Chapter 13: Saturday, Aug. 25

I swear, I’m going to take a sledge hammer to that damn alarm clock the next time it wakes me up at 5 a.m. Of course, that was partly my own fault for not resetting it for 5:30 this morning, which would have still given me a half hour to get dressed, fed and to the fieldhouse.

I took advantage of the extra time to shave legs and head, then went to have something resembling a real breakfast. In addition to my bowl of cereal, I made a couple of pieces of cheese toast in the toaster oven and zapped a couple of slices of bacon in the microwave. That should be enough to hold me until we got our lunch, but I was going to be more than ready for supper tonight.

With nothing better to do, I made sure I had all my reading assignments in my backpack and headed for the fieldhouse. There was some material I’d need to access online, but I could get that using my phone if need be.

There were just a few vehicles in the parking lot — most of them coaches, I was sure — when I arrived at the fieldhouse. The locker room was open, so I went ahead and changed into workout shorts, UnderArmour top, sanitary socks and running shoes for the trip. The equipment bags took some figuring out, but it didn’t take me long to realize all the foldable items should go in first with the helmet and shoulder pads last. I got my bag zipped up and was getting some reading in as guys began showing up.

“Man, look at you,” Ronnell teased as he began packing his bag. “Doin’ schoolwork on a football trip.”

“If I get it done before we get back, I can go out with a pretty girl tonight,” I said.

“Forget that and just go out with the pretty girl,” Calvin chimed in.

It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but it was quickly followed by the thought of Mom’s reaction if she found out I was ditching homework for girls. I needed to find some teachers who realized weekends were supposed to be a break from school. None of my current ones seemed to think so.

“You’d better start thinkin’ about football right now, though,” Ronnell said.

At my questioning look, he nodded at the top shelf of my locker.

“You might want to take all your pads,” he said. “That’d just guarantee you’d get a hip pointer or sumpin’ the first time you get hit.”

I looked over my shoulder to see the thigh, hip and butt pads stacked neatly with the protective cup on top. Yeah, I might oughta take those.

“Thanks, man,” I said. “My dad likes to say I’d forget my dick if it wasn’t attached.”

“You keep foolin’ ‘round with Coach Tucker’s daughter, it won’t be,” Calvin crowed, eliciting howls of laughter from every player who heard us.

“I appreciate your concern,” I said with just a touch of sarcasm.

Rather than pursue the point that I was not foolin’ ‘round with Stephanie Tucker, I unzipped my bag and tried to determine how best to insert the rest of my pads.

“Put ‘em inside the helmet,” Ronnell advised.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, pulling the shoulder pads back out.

I took the opportunity to make sure I had everything I was supposed to. On the bottom were the pants, white mesh practice jersey and compression shorts. I remembered to stuff my white spirit rag in there to prevent scalp abrasions. Ronnell and Calvin showed me how putting one shoe at each end of the bag would make everything else fit easier. With the small pads and cup placed inside the helmet, I pulled the facemask up through the hole in the shoulder pads and worked to get it all back in the bag.

More guys came in, changed clothes and packed their gear. Before I could get back to my reading, Coach Tucker came through the locker room blowing his whistle.

“Buses are here!” he shouted. “Let’s get loaded up!”

I made sure I had everything put away, stuffing my wallet, keys and phone in the backpack, and zipped up and grabbed my bags. Outside, I found two big touring buses like Greyhound used — they even had toilets in the back — but these were painted in school colors with our school name and logo. No yellow dogs for this trip.

The yellow school buses would be used for home games — when we would dress out in everything but helmets, shoulder pads and jerseys which we would carry in our laps for what would maybe be a 10-minute ride to the stadium — and a couple of district road games that were extremely close. Our freshmen and JV would travel in them for all their trips after today, but even they were getting a taste of the big time for this one.

Our school district had a fleet of these “activity buses” that seated about 50 and were used throughout the year. Most football trips would use two for the team and 10 for the band. During the playoffs, when JV players would get to suit up and stand on the sidelines, the team might need four or five of the chariots.

