Chapter 16

That afternoon, the combined varsity and junior varsity soccer teams drilled together. It had turned into a cool, cloudy day, and I felt like I could run forever. We did really boring passing drills, we did three-man weaves, we did three-on-two defensive drills, we did four- on-two offensive drills. We ran laps around the field three times, once during warm-ups, once just before our water break, and as a final exercise. The coaches called it a "warm-down", but we got sweaty all the same. Having played on two teams most of the summer, I quickly got tired of drills and skills tests, and was anxious to scrimmage and play games. About half the varsity team, and a few of the guys on the J.V. team, were of the same opinion, having played most of the summer also, but the coaches were going to do what the coaches were going to do, and no amount of interference from the players, especially underclassmen, was going to change their minds.

From our point of view, certain players on the teams had played together for such a long time, they knew what to expect in a game situation. But the coaches, not having watched us all over the past couple of years, were starting near ground zero. They had to evaluate each player according to their position, their skills and weaknesses, and their teammates. The learning curve was much larger for them than it was for us. Even so, there were a substantial number of guys that I was not familiar with, as far as their soccer playing was concerned. By the time we played our first game, still more than a week away, I knew that I would have a good idea of the strengths and weaknesses of most of the players on both teams.

During our lap runs, we tended to run with our classmates or former teammates. The juniors and the seniors tended to ignore us underclassmen, clumping together as if for protection. During the drills, however, Skip made sure I was partnered with him most of the time. He kept up a running commentary on defensive maneuvers as we drilled. It was his final year as a high-school player, and he was being very generous in sharing his time and his experience with me. I knew most of the other guys at least by name, but after practice ended, Skip took me around to nearly all the upperclassmen and introduced me to them. Eric's eyes nearly bugged out when he saw that, and he began laughing almost uncontrollably. I shot him a look, but he kept on laughing and making quiet comments to Jorge and some of the other younger kids.

That evening, I called Molly and talked to her for about an hour. I told her about the team party at Skip's house, and she put the phone down to ask her parents if she could go. She came back on the phone, slightly breathless.

"They said I could go, but I have to leave the phone number with them, just in case," she said.

"Great. I'll get his number and give it to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. I can't believe that tomorrow's the last day of summer vacation, Sean. I'm not ready to go back to school."

"I'm not either. I could live on summer vacation all year long."

"So, if tomorrow's our last day of freedom, can you come over?"

"I don't know, Molly. I've got an away game in the morning, and then team practice in the afternoon. I'm going to be pretty wiped out by the end."

"Too wiped out to see me?" She sounded disappointed, and maybe a little angry.

"No, no, not too wiped out to see you, but I'll probably have to be home pretty early. What did you want to do?"

"I don't know, maybe go to a movie or something? Or we could just watch TV with some friends. I just don't want my last night before school to be wasted."

"I know, I agree. Tell you what. I'll call you when I get home from practice, and we'll figure something out, okay?"

"Okay, Sean. Goodnight. Dream good dreams of me tonight."

The huskiness in her voice sent sudden signals through my bloodstream, connecting my ear to my awakening cock. Her wish was going to make it difficult for me to get to sleep that night, at least without relieving some pressure beforehand.

The next morning was cool and rainy, one of those gentle summer rains that gets you wet but doesn't make you wish for shelter from the storm. Our team all piled into cars and vans driven by our three coaches, and we drove the thirty miles to our last game of the season. I rode in the car with Mr. Reyes, our head coach.

On the way, Eric Johnson kept on pumping me for details about why Skip was having me tag along with him.

"Come on, Eric, I've told you all I know. If you want to know more, ask Skip yourself."

"Fat chance he'd even talk to a lowly scrub like me," he complained. "Why you, Porter? Are you the anointed successor?"

"Oh, give it a rest, would ya? I don't know, I don't care. I just want to play the game, you know?"

"Maybe he don't like black soccer players. Maybe he's got a thing for your skinny ass. Maybe he's just setting you up for some elaborate joke. Maybe..."

"Maybe you could just shut up about it, okay?"

He gave me a big, theatrical sigh and rolled his eyes, as if I were the mosquito buzzing around his head, instead of the other way around. I mentally shrugged my shoulders and stared out the window, ignoring everybody else in the car.

We finally got to the field about a half hour early. We all scrambled out of the cars and unloaded our gear. Balls were passed out, and we all set up for warm-up drills without the coaches needing to tell us what to do. Another game was being played on the field, and there was a good local crowd filling about half the bleachers lining one side of the field. There was some enthusiastic cheering going on, despite the rain.

Just as the other game ended, we took off at a slow run to lap the perimeter of the field once, and then picked up the pace for a faster run for one more lap. We then took the field and rotated around to pass out to a player, who then took a shot on goal, warming up our keeper.

The referee blew the whistle, and the starting lineups took the field. We had lost the coin toss, but with no sun, no wind, a light rain, and virtually no lengthwise slope to the field, there was no real advantage, other than psychological, to winning it. Our opponents, named the Stingers, elected to take the ball on the kickoff. The timers started, the whistle blew, and the game was on.

The Stingers tapped the ball forward, and then immediately passed the ball back to their center midfielder. It's a basic maneuver for a kickoff, designed to keep possession of the ball (a key part of the game). If our opposing coaches and players understand the wisdom behind the play, they will continue to pass the ball back or across, keeping the ball and waiting for an opportunity to advance it up the field. If, however, they are performing it as a drill simply because they know they're supposed to pass it back, we knew how to counterattack.

It became immediately obvious to us that the midfielder for the Stingers didn't understand the play. He trapped the ball, looking for an immediate pass up the field into our territory. It was a classic mistake we saw often from unsuspecting teams. We had a play designed for just this type of kickoff, a play that rarely failed us. Our forwards raced in a triangulation toward the hapless midfielder with the ball, effectively cutting off any forward passing lanes. At the same time, our midfielders moved down the field, switching with our forwards, blocking any possible crossing passes to their defenders. We were confident that we would shortly have possession. We defenders moved up to cover their other midfielders, leaving all of their forwards racing toward our goal with no ball and no prospects. If, by some slim chance, a pass was able to get through us to them, all three of their forwards would be hopelessly offside.

Their coaches were on the sidelines screaming at the players to get back and regroup, but it was too late. Our forwards stripped the ball and lofted a pass over to Eric Johnson, who was on the left sideline. He trapped the ball, juked the defender, and crossed the ball about fifteen meters in front of the goal, and it was booted in past the goalkeeper with no problem. This all happened so fast that the Stingers barely had time to react. They were caught with five of their players on our half of the field, while eight of ours were attacking their goal. Less than twenty seconds into the game and we had our first goal.