Goal Posts

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft spell-check. You have been forewarned.

*****

Chapter 1

Coach Schaeffer looked at the scoreboard once more in total disgust and marched off the field into the locker room.

In the locker room, thirty one young men wearing the red and white of the University of Louisiana at DeGarde sat dejectedly.

""Thirty five to three?" Coach Schaeffer screamed. Thirty five to three? Really? Anyone care to explain to me why that is?"

"Because we managed to kick a field goal in the first quarter, one young man said as he shrugged out of his jersey.

"All right, smart ass, drop and give me fifty!" Coach Schaeffer screamed.

"Drop and suck my nuts, fucker," the young man said, shrugging out of his shoulder pads. "I fucking quit; you're the worst God damned coach, Think I'm going out there get killed for you? Shit!"

"You God damned right you're quitting!" Coach Schaeffer screamed after the shock wore off. "Quitters never win and you're a prime example of that!"

Yeah, whatever, ass wipe; good luck," the boy sneered. "Brodt's your last quarterback; have fun."

Coach Schaeffer scanned the locker room until he spotted the smiling Arville Brodt.

"Brodt, you're up," he barked.

"Aw, but I thought you said I'd never play," Brodt smiled widely.

The coach screamed more obscenities and implored the young men to do their best in the second half.

One of the assistant coaches whispered to Coach Schaeffer that the St. Elizabeth Trauma Center said that Johnny Timmons' leg was broken in three places; he would not return for the rest of the season. Coach Schaeffer did not divulge this information to the remaining thirty youths as they trudged out of the locker room.

The Missouri River State Pioneers prepared to kick off to start the second half. Arville looked at their formation and realized what was coming.

"On-side kick!" he screamed at his friend Jack Trenton.

Jack nodded his head and moved over.

"Trenton, what the hell you doing?" Coach Schaeffer screamed at the boy.

Sure enough, the kicker popped the kick up but Jack managed to fall onto the ball before being smothered by five Pioneers.

"Brodt! Thirteen R Flat," Coach demanded as Arville ran out onto the field.

"Thirteen, my ass," Arville laughed as he pulled his team into the huddle.

"All right, Coach says we run number thirteen R Flat, I say we run number twenty three Slant; what y'all say," he smiled.

"I say you the quarterback and I play for you," Jack said.

"All right," Arville said and they lined up.

"What are you doing?" Coach screamed at his team.

He looked for the playbook, rifled through the pages and found play number thirteen R Flat; they were definitely not lined up for number thirteen.

Arville called the audible, making sure Coach Schaeffer heard him announce 'Thirteen!' and the players executed number twenty three Slant, gaining fifteen yards.

"Fourteen Delta Swing!" Coach bellowed at Arville, who nodded his head in agreement.

"That worked real good; y'all want to do it again?" he smiled.

"Like your boy says, I play for you," Monroe Jackson smiled.

"Fourteen, fourteen, hut!" Arville screamed and Monroe trotted into the end zone for a touchdown.

"What the fuck are you doing? I tell you to run thirteen, you run thirteen!" Coach Schaeffer screamed, spittle flying into Arville's smiling face.

"But I did run play thirteen; you're standing right there, you didn't see?" Arville lied, smiling.

Pedro Ortega kicked the extra point, then yelped when Arville playfully picked him up and put him over his shoulder.

"Put me down, you ass hole!" he screamed as Arville ran with the small man over his shoulder.

"Now, go pop up an on-side kick," Arville said. "Tell Jack to fall on it, all right?"

"Loco gringo, I keel you," Pedro threatened as Arville playfully slapped him on his rear.

"What the... Who in the hell, Pedro, who in the fuck told you do that?" Coach Schaeffer screamed.

"Sorry, Coach, I hit it funny or something," Pedro lied as Arville again ran out on the field.

"Brodt, thirteen!" Coach Schaeffer screamed.

"What you think? Thirteen?" Arville asked in the huddle.

"You tell me," Monroe said.

"Naw, why don't we do ten Wide Out instead?" Arville smiled.

"God damn it! That is not what I said!" Coach Schaeffer screamed as the Storm executed play number ten Wide out and gained eight yards.

He signaled for a time out and waved Arville in.

"You fucking run fucking thirteen R Flat, or so help me God, this is the last day you'll wear a Storm uniform," the man screamed, pulling the boy's face mask so that he was able to look into the laughing eyes of the six foot five inch boy.

"Uh huh, whatever you say," Arville smiled.

"Okay, Coach is having a seizure over there; let's give him thirteen," Arville shrugged.

The right cornerback tackled Jack behind the line of scrimmage, creating a third and six situation.

