Chapter 82: Irresistible Force vs. Immovable Object

Tim had a strange feeling Saturday morning when his mom dropped him off at the locker room for the playoff game. He got dressed in workout clothes and found he was not the only person already at the school getting their heads ready for the game. Big John’s son, ex-NFL offensive lineman Coach Fontana, was pushing heavy weights on the bench press.

“Wow! Hey, Coach, do I need to worry about my record?” Tim joked as Coach Fontana sat up after finishing his lifts. The coach returned the laugh.

“Not just no, son, but hell no! I couldn’t push that kind of weight even when I was playing in the league,” Coach Fontana retorted, taking a swig from his water bottle and then setting it on the floor next to where he was lifting. “I’ve never seen anyone lift what you easily can do.”

He took another drink from his water bottle. “What are you doing here? You guys aren’t expected to start showing up until 2 pm. What is it?” The coach looked at the clock high up on the wall. “It’s just after 9 in the morning.”

“I figured I’d get in a little workout and then run over to Sombrero Rosa for a couple of bean and cheese tacos then relax before the game, maybe even look at some more film,” Tim explained as he set up his bench weights by adding 50 pounds onto the coach’s bar. Tim lifted once, held the bar high above his chest, and shuffled his feet to get more comfortable.

“I tell you what,” Coach Fontana offered. “How much were you going to get in bean and cheese tacos?”

“I’ve got twenty on me.”

“Hand it over,” Coach demanded. “I’ll pick up some tacos, and we’ll go over the film again. We can do it together.”

Tim happily agreed, put the bar back on the bench’s rack, and returned to his locker to get his money. He was returning through the locker room area when he saw the coach coming to him. Tim handed off the cash, and Coach Fontana promised to be right back while securing a promise from Tim to take it easy on the weights.

It was a rare opportunity for Tim to get to use the school’s weight room while being alone. He was about to get back to lifting what he did in front of the coach and, at the last second, thought better of it. “I could reduce this weight. Let me concentrate on form.”

He pulled several plates off the bar and then wiped down the bar and the bench. Next, he set up a tripod from the supply closet and attached his cell phone to film himself as he lifted. It was unnecessary for the nanites to keep track of his health and form since they seemed to take great pleasure in reporting to Tim for imperfect form while he lifted.

Tim was about twenty minutes into his lifts when the phone began ringing. He put the bar back and checked the phone. It was Coach Fontana. “Yeah, Coach?”

“I’m back with the stuff. Do you have something to drink?”

“Can you grab me a couple of cans of Hawaiian Punch from the machine outside the weight room?”

“You got it. I’ll be there in a minute.” They ended the call, and Tim quickly returned the weight plates and the bar to their proper locations. He also wiped the bench down again before shutting off the lights. After buying four more cans of Hawaiian Punch at the soda machine and approaching the door outside the coach’s office to the film room, he could smell the tacos. Two knocks on the door...

“Enter!” Coach Fontana’s gruff voice answered from inside. He was not alone. Frank Robinson was also there, feasting on Egg McMuffins and sipping coffee.

“Yo! Mayhem! What are you doing here so early?” Frank asked as he offered a quick and complicated handshake.

“Just anxious, I guess. I got in a quick workout and decided to watch more film before it got too busy to see what I wanted to see.”

“Cool,” Frank answered and was unsuccessful in keeping a chunk of English muffin in his mouth while talking.

Frank grabbed a nearby napkin, wiped up his mess from the table, and balled the trash into the paper bag on the table. He finished his final bite of his sandwich as Tim sat down across from the coach.

“Same old Saturday tradition for me since junior year,” Frank continued. “Saturday games give me a chance to get in a little more film session and scarf down a rare McDonald’s treat.”

Tim smiled and grabbed a couple of tacos from Coach Fontana’s pile on the table.

