Chapter 26
Football Practice and More
My school looked the same as always when I returned to classes. The students were the same ... I guess they would always be the same. Marty Drover was his unsubtle self, greeting me with, "Hey, Bree, bang any hot chicks at the wedding? I'll bet you scored big time with all them horny bridesmaids."
I just shook my head and looked down at my sneakers.
"Sure you did! You're the big stud around here, only you don't kiss and tell. Well, welcome back, but stay the fuck away from Sheila, now, she's my girl."
"No problemo, Marty," I said with a grin and left him standing there, uncertain now about his goading me and whether it might backfire on him.
Sheila was a hot enough girl, but I didn't chase the ones that were attached ... well not unless they came after me hard, and more than a few had.
A couple of girls sauntered past. I recognized one from a party I'd gone to before heading to my aunt's wedding in Cincinnati, and smiled.
"Hi Bree, that was a great party, wasn't it?" she said with a come on smile.
I nodded. "I had fun," I told her, trying to recall her name.
"Kelly, here didn't go," she said, motioning at her slightly taller, small chested friend.
Kelly grimaced. "I'm not into parties," she said, "and you know it Vangie.
"Her parents won't let her," Vangie said brutally, obviously wanting to hurt her friend.
I smiled, and nodded understandingly. "I'll tell you, Kelly, parties aren't for everyone. Besides, there are good parties and bad parties. I know everyone gets excited at hearing a party is gonna be held somewhere, like on a Friday night. But it's really the anticipation about who's going to be there, and what's gonna happen when so and so sees so and so with their boyfriend, or girlfriend. Most parties fail to carry the thrill of partying off. Know what I mean?"
Kelly gave me a smile that promised a reward sometime in the future and I filed it away. I also decided that I had no reason to like Vangie and I let her see it, by cutting her off in mid-sentence to say that I had to be on my way, I was late for class, when we all knew I had at least five minutes before the bell rang.
I headed in the opposite direction as the girls and turning a corner almost bumped into my girlfriend, Hayley.
"Hey, Lover," I said.
She grinned. "I like it when you call me that," she said. "But not in front of anyone. I don't want everyone to know."
"I called you last night when I got back in town. You didn't answer."
She gave me her lewdest smile and said, "I'm a working girl."
"Are you now?" I said with a short laugh.
Whispering, she added, "My house after practice. I've got some money and a surprise for you."
"Money?"
"Shhh! we don't want anyone to know about it."
"Okay, but I'm gonna be tired, Coach is running us ragged."
"Save some energy, it will make you even more money." And with a secret mischievous grin, Hayley spun away and walked off leaving me wondering what the hell was going on. But money ... money I could always use.
The first week of practice had sucked. Two-a-days, I mean we practiced twice a day under the hot August sun. It was grueling and a royal pain in the ass as far as any social life was concerned. I had no doubt but that I'd be starting. I was the only thrower with game experience. I had worked out with the coaching staff before going to the wedding and before the actual practices began, but truth be told, I felt pretty much like a flat tire going in.
I was out of shape, having spent the summer fucking around, and I mean that both literally and figuratively.
I was practicing taking snaps from our new center, J. P. Pacillo. Off to my left I heard the coach holler, "You ain't hurt 'less I say you're hurt!" and saw Johnny Demastri, our cornerback lying on the ground holding his right knee. Then Coach Spagnitello threw his clipboard to the ground and yelled "Water Break," loud enough for everyone on the field to hear.
No one needed to be told twice. I set off for the bleachers where the team manager, Bert Tilstrom, was hovering over the water coolers ready to dispense the liquid gold to the players trotting toward him.
I got in line behind Tucker Ferguson, our middle linebacker and Tim Battle, the outside linebacker, whose jerseys were dark with sweat. Battle, a tall lanky black kid, snickered at me and said, "You're throwin' a bit high today. Kinda like the playoff game last year. They gonna be picking you off a lot you don't show more accuracy."
I nodded my head. He was right, my throws had mostly been a little high and off the mark. A defensive back or safety would find me easy picking if I didn't lower my throws and put the ball a lot closer to my receiver's hands.
"I'm workin' on it, Tim," I replied. He nodded in understanding. We had another full week of practice before our first game. But that game was against a major rival, and one of the strongest teams in our conference. So we all knew that I had better be prepared.
As I approached the water coolers, I undid my chinstrap, but left my helmet on. As I accepted a large cup of water from Bert Tilstrom, Coach Spagnitello sidled up beside me and croaked, "Morgenthall, you're not focused, is something wrong?"