"Twenty eight R Left!" Coach Schaeffer ordered.

"Twenty three, I heard twenty three, what'd you hear?" Arville asked the huddling player.

"Twenty three, loud and clear," Chauncey Dempest agreed.

They gained fifteen yards and got into the huddle again, with Coach bellowing for play number twenty eight R Left.

"Okay, he wants it, give it to him," Chauncey shrugged.

Arville was sacked, bringing up second and thirteen.

"Man, no wonder we ain't won a fucking game yet; Coach is a total dumb ass," Corey Smith said, flexing his shoulder.

"Ten Wide Out," Arville decided. Pick up some short yardage; we can at least get within field goal range.

"God damn it, what are you doing?" Coach screamed as he again saw his offensive line ignoring his command.

"Fucking doing better than you," one of the assistant coaches mumbled under his breath.

Chauncey used his immense bulk to trample the right cornerback, gaining twenty nine yards before three Pioneers could bring him down.

"Seventeen F Left," Coach signaled and Arville nodded his head in agreement.

"Forty one T Left, okay?" he asked in the huddle and the players smiled.

"Finally," Coach muttered as they lined up for play seventeen.

It was the same formation as play number forty one.

"Hut!" Arville screamed, then vaulted into the end zone.

"Don't touch me," Pedro threatened Arville as he strapped on his helmet to kick the extra point.

The Storm Defense was energized by the renegade quarterback and ignored Coach Schaeffer's screams of how they should line up, instead deferring to the signals of Bobby Townsend, their Senior Free Safety.

Fourth down, fourteen yards, the Pioneers sent out their punter.

"No huddle," Arville said as the offense ran out. "Ten, then twenty three, then seventeen and we go from there, okay?"

They did not huddle, which had the Pioneers Defense on their heels. Three plays later, Jack trotted into the end zone for another quick six.

Thirty nine seconds left in the fourth quarter, the Storm Defense put up a stiff wall, stopping the Pioneers. Fourth down and inches to go, the Pioneers tried a quarterback sneak and lost three yards.

"Son of a fucking bitch, we might actually win one," one of the assistant coaches said to no one in particular.

As he ran to his right, Arville pumped to Monroe, then hurled the ball to Jack, standing at the one yard line at the left corner.

The Storm trotted into the locker room, the final score thirty eight to forty five.

Coach Schaeffer pasted a smile on his face for Bobby Breaux, the sportscaster out of Lafayette, Louisiana.

"Want to talk with your new quarterback; didn't even see his name in the lineup," Bobby said, capped teeth gleaming.

"Oh, absolutely, absolutely," Coach Schaeffer smiled.

"Brodt!" he yelled over the whooping and hollering of the young men in the locker room.

"Out on the field, Coach," one of the assistant coaches said.

Coach Schaeffer saw the young man, now dressed in blue jeans and U.L.D. tee shirt as he talked with a group of fans, mostly children.

"Brodt!" he screamed, marching toward the young man as the young man reached into a large cardboard box and pulled out a red and white foam rubber football.

"Yeah?" Arville smiled as he tossed the football to a boy.

"Bobby Breaux wants to talk to you," Coach ordered.

"Yeah? Tell Bobby Breaux to eat boogers," Arville said, getting laughter from the children that milled around, clamoring for a football.

"What? I said..." Coach Schaeffer screamed.

"Hey Coach? This is Joe Baptiste," Arville said, pointing to a short, round black man.

The black man smiled widely.

"And this here's his boy, Joe Junior; they call him J.J.," Arville continued.

"I don't give a..." Coach screamed.

"And they walked three miles, he and J.J. walked all the way here and Joe bought two tickets; cost him twenty seven bucks," Arville continued. "And at half-time? He got him a cup of beer, bought J.J. here a hot dog and a coke; that took him eight bucks. Eight bucks!"

"So what?" Coach screamed, not understanding.

"Joe makes nine bucks an hour; he'd have to work four hours make that thirty five bucks he gave to the school," Arville said. "How much Bobby Breaux pay this school? Not a penny. Joe and J.J. walked three miles, spent four hours' worth of hard work, sat in the hot sun, and cheered for us to win. Bobby Breaux has called this school the arm pit of Louisiana, an embarrassment to athletics, a cesspool of sports. He actually sat in an air-conditioned room, ate free food and rooted for us to lose. He wants to talk to me? Tough."

One of the assistant coaches handed the smiling black man two tickets for the next home game and Arville handed both Joe and J.J. a football.

"Thanks, Joe," Arville said, turned his back on Coach Schaeffer and tossed a football to a young girl.