The coach pulled the film from the last Austin Westlake win to show the two defensive leaders. “When Coach O’Shaughnessy told you these guys were scary, he wasn’t kidding. Not only do they deserve all of the accolades they get from the recruiting experts, but it’s possible they are all undersold.” Coach Fontana stared at the two players, who broke eye contact and stared at each other after a few moments.

“Tell us what you really think, Coach,” Frank said half-jokingly.

“I am telling you what I think,” Coach Fontana was not wearing even a slight smile. “I’ve seen college and pro players who aren’t as gifted as some of these guys.”

Coach Fontana let that sit in the room for a moment. Then he stared straight at Tim. “That big boy you’re playin’ is as real as they come. I know you can beat him. We gotta know that you know you can beat him. If you’re having trouble with him, let us know.”

Frank jumped in to add his two cents. “If you’re having trouble beating him, let us know, and we’ll come over and put him on his ass!”

Frank was not kidding, and the ferocity coming from him was palpable. Tim offered his fist to Frank, who quickly punched at the offered fist. Neither flinched.

Coach Fontana had to comment, “Awe, screw that, y’all! I know that friggin’ hurt!”

Frank and Tim made a show of trying to wring the pain out of their hands to a symphony of laughs from all three. A couple of hours later, Frank and Tim were on the same page about what they would do to fight off the Austin Westlake juggernaut.

“Holy fuck!” Rob Newsome fell to his knees when Tim and Frank entered the locker room from the film room. “I thought you motherfuckers weren’t coming!”

“Why would we not come?” Frank challenged.

Rob slowly stood back up, his mouth wide open like a bird waiting for its parent to feed their chewed food. “Well, um, I dunno. When I couldn’t find either of you ... well ... well, I guess I started freaking out a bit.”

“A bit?” Frank jokingly asked as he gave Rob a friendly shove toward the locker room. Frank and Tim were a little thrown back when they noticed most of the players were now in the locker room at least five hours before they were scheduled to leave for the relatively nearby Alamodome. After practice on Monday, the team had lucked out when Coach O’Shaughnessy won a coin flip with the coach of Austin Westlake to choose where they would play their playoff game.

Everyone there was still relaxing but was also concentrating on checking their equipment and changing straps, and tightening the screws of their helmets and shoulder pads. The coaches had just passed out the uniform jerseys and pants for everyone.

“Hey, if you wanna go over last-minute film, the room is open, and I suggest positions go in to look over the same areas of the game,” Troy Williams yelled out to the locker room when he appeared from the coach’s office. At his entrance, the morale of the team shot through the roof, but both captains quickly got the team back under some control.

“Yes, I’m cleared to play, and Coach O’Shaughnessy just named me the starter. Sorry, Rob.”

“Are you kidding?” Rob yelled out loud, jumping toward the quarterback, and holding onto his legs. “Don’t do that to me ever again!”

Everyone laughed at the funny scene. The team broke up again and returned to what they did before the introduction. Troy corralled Tim and Frank and pulled the two into the main gym through the boys’ gym entrance in the locker room.

“Guys,” he started the conversation, “how was practice this week?”

“The guys look ready, but we have a few spots we are worried about,” Frank reported.

“Like what?”

“Not really worried about our side, but how will we react when we hit guys with loads of talent?” Frank answered. “We’ve played great teams before, but these guys are like a college team that just hasn’t had that kind of pro-level peanut butter. They are ready for college ball, but them boys ain’t had to play hard for an entire game. They were just like us; they blew out teams quick, fast, and in a hurry.”

“I think the problems for us will come if we aren’t ready to go the distance. They will knock us onto our asses. We gotta take their punches and punch right the fuck back ... hard!” Tim injected.

The rest of the afternoon fell into place like a regular in-season game. Tim bought a couple of Hawaiian Punch for the pre-game meal even though the coaches didn’t like anyone to drink anything other than some flavored Gatorade. It was one of the few perks Tim took advantage of from his coaches.

After the meal, Tim took a moment to help the janitor clean the utensils and plates from their chicken-fried steak and pasta meal. Tim then offered Mario, the janitor, an extra can of Hawaiian Punch.

