his agent could find more work. His agent was his brother, never paid, who fielded offers for employment every year and sent them along to his brother.

His brother frequently remarked that he never understood why Andrew kept that albatross computer geek shackled around his neck. They had previously lost higher prestige jobs because of the man’s insistence that new schools make room for Leonard, too.

The email was at the top of the list. Andrew quickly read the brief description written by Leonard and clicked the link. “Hey there, everybody! Welcome to Dave Campbell’s Texas Football Today! I’m Todd Dunsmore of Dave Campbell’s Texas Football.” The podcast started, and Andrew looked at Leonard with a look of confusion. “Give it a sec. They get to the important stuff pretty quickly,” Leonard promised.

When the podcast returned from the Troy Williams family news conference, Coach Thomas clicked off the viewer and shut down the computer. He started chuckling under his breath as he replaced the secure computer underneath his desk. “You’re right. I definitely did want to see that,” he noted.

The coach smiled and leaned back, tenting his fingers and tapping them on his chin. “You know,” he started, “that guy at the end had a great idea. I gotta call Ted and have him check. Being that kids’ head coach, we could parlay it into our opportunity to jump onto the college coaching ranks!” He leaned back forward and drummed excitedly on his desk.

From their history together, Leonard knew that Andrew Thomas was excited about the idea.

“Thanks, Leonard, I’ll take it from here.”

“All right, girls! Settle down! Settle down in the stands there!”

Coach O’Shaughnessy and the other coaches had told the football teams to sit in the gymnasium stands before dressing into their pads for the afternoon practice. The players sat on the nearest stadium risers across from the boys’ locker room doorway. A large whiteboard was set up to serve as a film screen.

The older players noticed the doors separating gymnasiums were not closed. They weren’t extra observant; the girls’ teams and cheerleaders were gathering to start their practices in the secondary gymnasium, a magnet for any red-blooded heterosexual male’s eyes.

“Settle down and set your eyes on me!” Coach O’Shaughnessy waited a few moments while the players reset their focus, having sat for a few minutes and turning themselves in various directions to gossip with friends.

“Okay, I’m sure you all saw the press conference this afternoon or at least heard about it. If not, then let me break it down quickly for you. Coach Fontana has left the school, leaving a huge hole in the base of our team.” Coach O’Shaughnessy wasn’t alone in thinking the recent changes in his long-held beliefs probably had something to do with whatever the hell happened in the locker room at the last game’s halftime. He wasn’t going to make those thoughts public.

“I also want to congratulate you players who came out for the second half of the game and fought like crazed dogs to get us the win!” Several players were barking and imitating various breeds of dogs. Luckily, none attempted to prove if they were adequately housebroken. “Special shout out to Tim Murphy. He got you guys where you needed to be to come from behind. That was an excellent football team, and you men showed what we coaches all knew: you were better!”

Congratulating howls and back-slaps swamped Tim, and everyone thanked everyone else.

“Okay. Okay, zip it shut.” The interim head coach waited a moment for the congratulations to end. “Okay, can anyone guess what happens when you beat a good team in the Texas High School Football playoffs?”

“You get a better team.” Frank Robinson was seated right up front and leading the team.

“Absolutely right. You get to face a better team.” Coach O’Shaughnessy stepped closer to the team. “You get to face a much better team – Austin Westlake! They have four state championships under their belts, and they ain’t from back in the 1980s or something like that!

“This team has earned their reputation for being an elite organization. They now expect to compete year in and year out for a championship. They throw the ball all over the field. They can run the ball all over the field. They can sack the quarterback almost whenever they want. They can intercept a football thrown anywhere near any player. They are in shape. They are strong. They are all-powerful. Believe us!” Coach O’Shaughnessy waved to each coach, all standing in an arch around the whiteboards and facing the team. It looked like they had practiced the formation before entering the gym.

“I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you men,” he announced as he put one leg on a stand beside Frank Robinson. “You guys are going to have to play a complete game.”

The coach pushed off the step and began turning on projectors, displaying highlights of Austin Westlake’s season thus far on the whiteboards.

“They have 19 players currently with Division One offers for college football. Do the math. Eleven starters on offense. Eleven starters on defense. The three who do not hold offers to play football are unable to sign those offers because they are underclassmen. Those three have the choice of where to go.”

The coach picked up an iPad off the projector table and began reading. “Blaine Ridgeway. Quarterback – six foot four inches, 210 pounds. He has accepted his offer to play for my alma mater, the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame. Jayshon White, left side offensive tackle – six foot five inches, 335 pounds. He has accepted his offer to play for the University of Alabama. Omar “Jet” Jackson, wide receiver – six foot one inch, 195 pounds. He has accepted his offer to play for Ohio State University. Terrell “Scoot” Williams, running back – five foot ten inches, 220 pounds. He has accepted an offer to play for the University of Southern California. Those are a few highlights of their guys on offense.”

“All of those numbers are confirmed. Watch this while I tell you all about this,” Coach O’Shaughnessy instructed and stepped away from the main whiteboard. The highlight reel for Austin Westlake began with their most recent games. The coach was silent, letting the players absorb what they saw in the video.