The student trainers and managers who didn’t accompany the subvarsity teams would travel in school district SUVs, usually Chevy Suburbans or Ford Excursions, which would also tow equipment trailers. Members of the coaching staff who weren’t assigned to babysit players on buses would also travel in an SUV.

I could only imagine what the district’s transportation department had to do to keep that many vehicles operational for such trips. Our second game way out west must be one gigantic logistical nightmare.

The luggage hatches on the undercarriage of both buses were open and guys were loading their gear. It took me a few seconds to realize that offense was loading onto one bus and defense on the other. I put my bag in the back of the last bay of the offense’s bus, figuring it would be easy to find after our arrival, shouldered my backpack and got in line to get on the bus.

Dad was right — Jed was making the trip and had already boarded, taking a window seat a few rows back. He had his crutches laying against the seat next to him, but moved them when he saw me.

“Dude, right here,” he called out. “I saved you a spot. Just be ready to move if I have to go to the bathroom.”

I noticed Jed and the rest of the offensive linemen were wearing matching T-shirts despite our instructions. The shirts had a cartoonish-looking image of a chicken with two broken eggs under its butt and a pig with a hindquarter missing. That was underscored with the legend “This Hog’s Committed!”

“Cool shirt,” I said as I took my seat.

I settled in next to my buddy and pulled a book out of my backpack, which I stowed in the overhead rack. May as well get more reading done while I could.

“You brought your laptop?” Jed asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I may need to get online for some stuff on the way back.”

“I brought a couple of movies and my little DVD player,” he said, holding up a little travel bag, “but we could watch them on your screen. What is that, 15 inches?”

“Seventeen,” I said.

“Sweet,” he said. “I’ve got a battery pack that’s supposed to last for days if you’ve got a USB line. We can use that if your battery gets low.”

The bus pulled out promptly at 6:30, following the train of SUVs. I was officially on my first football road trip.

It took us a few minutes to work our way through town to the freeway, but we were soon rolling along at or maybe slightly above the speed limit. We weren’t being passed by anyone, but there wasn’t much traffic this early on a Saturday.

I got out of my seat to swap books before we were even out of the urban sprawl. Jed had started watching one of his movies with earbuds, but dozed off just as we were getting out into open country. His snoring was distracting enough that I put the book away and started watching the movie — an old John Wayne western, Rio something or other. I amused myself by making up dialogue in my head since I couldn’t hear the soundtrack. At least I didn’t shout “Look out, Duke! Behind you!” during the failed attempt to sneak up on the hero that all these movies seemed to have.

We were still about 20 minutes from our destination when the chief bad guy got what was coming to him, the pretty girl got kissed (I noticed that as Wayne got older, that task seemed to fall to the young sidekick) and they rode off into the sunset before the credits rolled. Jed jerked awake just as the screen switched back to the main menu.

“Sorry, Dude, but I gotta go,” he said, trying to get everything off his lap.

I stood up and grabbed the DVD player as my friend pulled his earbuds out, then hobbled out into the aisle. With seats on either side to use for support, he didn’t need his crutches. He only got hit three or four times for stabilizing himself using the heads of other offensive linemen instead of their seatbacks.

The bus was two or three exits away from the one we needed to take when Jed returned. From the sounds of skin being slapped and his laughter, he’d supported himself on a few more heads of teammates during the return trip.

“Just scoot over,” he said when I moved to stand and let him in. “We’re nearly there. Man, I forgot how hard it is to hit the target on a moving bus. Our driver must have been lookin’ for potholes.”

In just a few minutes, we could see the light standards of the stadium. I didn’t realize it was so close to the interstate, maybe a quarter mile. Our bus made three turns before pulling through a gate to a parking spot next to the dressing rooms. The defense’s bus pulled in right beside us.

It took a few minutes for everyone to unload. Jed grabbed his crutches and exited quickly before any of the guys behind us could pay him back for his antics on the way to and from the toilet. I understood why as some of them filed past me.

“Dude’s hands were wet,” Hank Preston complained. “Better’ve been because he washed ‘em before he came back.”