“Hey, pendejo! Win da game!” Mario’s weakly offered his English-as-his-second-language instruction. This was his tradition ever since Tim first offered to help clean up after his team.

Tim’s help was appreciated but unnecessary since Mario’s shift was set for doing one thing while waiting on other assignments: cleaning up after the football team’s pre-game dinners. At the same time, the towels used in other sports and the last physical education classes ran through the washing machines. Tim often offered assistance with that, too, which Mario appreciated because it took twenty minutes off his work for the evening. Working day in and day out with these same kids, he felt happier when their school teams won.

The bus ride to the Alamodome felt exactly like the week before. The only difference was that Coach O’Shaughnessy, rather than Big John Fontana, ordered everyone off the bus and into the locker room before they would go out as a team to walk the field.

Frank immediately made his way to the field and pulled both Troy and Tim to go with him. It was a good idea. “What’s wrong, Frank? Do you need help counting the lights on the roof?” Tim joked to the defensive captain, and Troy and he began laughing.

Before Frank could answer the question, a few of the Austin Westlake Chaparrals team stood in front of the Riders. The Chaparrals team was leaving the field after having their own time to adjust to the new-to-them stadium field.

“Oh shit! It’s the second coming of the gorilla and the flying clipboard stopper!” One of a small grouping of players from the Chaparrals sideline called out as the Rough Rider threesome exited the home field tunnel. The lousy joke set off the predictable blather from the group that was straight-out-of-casting from a bad 1980s teenager-overcoming-the-bully movie.

The three did the correct thing, ignoring the taunts and walking around them. The taunts continued, though, and were getting closer as the three neared the fifty-yard line. A group of about 15 Chaparral players had broken off from the rest of their team and began a march to meet at the fifty.

Tim made a subtle look over the oncoming players’ shoulders and saw several coaches turn back toward the field but held themselves back. He could also make out Coaches Fontana, Barrett, and Alvarez just inside the tunnel, not yet in the lights of the Alamodome.

“Nope! Ain’t nowhere to run motherfucker! You gots an ass-whooping coming tonight, and Imma break my foot off right in yo ass!”

The largest member of the group blustered for their benefit. He even emphasized his position by allowing his teammates to hold him back from beginning his threats early.

“Shit. Ain’t nothing between us but air and opportunity, you ugly motherfucker,” Troy, usually a calm, relaxed, and collected football player, answered uncharacteristically. Tim and Frank felt like standing a little taller.

“Hey,” Tim said, pointing to one of the players. “Can I see that ball?”

The Chaparrals’ star wide receiver and future Ohio State Buckeye Jet Jackson saw no harm in letting an opponent see one of their footballs and lightly tossed it to Tim, who caught it with little effort.

Mayhem took a few seconds to admire the grain and the branded Austin Westlake football logo along one side of the ball. Mayhem looked up to the Chaparrals, who watched him intently. Mayhem produced a sadistic-looking Cheshire grin and slapped the ball with both hands. The ball instantly exploded between his hands, and the sound of the explosion echoed for a few seconds in the mostly empty arena. Jackson made just a small effort to catch the deflated ball after it was tossed back to him.

“Thanks! See you guys on the field for real in a few minutes,” Tim jibed.

Before any extracurricular activities could start between the two groups of players, a double tweet from a whistle came from their sidelines and quickly gathered their attention.

“Okay, ladies, in the locker room. You can play with your friends in a little while,” bellowed a coach from the visitor’s tunnel. The Chaparrals group continued insults and declarations of their intentions during the game while walking back toward their locker room.

The Westlake players were off the field, whispering to themselves while returning to their locker room when their coach barked, “Jackson!”

“Yeah, Coach?”

“Lemme see the ball.”

After Jet Jackson tossed the floppy and deflated leather ball, his coach inspected the remnants of the ball and saw the hole on the top of the ball. The leather, as well as the air membrane within, had exploded out of the top of the ball.