First, it centered on their star quarterback, Ridgeway. It focused on his apparent athletic ability. The first play featured him catching the ball from the center snap and his small, three-step drop while already in shotgun formation. The defensive tackle for the other team made a sick swim move, pouring over the center, who missed the block. The tackle had Ridgeway dead-to-rights and seemingly moved to envelop him in his arms. Ridgeway spun away from the oncoming tackler and stepped out from under his grasp. He then pinpointed Jet Jackson out of the corner of his eye. Jet was gracefully pulling away from the defensive back, who was desperately trying to catch up with him at least thirty yards further down the field. The pass was a beautiful arc thrown some fifty yards down the field while the defensive tackle brought the QB down to the ground.

The Rough Riders witnessed a thing of beauty, and several players just looked at each other, having recognized the play from highlights on ESPN from weeks ago.

Coach O’Shaughnessy continued the presentation, attempting to put the fear of God into the team. “The defense is nothing to sneeze at either. Check this out for size: LaMont Peterson, nose tackle – six foot three inches, 335 pounds. He has accepted his offer to play for the University of Southern California. Jeremiah Thomas, defensive end – six foot four inches, 240 pounds. He has not yet decided where to attend school but has collected offers from every school of the SEC, Big 10, and the Big 12. Gary Walker, linebacker – six foot one inches, 220 pounds. He has accepted his offer to play for Southern Methodist University. Get this! He has accepted an academic scholarship rather than the athletic one. He has said he wanted to ‘help the team get more players.’ Imagine that!” Coach O’Shaughnessy was impressed.

“Oh, and for the last bit, let’s not forget all four of the members of the defensive backfield. I still can’t believe this, but Marcus, Marvin, Michael, and Mason Smith, collectively known as the Quads, have all accepted scholarships for the University of Georgia. I won’t go over their stats, but believe me, they each exceed the requirements of the position they play,” Coach O’Shaughnessy asserted, then joined the players in watching the highlights after placing the iPad back on the table.

The video highlights continued with another circus catch for a touchdown from Jet Jackson. Then Scoot Williams took the ball from the QB for a dive right up the middle. It was stuffed immediately, and. He saw the play was stopped, jumped two steps to the side, and turned the corner, turning the loss of yards into a 75-yard scamper around all the remaining defenders between him and the end zone. The silence from the players watching in the gymnasium was deafening.

“I told you I wasn’t going to sugarcoat it for you,” Coach added, turning off the projectors. “This week is going to be difficult for all of us. We cannot control what happens outside our program, but we can control how we handle it. I remember a football team acting like a man possessed just months ago, crushing a team I thought we had no business beating. I’ve been coaching for nearly 45 years, and damn if that wasn’t one of the proudest moments not only of my coaching life but my whole life. Period.” He looked each player in the eyes throughout his speech.

“Okay, I’d say we have some work to do, don’t all of you?” Coach asked.

“HA-OOH! HA-OOH! HA-OOH!” Cheering and more intense chanting came from a corner of the gymnasium where the cheer squad and the Patriots dance squad gathered. Once the team and Coach O’Shaughnessy noticed them, they quietly stood as if waiting for something.

“Okay, men. Let’s get dressed and ready for work this afternoon. Shoulder pads and helmets only today, ladies!” It was eerie how quietly and efficiently the team got up from the stands, grabbed their gear, and shuffled back to the locker room.

No one dared speak until they entered the locker room. Frank Robinson stopped just inside the door and used his middle finger knuckle to thump several loud talkers gently when they entered. When Tim turned the corner and saw the senior captain thumping a couple of guys, he nodded solemnly.

The sound level was still stifled as they dressed for practice, but almost everyone quietly discussed the highlights they had just watched. Once outside the locker room and jogging to the practice fields, the more vocal gossip began in earnest. That shut off once a coach whistled for the beginning of practice.

Monday afternoon practice featured all the players training with a sense of seriousness they only exhibited a few times during the week.

Tim and his friends didn’t jog back to the locker room after practice but did not take their time. Several coaches were there waiting for everyone to show up. They had another announcement before letting them go for the day.

“Quiet down. Quiet down, ladies. Go ahead and remove your helmets. I forgot to tell you guys something before practice, and I was just reminded of it,” Coach O’Shaughnessy revealed. “Seeing as how we got a holiday this week, the schedule is a little bit wacky. There is no school Thursday or Friday, and we aren’t evil assholes that will keep you from celebrating Thanksgiving with your families.”

He paused for the gentle laughing to subside. “So enjoy the day with your families on Thursday. On Friday, we will be having practice,” he paused as he looked at the other coaches, silently checking with them. “Say 10 am on Friday until about two in the afternoon.” The coaches all nodded yes, and the coach returned to his voice of authority. “Don’t go crazy stuffing your faces with bird, ham, and twenty pumpkin pies. I don’t wanna see it come back up on Friday!” The laughter was much louder. “Hit the showers! Great practice, men!”

The typical conversations started once excused. Most of the guys were hurrying to leave the locker room because they were teenagers, and everything went fast. After showering, Tim wrapped a towel around his waist and used a second to dry his hair and body while walking with Jeff to their lockers.