Bobby Breaux scowled when Coach Schaeffer informed him that Arville was otherwise occupied, declined to interview Ed Baggett, the Athletic Director of the school and left.

Coach Schaeffer again stormed out on the field to have a 'chat' with his headstrong quarterback.

"Hey Coach, this is Sherriff Dick Davis," Arville smiled.

"Retired," Dick corrected the young man.

"And this is his grandson Trey; trey's going to be a doctor like his dad, and this is Richard; he wants to be a cop, like his Paw-paw, and his Aunt Leesey, and Uncle Darren," Arville

Said. "And that's Carmy, and Jennica; they're going to be princesses when they grow up, and this is Henry, Leesey and Darren's boy; he's going to be a cop too."

"Um, hi," Coach Schaeffer said, slightly intimidated by Sheriff Dick Davis.

"And this is Rachael Thibodeaux and this is the first time he's been out of the house without her baby, Elaine Carmen Thibodeaux. Remember that name, Elaine Carmen Thibodeaux," Arville said, smiling as the young mother's eyes immediately filled with tears, feeling guilty about being away from her baby and feeling guilty for enjoying a few hours away from her baby.

"Eighteen years from now, you're sitting at home, gumming your Cheese whiz out of a can and you're going to say 'No way!' when it's three seconds left in the game and I send Elaine The Ripper' Thibodeaux out to kick a seventy two yard field goal to win the game for the ULD Storm," Arville smiled.

Dick, the four blonde headed children, the African-American Henry, and Rachael laughed at Arville's description of Elaine.

"The Ripper!" Trey hooted.

"Yeah? She's tearing up them diapers, ain't she?" Arville smiled and handed out footballs to each of the children, handing the smiling Rachael a football for Elaine.

"Thank you, young man," Dick said, shaking Arville's hand.

"Oh no sir! Thank you for being a fan of the Storm," Arville insisted.

"Thanks, Mr. Brodt," Trey said.

"You got it; study hard, you hear? I don't want no dummy of a doctor doing surgery on me," Arville smiled.

"Go give him your phone number," Dick whispered as Rachael kept looking over her shoulder at the handsome young man as Arville threw another football to a young boy.

The blonde haired girl bit her lip, clutching Elaine's football tightly to her chest and shook her head no.

"You know Miss Carmen and I will watch Elaine so you can go out," Dick said gently.

"Like he'd want to be with a girl's got her a baby," Rachael said quietly, shuffling toward the exit.

"Hey! You! With the red hair!" Arville yelled at a kid that wore a U.L.D. sweatshirt that was easily three sizes too big for him.

He frowned as the boy did not respond.

"He's blind, mister," another boy said.

"Oh! Me?" the boy asked, turning to face Arville's general direction.

"Here," Arville said, tossing the football to the blind child's friend.

Arville dug out another football and waved to Clay Verdot, the student equipment manager that was waiting to take the remaining footballs back to the equipment room.

"Hi; you a football fan?" Arville asked the blind child.

Up close, Arville could see the milky coloring of the boy's eyes.

"Oh yes sir!" the boy said brightly, smiling.

"And I can tell from your sweatshirt, you're a U.L.D. fan too," Arville smiled.

"My sister, Courtney? She goes to U.L.D.," the boy said, his pride evident.

"Good school," Arville agreed.

Courtney Vanderkin hustled up the gangway, cursing her peanut sized bladder. She whipped her long red hair over her shoulder and looked around. Her heart dropped into her stomach; Trevor and Doug were nowhere around.

Then she saw Doug on the field, standing with his arms out. There was a tall man bent over and facing Doug.

Courtney marched down to the steps that would take her onto the field so she could slap Doug silly and make him help her find Trevor and God help that boy if anything happened to Her baby brother.

"Okay, he's wide open and throw it," Arville encouraged Trevor.

"I'm right here," Doug yelled.

"There you go!" Arville cheered as Trevor actually threw the ball over Doug's head.

"That was perfect!" Arville praised the young boy. "You put it up there where the Safety couldn't come underneath and intercept it. If Doug hadn't been picking his nose and scratching his butt, he could have caught that too!"

Courtney sat down on the ground, stunned. It was silly enough, Trevor insisting on wearing that stupid sweatshirt that was too big for him, and on a broiling hot day, insisting on going to the game, just because she got a student discount, and cheering for the Storm, even when everyone knew they were going to lose.

But now he was on the football field, playing football with one of the U.L.D. players.

"That your sister; got to be; y'all got the same red hair," Arville said as Doug ran up with Trevor's football.

"Yeah, that's her," Doug said in a voice that let Arville know he didn't have much respect for Trevor's bossy sister.