Since the bus was parked in a secure location, we were told to leave anything we didn’t need for the scrimmage. When I went to retrieve my equipment bag, I found about a half dozen others stuffed into the same bay. Fortunately, the bags had our jersey numbers stenciled on the sides. I only had to move three bags before I found No. 98.

I followed the crowd into our assigned dressing room, which was pretty basic. The host school actually dressed across the way in its own facility next to the practice field, but had built a fairly simple structure that could house up to four teams. I was told they planned on hosting doubleheaders in the high school playoffs, while visiting college teams could have space for offense and defense to dress separately. At least the place had restroom facilities and showers.

I found a spot to place my bag and began changing. Dressed in pants — with all the pads in — and the UnderArmour shirt, I went in search of the trainers, who were set up outside.

There was a line at each of the four portable tables they had set up, requiring a bit of a wait, but it wasn’t too bad. Cody from Algebra II taped me up and told me to grab my helmet and get with Coach Rogers so he could check the fit. By the time all that was done, the freshmen were nearly finished and the JV was lining up behind the south end zone to begin warming up.

With nearly an hour to kill before the varsity took the field, I went back inside the dressing room and relaxed. I used my shoulder pads as a backrest and stretched out on the floor, making sure I was out of the flow of traffic. I really should have brought one of my books to do some more reading, but I didn’t want to chance leaving it behind.

Eventually, our time came. I grabbed my helmet and pads and headed down to field level, where the temperature was already getting uncomfortable. A cloudless sky and bright sun didn’t help. It took a few minutes for everyone to arrive and get their gear on. We helped each other make sure everything was secure and that our jerseys covered our pads correctly. Guys began jogging back and forth behind the end zone as the JV portion of the scrimmage wound down.

There was some applause from the parents as the JV came off the field and huddled around their coaches. There was a slightly bigger cheer when the varsity lined up in the end zone and began prancing out for pregame warmups as Coach Tucker blipped his whistle. On the ninth blip, I took the field for my first interscholastic competition. I felt a little less foolish as I high-stepped out to the 5-yard line.

As I expected, I didn’t see a whole lot of action, but I didn’t spend the entire day on the sideline.

Scrimmages are weird things unless you’re actually on the field. It’s more than a practice, but less than a game. Jed often told me that no one wins a scrimmage. There are too many limitations that we won’t have during a game. A team can outscore, even dominate the competition, but it doesn’t really matter if the coaches aren’t happy with the execution. And coaches can always find something to harp on.

The entire coaching staffs of both teams were on the field behind the offense along with several players like Javon and Marcell who would rotate in. That was part of the reason there would be no returns allowed on turnovers.

Morgan was right in the middle of things holding a clipboard, dressed out like the rest of our staff. One of the Bulldog coaches jokingly asked Coach Tucker if it was Take Your Daughter to Work Day. I don’t think Morgan was amused.

Each series started at the offense’s 30-yard line. Drives were allowed to continue as long as you were making first downs, but coaches could elect to start over at the 30 rather than attempt to convert a third-and-long situation.

Among the other differences today were that both head coaches could whistle their offensive plays dead at their pleasure. The starting offense ran its scripted 15 plays. At least five of them looked like they were going to be big gains, if not touchdowns, only to have Coach Tucker blow his whistle just as the backs or receivers were breaking free and bring the ball back to the 30.

We had enough officials from the local chapter for two full crews. These gentlemen had worked both freshman and JV portions and were swapping in and out on almost every play of the varsity segment. I guess zebras need preseason practice just like the players.

Our running backs were ripping off chunks of yardage as the offensive line opened some gaping holes. I could only imagine what things would have been like with Jed in there, then I realized he was out there with the coaches cheering his guys on.

Reggie was under orders not to throw deep even if the defense was giving that up. All our pass plays involved patterns that were less than 10 yards. It was the receivers’ job to get open and they were doing that almost too easily.