“Damn,” the coach muttered to himself. He took the ball with him to the locker room’s office, rolling it up and wrapping a swath of papers he was carrying around them in an attempt to hide the former football.

Frank and Tony all congratulated Tim on summarily answering the trash talk in a swift move. “That was fuckin’ perfect. Holy shit! I heard how you had done it during that one freshman game, but...” Tony gawked, “damn, Mayhem!”

The three concluded with the well-practiced handshake the two seniors had devised for just each other, with Troy going off to watch over his offense. Frank and Tim dropped to the ground and rolled themselves onto their back to try counting the number of lights again. They’d get partway through their count when another player would come to ask questions about the game plan or to offer encouragement for the upcoming game. Before either could finish, a familiar double tweet of a whistle came, followed by a very recognizable voice.

“Okay, ladies! Let’s get dressed and get last-second instructions for the game! Come on! Today, ladies!” Coach O’Shaughnessy repeated his double tweet, and the team herded themselves back to the locker room area.

“Aye, yo! Frank! Mayhem!” came from the other side of the Rough Rider sideline. A young man jogged toward the two players from a partially unloaded pickup truck packed with audio equipment. Trey Davis had been organizing it behind the stands and aiming some speakers at the home crowd.

Tim recognized the assorted equipment was similar to what was used for the house party that was shot up. That drama supposedly caused an upheaval with the Darq Squad. Rumor had it they were being enveloped by another gang since no one had seen hide nor hair of any of the Darq Squad since their former leader’s body was found in a dumpster behind the school. The police returned to the school several times to continue their investigation into A-Train’s death, but nobody had heard anything else about the gang since then.

“Yo, Trey, what are you doing down here on the field?” Frank asked before Tim had a chance to respond. The two players and the DJ welcomed each other with a complicated handshake.

“I’m working for the booster club.”

“That you’ll have to explain,” Tim disputed.

“Your neighbors had the idea and brought along the cheerleaders with an idea to help modernize the school’s hype business before your games. They got in touch with the marching band, and the new band director thought it was a great idea. They got the booster club to foot the bill for me for tonight’s game. If you go to state, I’ll be on the sidelines for that one also. I’ll be playing a little bit before kickoff and working with the cheerleaders to get the game started right.”

“Nice,” Frank gushed.

“Sounds cool, man. I can’t wait to hear what you are gonna play.”

“Say, Tim, I got a quick question for you.”

“Fire away,” Tim granted.

“Which song do you think would sound better for when the guys shoot out of the tunnel?” Trey then showed Tim an iPad and pointed out the songs he had in mind. Tim smiled and pointed to one of the songs. Trey nodded and pulled back the iPad before Frank could see the choice.

“Yo, which one did you pick?”

“I’m not telling. You can be just as surprised as everyone else.”

When Frank pouted like a little kid, Trey countered, “Awww, don’t be like that. You’ll like it. Trust us.”.

Tim grabbed Trey and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Both young men then smiled at the defensive captain. Frank couldn’t help but start laughing as Trey turned to jog back to his truck.

Two more whistles were heard, and Coach O’Shaughnessy tapped his foot and pointed to a non-existent wristwatch. Tim and Frank got the message and jogged a little bit faster toward the locker room.

“Please tell me you got that,” Sam Holdin begged his brother when they met at a table no one was currently using. “Please tell me you got the teams meeting at the fifty!”

Terry Holdin smiled and handed him a memory stick.

“Yes!”

Sam opened a laptop and put in the memory stick, quickly finding the footage he had just asked about. “Yes!”

The two brothers spent a few minutes watching and re-watching the video of Tim popping the football. “I shot it, and I didn’t believe it when I saw it,” Sam proclaimed.

On the screen, Tim catches the football and examines it, then puts on an eerie grin, pops the football, and tosses the flaccid remains back to the same Austin Westlake football player. “Shit. I didn’t even notice Mayhem’s grin. That’s gangsta!”