"I don't know, Coach. "Maybe you could have someone look at my throwing motion. I know I'm off, a bit high on most passes, but I can't figure out why."
"I'll have Smitty take a good look at you. He can usually spot what's wrong." Smitty was our scout coach, that is, he usually scouted the team we were to play next. He wouldn't be doing that until the following week, and so he was hanging with us.
"Thanks Coach, I appreciate it," I said, and accepted a cup of water from Tilstrom and drank it off without putting the cup down. Some water dripped down my chin and onto my jersey, but I didn't care. I adjusted my chin strap, and followed the other players as they straggled back onto the practice field.
I thought about Hayley for a moment, and what type surprise she had in store for me later. And then we were going at it again.
Things work in strange ways: I hit my next three passes. Put the ball right into Maynard's hands on the first one, good for about twenty-three yards. I followed that with a zinger to my tight end, Fred Sanders had no trouble with as he cut across the middle; another eight yards.
We ran two plays after that and then I went deep, to Mayfield again and he took it going at top speed ... touchdown!
But that was the end of my accuracy for the day. I didn't connect on the next seven passes. I wasn't even close on five of them. Two interceptions and five overthrows ... so bad that the defenders couldn't reach them either.
I came off the field in a pissed off mood. I couldn't figure out what the hell was wrong. As I sipped from a cool cup of water, Smitty approached me, and said, "Bree, I think maybe you're not squaring up with your receiver as you throw. I might be wrong, but that's what it looked like on a couple of those last throws." "But not all?" I said.
"No, not all of them," Smitty replied. "So that may not be the problem. Wanna try squaring the shoulders on a couple throws ... see what happens?"
We called Mayfield over, and had him run a couple short patterns, one where he cut right, and one where he cut left. I hit him in the hands on the first throw, but was high left on the second run.
"That might be it!" Smitty hollered from a few feet away.
"What?" I asked, turning toward him.
"You squared up the first time, but didn't the second. If Curtis isn't too winded I'd like to see you throw him two more."
"You up for a couple more throws, Curtis?" I asked.
He answered with his usual grin and lined up. I took two snaps, concentrating on my throwing position, and hit him in the hands both times. Maybe Smithy was on to something.
"Last one was like slow motion, baby," Curtis told me, as he trotted back to where I stood with Smitty.
"Laser-like slow-mo," he said, emphasizing his statement. I knew then that squaring up was the answer to my erratic slinging, and loped back to the sidelines to await the next series of plays the coach wanted us to run.
Hayley showed up near the end of practice, and sat down at one end of the bleachers, on the bottom row. She wore a skirt slit up the middle, and when she crossed her legs almost every player on the field paused to watch.
"Concentration is paramount..." Coach Spagnitello was saying, while Hayley raised her arms to pull her hair up away from her neck.
I took the snap from J. P. and threw a sharp pass to Fred Sanders, my tight end, and hit him right in the face mask, snapping his head back before to dropped like a stone to the turf. Apparently, he had been following Hayley's actions, not mine.
I turned to glance in her direction while the coaches moved toward Sanders who lay on the ground holding his head in his hands. Hayley was fanning herself, her skintight sleeveless top helping her to flaunt those gravity-defying breasts of hers.
"God-dammit!" Spagnitello screamed, "I just finished telling you to keep your head in the game!"
"But he did, Coach," Battle said, ever the funnyman, " ... he used it to catch the pass."
My guess is that because everyone laughed at his remark, the coach didn't kill Tim on the spot.
"Ten laps, when you can stand, Sanders!" Coach roared, and followed with, "Anyone not concentrating can leave right now ... are we clear? We're playing football, not looking at the pretty girls ... right?"
That got a "Yes, coach," from about fifteen players standing around in a sort of circle. They seemed to sneak one last look at Hayley and trudged back into position for the next snap.
I did the same just as Hayley recrossed her legs, letting both sides of the slit fall away.
I smiled to myself and whispered to J. P. "On three, baby ... on three."
We ran the plays to Coach's satisfaction after that, and when practice ended, I moseyed over to Hayley who stood up and gave me her best winning smile.
"Watching us practice long?" I asked, knowing my face was streaked with sweat and grime.
"Not really," she replied, waving to J. P. and Bam-Bam Eddie Norton who had walked part way with me before heading to the showers. "My God, you smell to high heaven!"
I laughed. "You've smelled worse."
"Don't be nasty, Bree."
"Sorry, Hayley, let me take a shower, and you can tell me about that surprise you mentioned."
"Okay, but please hurry, we need some time together."
After I'd showered, Tucker Ferguson asked me if I wanted to go grab a burger or something.