The defense was almost as successful. Marshawn seemed to be lining up in the Bulldogs’ backfield. There was more than one occasion where he had the running back wrapped up almost before the handoff was completed. The secondary batted down every pass that wasn’t a screen or checkdown, and they quickly made the tackle on the ones that were completed. The Bulldogs never got more than two first downs and barely crossed the 50 before starting over at their 30.

After 30 plays, the starters came off the field and the second offense went in. I was somewhat surprised when Coach Wilson called for me to be among the players going out there to be available to sub in.

I did that exactly once, and with less than spectacular results. The play call was a toss to the opposite side. My job was to block the outside linebacker on my side long enough that he couldn’t pursue the play just in case the running back cut back.

At the snap, I made like I was running a slant and hit the guy waist-high. He simply shoved me out of the way. The only reason he didn’t pursue the play was he stumbled when he stepped on my chest.

I was able to get up and make it back to the huddle and was immediately replaced.

We ran our 15 plays, making enough first downs to call it a successful outing, and turned it over to our second defense. The unit wasn’t quite as impenetrable as the starters, but never let the Bulldogs get past our 30.

For the 10-play segment, I was again called on for one play. I ran an out route on another running play that went to the other side, but I occupied a defender.

I never went in on the red zone/goal line segment, which saw us score three times in five plays from the 5-yard line. The Bulldogs started at the 20 and made just one first down in two possessions, never reaching the 5.

Most of my time came in the special teams segment, where for once I was not told to field punts. It wouldn’t have mattered because the Bulldogs employed a rugby punt strategy, getting an end-over-end kick maybe 25 yards downfield and gambling that the return man wouldn’t try to field a bouncing ball. Ours didn’t.

Fabrice and Jeremy each kicked an extra point and field goals from 30 and 35 yards. Jed’s replacement at deep snapper put everything pretty much on target. I only had to reach for a couple of balls, but was able to get them on the tee. My concern was how slow the snaps came back. If we’d been facing a rush, I probably would have had to run a fire drill or risk getting a kick blocked.

I thought we were done at that point, but the Bulldogs’ head coach was huddled with Coach Tucker and a couple of officials in the middle of the field. When they broke up, the coaches headed to their respective sidelines. Coach Tucker whistled us up.

“Coach Morton wants to go a live quarter under game conditions,” Coach said. “I’ve agreed. We’ll kick off and will each get at least one possession, then we’ll see how it goes. I reserve the right to call it quits at any time.”

Jeremy boomed the kickoff through the end zone and the Bulldogs started at their 25. The defensive coaches subbed guys in on every play, which I think contributed to our opponents getting one first down. The secondary stepped up again, breaking up passes on second and third down to force a punt.

“Robinson!” Coach Ramirez shouted. “Get out there.”

“What position?” I asked as I pulled my helmet on, wondering why they would send me in.

“You’re the deep man,” Coach Ramirez said. “Line up 40 yards off the ball, about our 25. It’s an automatic fair catch, no return. If they try that rugby punt again, come up and field it. If you can’t get it in the air, let it go.”

This should be interesting, I thought as I headed out to take my position. It was still a little before noon, so the sun was almost directly overhead in a clear sky. Unless they hung a high one, it shouldn’t be a factor.

The Bulldog punter did the rugby thing again, running to his right before kicking. I followed him to that side and came up to field it, but the ball hit somewhere between our 40 and 35, kicking straight out of bounds at our 37. I never got within five yards of the thing.

“Good job,” Coach Ramirez said as I came off the field. “You made the right decision to let it go.”

I might have gotten to it if I’d lined up at the 35, but I followed my instructions.

The offense ran pretty much the same plays we’d run during the controlled portion and moved down the field. In six plays, we were inside the Bulldog 30. Two runs picked up decent yardage, but we were facing third-and-2 at the 19.

“Robinson!” Coach Wilson shouted. “Go in for Calvin at the U.”

“Yes, sir, Coach,” I replied, making sure my helmet was securely in place.

I joined the huddle as Calvin departed and listened as Reggie called a run play. As we broke the huddle, the quarterback put a hand on my shoulder.

“Be ready,” he said. “If they stack the box, I’m comin’ to you. You know what to do?”