Both brothers were practically jumping in place as they sent the footage to their cloud server. Once finished, Sam pulled out his phone and ordered the handling of the footage, which was quickly edited and posted on all the social media sites.

Terry smiled at his brother. “I think this game is going to be interesting.”

“Or at least, we’ll make it look that way in the edit.”

Their helmets were all buttoned up. The straps on their shoulder pads were cinched tight. The final chunks of nerves were vomited into the puke can, and fans lined the path outside the entrance of the inflatable tunnel. The team stood silently as Frank and Troy took their spots as captains in front of the gathering.

Frank spoke first.

“Fellas. We are not yet where we want to be. We got babies for some of the other teams and, finally, the last chumps to beat for the state title. It’s been mostly easy with the leadership on the field from our super-freshman, who has graciously allowed the two of us to act like captains when we all know he, really, is our leader. We’ve got work to do, but don’t forget to take a moment to try to take it all in. This is amazing. Don’t forget it,” Frank took a step back and gave a subtle nod to the offensive captain.

“Guys. We’ve had a little adversity recently, but the only way to know what is good is to compare it to the bad. The good times are what we want to remember, but the bad times get us through to those good times. Like Frank said, we are on the cusp of something great here. We will do something in the next couple of weeks that we and our classmates will all remember for the rest of our lives. I wanna be a champion. Who else wants it?” Troy asked his teammates.

The cheers started from the back of the inflatable tunnel as player after player started shouting they wanted it and slapping their own pads or the pads of the player next to them. The yelling quickly coalesced into nearly 80 guys screaming, “I want it!”

That was when Trey and his new additional sound system made their first appearance.

The opening bars of a rap classic well known by each Roosevelt Rough Rider rang out. DMX’s 1998 classic “Ruff Ryders’ Anthem” began with its simple and repetitive beats, the song building pressure and a ‘grit of the streets’ mentality. DMX’s signature dog growl and overpowering attitude throughout the song were followed by a military-like cadence and rhythm throughout the song, coinciding with the theme of forming a cohesive unit.

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

It seemed impossible that the noise level could go any higher, but once the student body recognized the song, people worried about the building construction quality of the Alamodome.

The students in the stands and the dance squad seated in their section were all jumping up and down, bumping into one another and singing and dancing with one another, and yelling all at the top of their voices. The band was equally riled up and attempting to out-dance the dance teams. Quite a few parents were similarly affected by the choice of song.

From his vantage point, Tim could even see several teachers, who had come to offer encouragement for their students, jumping up and down and dancing. However, they were far more aware of each other’s personal space.

Luckily, Trey had keyed up the clean version of the song. All the profanity was either beeped out or simply muted, but it did not matter. The team was shot out of the tunnel like a cannon, and they sprinted, each one, to the middle of the field.

The Austin Westlake Chaparrals were simply dumbfounded. There were several instances of the players standing slack-jawed as they watched the festivities. It took several firm warnings from their coaches for the team to get back to their jobs of getting warmed up for a football game. The Chaparrals had just received a first-hand lesson on how to get the teams and student body ready for a playoff atmosphere.

The Rough Riders won the coin toss and deferred. They wanted the ball to begin the second half. The kickoff was uneventful as it sailed out of the back of the end zone. Juan Cano was joking with his teammates on the sideline: “I’m not even going to give them a chance to run it back.”

Surprisingly, there was little trash talk between the two teams at the beginning of the game. The Chaparrals came out with their standard spread formation, and the Rough Riders countered with their base defense. This standard formation had progressed since Tim solidified himself as a reckoning force.

Tim took his space on the right side of the defensive line, with Jeff Smith manning the defensive tackle spot right next to him., Jeff set himself opposite the space between the offense’s left guard and the center as traditional four-three defenses lined up. He was able to cheat over to being directly over the center since no offense could stop Tim from destroying the left-side blocking assignments. A Rough Rider defense like this helped hold up against any attacks straight up the middle of the offense or even to the right-hand side.