“Who was that?” Jeff muttered as the two rounded by the coach’s office. The door was slammed shut right before they passed by it.

“I couldn’t tell,” Tim answered honestly. The two slowed down by the office door, but seeing nothing, they continued toward the locker room.

A loud yell, several cat calls, and obvious hand-slapping from the coach’s office got everyone’s attention. All the players in the locker room rushed from the locker area onto the blue carpet and stared at the slammed coach’s office door. It reopened, and Coach O’Shaughnessy and Coach Costley came out with a third man behind them, each wearing huge smiles.

“Dad?” Jeff questioned under his breath.

A piercing whistle signaled the players to attention, now a Pavlovian response.

“Jeff Smith, front and center,” Coach O’Shaughnessy bellowed. Jeff, still with a towel wrapped around his waist and a second towel dangling over his shoulder, stepped forward. His father stepped out from behind the coaches.

“I’m sorry, son. I got so excited when the mail came; I opened it when I saw it, told your mama, and rushed over here to give it to you.” He handed a packet to his son. Jeff waved his father off for his mistake of opening the packet of papers.

“I got it,” Jeff whispered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. “I got it,” he said again, looking up at his dad, a mountain of a man at least six-foot-five inches tall. His dad had tear stains running down his face as he nodded yes over and over to his son. “I got the football scholarship to go to UTSA!”

Everyone in the locker room area was screaming and congratulating Jeff as he hugged his father and tried to survive the onslaught of slapping hands and hugs from all the varsity, mainly the other seniors.

Jeff turned around and found Tim smiling and clapping with everyone else. Jeff made a beeline to Tim, catching him off guard momentarily. He wrapped his arms around Tim and picked the freshman up, spinning him around like a ballet dancer. He put Tim’s feet back down on the ground and gushed. “It’s all because of you! They sent me a couple of letters saying they had heard the story of switching positions and checked into it. They liked what they saw. They told me so! They said it showed real character when I offered to switch positions. They started watching me as we all were following you.”

Jeff’s words seemed to fall out of his mouth and barely had form or made much sense but his happiness was easy for all to see. The smile on his face was not coming off for a while. “I’m gonna play Division I college football because of you,” Jeff exclaimed while fighting back tears.

Tim was a bit startled but was quick to correct his friend. “Naw, man. You said they said it themselves. You’re putting the team first and recognizing how much a simple move for you would make the team better down the line. Then you worked hard every day,” Tim pointed out. “Don’t forget; your ass has been varsity for two years now. They got the film, and they could see your improvement every day.”

“You deserved it, man. Congrats!”

The cheering reared up, and Jeff hugged Tim once again. When the excitement died down once more, and he realized Tim was tucking his towel back in, Jeff glanced down and noticed his towel had fallen off his waist. While Jeff introduced Tim and his father to each other, the locker room emptied, each player floating on cloud nine and fantasizing about getting the same letter from their dream school.

Tim offered to get another ride home, but Jeff insisted he not break tradition. Several work and delivery trucks were parked up and down both sides when they pulled onto Tim’s street. It was soon easy to see workers coming in and out of the Matthews’ house next door.

“Ah, the Royal Highnesses getting upgraded, perhaps?” Jeff asked with a sad attempt at a faux-British accent, referring to an infamous incident involving one of the Matthews triplets at lunch.

“Shut up. They are nice people,” Tim defended his new neighbors. “What would you have done if some asshat sat down next to you and tried to cop a feel in the middle of the cafeteria?”

“Is that what David Arnold did? I thought he just asked that chick Marcie out on a date,” Jeff exclaimed.

“Naw, man, I heard it later. David sat down next to Marcie and whispered in her ear that they should find someplace quiet to get better acquainted. He topped it off by putting his hand on her lap and trying to push it under her skirt.”

“No shit?”

“No shit, my guy. I’m actually surprised she didn’t just fucking deck him,” Tim wondered aloud.

“Wow. I thought Arnold was an okay guy! I mean, I never heard of him doing anything like that before,” Jeff responded as they had to stop at least two houses before Tim’s. “Sorry, I can’t get you any closer than this. What the hell is going on here? It’s like someone is trying to build a house in between the houses!”

“Not a problem.” Tim grabbed his backpack. “Again, man, congrats on UTSA. A good school on the rise, and so is the football team. You’ll do great!” The two ended their conversation with a complicated handshake, and Tim made strides over the neighbors’ lawns on his way to his house.

“Oh, hey, Tim? You got a second?” Mr. Matthews was outside on his lawn, trying to organize the chaos, as Tim continued walking across his lawn to speak with his neighbor.

“What can I do you for, Mr. M?”

“Well, I got a favor to ask, but I don’t have time right now. We’re building out an extra little room in part of the garage, and I understand that you know a bit about computers.”

Tim nodded yes, and he readjusted his backpack.

“Well, we just bought a whole new system, and while the girls know all about insipid dances on the Face-Tock, they can’t put the thing together. Can you come on over and give me a hand setting it up?”