“Read the linebacker and run a slant or an out,” I said.

Apparently, our conversation influenced the defense’s approach. The linebacker was on my inside shoulder, practically in my face. Reggie handed off to Javon, who bulled his way for the first down as I ran something resembling an out and took the linebacker with me.

I was immediately replaced by Calvin. Two plays later, Reggie kept on a zone read for a 12-yard touchdown. I went back out to hold for the extra point, which Fabrice converted easily.

Jeremy boomed another kickoff through the end zone, the defense got a three-and-out and Coach Tucker decided he’d seen enough with a little more than three minutes left on the clock. We didn’t even line up for the punt.

We huddled around the coach on the field for his critique of the outing.

“I was pleased with the overall effort,” Coach Tucker said. “I didn’t notice a lot of mistakes, but I’m sure we’ll find plenty when we look at the film. The main thing is we came out of it healthy even with going a little longer than I planned to in this heat.

“Overall, our recognition and execution looked good. But this is just a step in the process. We’ve got to really get to work Monday and start getting ready to play a game. There won’t be any do-overs next Friday. We’ll have to live with the results, good or bad.”

He handed it off to Doc, who reminded us to stay hydrated and stretch as we could. The busride home shouldn’t be an issue since it’d be at least an hour before we got on the road, giving us ample time to cool down and get ready to travel. We should see him or Trapper before departure if there were any issues. They would be available for treatment after we returned and again Monday morning before school.

After a few words from the coordinators, Coach Tucker reminded us of what we’d be doing in athletic period the first few days. Our lifting and flexibility work needed to be completed quickly so we could begin film sessions.

We shouted “TEAM!” on three and were allowed to visit with family members for a bit. My parents, grandparents and cousins along with Kacie, Bethany and Staci were all waiting on me.

“Did you even get in?” Grandma asked. “I was expecting to see jersey numbers, not these things.”

“Coach didn’t want to make it easy for scouts to identify us,” I said. “That’s the main reason we wore our plain practice jerseys. I got in for two or three plays with the backups early and went in a couple of time during the live quarter. Other than that, I just held for kicks.”

“Why’d they put you in on the punt return?” Dad asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said. “I wouldn’t have been allowed to run with it even if I’d caught it. I just got lucky that it bounced sideways instead of past me.”

“Interesting technique on that block,” Grandpa said. “Just fall down and let ‘em trip over you.”

“I think the coaches just wanted to see if I’d try to avoid contact,” I said. “That’s the only reason I can think of for having me in on a running play.”

“When are you gonna score a touchdown?” Kirsten demanded. “I already told all my friends at school you were going to.”

I tried not to laugh. I noticed Dad and Grandpa also struggling to hold it in.

“There are a whole lot of things that would have to happen first,” I told my cousin. Yeah, things like the entire defense leaving the field. “It might not be anytime soon, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Well, y’all looked good,” Grandpa said. “It would have been pretty lopsided if your own coach hadn’t called all those plays back and had you start over.”

I noticed players starting to mosey toward the dressing room. I needed to hurry if I was going to shower. I bet Grandpa was eager to get to the cafe, as well. It was about an 80-mile drive from here.

“I’d better let y’all get on the road,” I said. “Be sure to feed Bethany good. Save me the cost of buying her dinner tonight.”

The little blonde blew me a raspberry in response.

“Somebody’s gonna go home without gettin’ any sugar,” Grandpa laughed.

I’d just have to take my chances. I was pretty sure Bethany was planning on at least a little sugar. Before our encounter in the shower last night, it had been nearly three weeks since we spent the night together at the apartment. We’d had virtually no one-on-one time since then. She must have been going out of her mind waiting for her turn this week.

We said our good-byes. Grandma gave me as much of a hug as she could, but quickly pulled away.

“You need a shower,” she sniffed. “You won’t be getting any sugar smelling like that.”

That drew laughs from the other adults and nods of agreement from Bethany and Staci. With a wave, I headed off to get my shower. I’d probably need another one when I got home. I was definitely looking forward to some sugar.