"Hi, I'm..." Arville said, smiling to the still sitting girl.

"Arville Brodt; we're in World Economics together," Courtney said.

"Oh yeah, that's right!" Arville smiled wider. "Does India suck or what?"

"They're no longer a Third World Nation," Courtney argued.

"Boring!" Doug announced.

"See you in class tomorrow," Arville said and trotted away.

Courtney wiped at the tears in her eyes as Trevor hugged onto the red and white football.

"Where's your cane?" she suddenly remembered.

"Oh shit!" Doug said.

"Watch your mouth," Courtney warned, but Doug was already running up to their seats to retrieve Trevor's cane.

In his office, Coach Schaeffer's face tightened further.

Arville Brodt was attending U.L.D. on an academic scholarship and had been a 'walk on' when Coach Buckman was coach for the Storm. So, threats of pulling his scholarship would not force Arville Brodt to run Coach Schaeffer's plays like he wanted them run.

Charles, 'Chip' Stillman, however, was there on an athletic scholarship. If he didn't come back and play, he could be asked to leave the university.

Coach Schaeffer smiled as he picked up the telephone.

Outside of their house, Trey, Richard, Carmy, Jennica, and Henry climbed out of the mini-van.

"Bye, Paw-paw," Trey called out as he prepared to cross the street. "Tell The Ripper hi!"

"Yeah! The Ripper!" Carmy and Richard hooted as they followed their older brother.

"Hee hee!" Henry and Jennica giggled as they ran next door where their mother was standing, waiting for them.

"Hi! How was the game?" Elise Richards asked, admiring the footballs that Henry and Jennica held out for her to see.

"It was awesome!" Henry enthused.

Elise waved to her step-father and step-sister, then herded Henry and Jennica inside for snacks.

"You know, they'll never ever forget that," Dick warned Rachael as they entered the third house. "Elaine's name will be 'Ripper' from now on."

"Hello!" Carmen called out from the kitchen. "How was the game? Them kids wear you out?"

"No, no," Dick lied

"It was great," Rachael smiled, reaching for her infant daughter.

"We met one of the players, real nice boy," Dick said.

Chapter 2

Arville felt a presence and looked up from his notes and smiled at Courtney Vanderkin. She flung her long red hair back and smiled in return.

"You know, my brother hasn't let go of that stupid football yet," she said.

"Oh yeah?" Arville smiled a little wider. "It's all wet from the shower?"

"He's a boy; he doesn't even know where the shower is," Courtney laughed.

"Yeah, well, when I was his age, I knew where the shower was; I just didn't know where the soap was," Arville laughed.

She laughed too, and shifted her back pack to her other arm.

"Here, sit down," Arville indicated an empty desk to his left.

Their chatting was interrupted several times by classmates coming up and congratulating Arville on the game.

"Hey, there's at least thirty other guys need to hear y'all say that," Arville reminded each student

Courtney glared white hot hatred at an Asian girl that practically rubbed herself all over Arville as she praised Arville's prowess on the field.

For his part, Arville was actually glad when the instructor marched into the classroom. The Teacher's Aide quickly marked attendance, then the instructor started her rapid fire lecture, marching back and forth in front of the classroom.

"Hey, um, you like country line dancing?" Arville asked when the instructor finally announced an end to her lecture. "On Thursday nights..."

No, not really, I mean, I don't know any of the dances," Courtney said.

"Oh, okay," Arville said, gathered his books and left the classroom.

Courtney was halfway to her Algebra 201 class before she realized; Arville had attempted to ask her out on a date.

"Hi Sherriff!" Arville said, smiling widely as he spotted the man standing outside of his French Literature class.

"Hey, retired, told you that," Dick smiled.

"Sorry, Mr. Davis," Arville said.

"That's better," Dick smiled. "Kids are still calling poor Elaine 'The Ripper' thanks to you."

"Oh no!" Arville laughed. "Hope Rachael doesn't hate me for that!"

"Kind of what I wanted to talk to you about; she'd probably die if she knew I was here, but..." Dick admitted.

Dick nodded toward a stone bench.

"Hope you don't, man, I am probably way out of line, Carmen even told me not to do this," Dick hemmed and hawed.

"Hey, by the way, you be all right if I asked Rachael out?" Arville interrupted Dick's rambling.

"Yeah, I guess," Dick said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Think she likes line dancing? See, Cowboy's Barbeque does this line dancing on Thursday nights; we're leaving for Missouri; we're playing Harvester's Community College on Saturday, so I'd probably pick her up probably around six, eat some ribs, then do some dancing, think that'd be all right?" Arville asked.