The facilities were pretty basic, but the showers could hold about a dozen guys at a time. The host college even provided soap and towels. I only had to wait a few minutes for my turn. Everyone was ready to get home and we were all in and out rather quickly, just enough time to soap up and rinse off.

It probably helped that none of us had to waste time with shampooing.

I dressed in my exercise shorts and running shoes. Everything else, including socks, was just too sweaty. I realized that I should have brought a T-shirt to wear home. The only tops I had were the UnderArmour shirt and the jersey, which was still on the shoulder pads. I figured I’d get by well enough since we weren’t supposed to stop anywhere on the way back.

I got all my gear packed and loaded my bag under the bus. I did not want to be the person who opened the hatch after all those bags of sweaty clothes had simmered for a few hours on the ride home. It would be bad enough dealing with my bag.

The student managers were handing out bags of hamburgers for our meals. From the number of bags, it looked like there were just enough for everyone to have one. Some of the linemen looked like they would gladly have accepted a second. I think several were already making plans for where to go after we returned to school.

The trainers had ice chests full of noncarbonated drinks like lemonade and fruit punch. I was hoping for tea, but was told they weren’t serving anything that had caffeine. Dad would have started a riot over that, but I figured I could last three hours or so without.

We were given just enough time to eat without hurrying, then told to police the area and load up. Every piece of litter left behind meant 10 gassers upon our return. I personally saved us at least 50 gassers before getting on the bus.

Jed was already in the seat he’d occupied on the ride out. I grabbed my backpack from the overhead rack before I sat beside him, digging out one of my books to get some reading in. Jed had other ideas.

“Get that laptop out,” he said, waving a DVD in his hand.

What the heck. I could do my reading tomorrow.

I had to wait until everyone sitting behind us had filtered past to have enough room to dig out the computer safely, then put my books back in the bag and stowed it in the overhead rack.

We were pulling onto the interstate by the time the laptop booted up and Jed loaded the disc in the drive. I sat back down to see a menu screen for “The Best of Times” with Robin Williams and Kurt Russell.

“Don’t you have any movies that were made in our lifetime?” I asked my friend.

“Maybe next trip,” Jed said. “Just shut up and watch. This is pretty funny. It was written by the guy who wrote ‘Bull Durham.’”

Actually, I kind of liked this movie. It was one of those, along with “The Fifth Element” and a few others, that would always cause me to stop channel surfing, especially if it was during the football scenes. The hour or so getting to that point was somewhat hit or miss, but there were enough subtle jokes to make it entertaining. You just had to know what to look for.

The opening scenes established Jack Dundee as the biggest loser in a town full of losers, all because he was the son of a bitch who dropped the ball. I admit, the idea of a bunch of washed-up, 30-something guys long past their prime trying to relive their glory days was just a bit implausible, or at least far-fetched, but I was willing to suspend disbelief and just enjoy the movie.

There was one part I had trouble with, though.

“So, this is supposed to be 10 years after the original game where he messed up, right?” I asked Jed.

“Yeah,” he said. “What’s your point?”

“How is it they have teenage kids old enough to go on dates?”

“You think too much, dude,” Jed said. “Just watch the movie.”

There was a small crowd gathering behind us as the story played out. The first time I noticed was when one of the lines drew some chuckles.

“What do I do now?”

“Be cool.”

“Be what?”

“That sounds like somethin’ you’d say, Robinson,” Chuck said, drawing more laughs from the guys.

I was about to respond that I was plenty cool, but Jed shushed us.

“I’m tryin’ to watch the movie,” he snapped.

It finally came time for the big game and even Jed couldn’t resist commenting.

“Their line sucks,” he said as Kurt Russell again got hammered. “Coach Bennett would kill us if we let that happen to Reggie.”

“After I got done with ya,” Reggie said from behind us. “You’d just think Reno Hightower was a prick.”

“But would you be the greatest quarterback in the history of south Kern County?” Chuck snickered.

The climactic scene where Robin Williams bobbles the ball several times before securing it for the winning touchdown also drew criticism.