Chapter 39

“You look like you’ve been in a fight,” Toni commented, glancing at Lucky. His wrist had a brace on it, covered with an Ace bandage, and his chin still had a big bandage on it, also.

Other scrapes and bruises were also evident. But Lucky did not care. He was finally starting to feel fairly good. Taking some time off during practice this week had given his legs some rest and Lucky felt better than he had in a long time.

“Are you going to play Friday?” she asked.

Lucky nodded.

“Aren’t you worried about hurting your wrist worse?” she wondered, more for her own comfort than to question whether he should play.

“I’ll be fine,” Lucky countered. “We’ll be holding hands with this hand again this weekend.”

“That’s good, since that’s my favorite hand.”

“It is?”

“Not really. I don’t discriminate against either hand. I just hope they are both feeling good this weekend because I hope to do more than hold hands.”

Lucky did not understand what she meant by that and let it pass.

They were standing on his porch on Thursday night, huddled close together. They both wore sweatshirts. Lucky had on his favorite black one while she wore an old white one of his. Both shirts had Petros written across the front.

The north wind was whipping away, making it feel even colder than the temperature said.

She was close to him, her fingers running up and down his back, pressed closer than ever. Almost too close, Lucky thought.

He tried moving back a little, but she followed along. Lucky gave in and stayed still as she moved against him.

Lucky was really getting uncomfortable with this. Toni seemed to realize that, but did nothing to stop until it was time to go. She looked up into his eyes, smiling in a way that was unfamiliar with Lucky.

“I’ve gotta go,” she whispered, then kissed him. “I enjoyed that.”

Lucky stood on the porch and watched her walk away, wondering what was happening with Toni.

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Friday turned out to be gray and overcast, the wind still ripping down from the plains. This really felt like football weather, everybody agreed, but also wishing the wind would settle down some. It was the kind that felt like it cut right through a person.

The grass was dead and the leaves were falling, covering the ground like a protective wrapping. There was a nip in the air, along with excitement.

It had been a hard week of practice again, filled with fundamentals and the basics. Summerfield could be as fancy as any pro team, but Cole knew the game would be decided by the team that blocked and tackled the best, just like every other game he had been involved with.

The Panthers still were not perfect in those two areas, but the improvement the coaches saw made them feel much better about their chances.

Cole spent much of the week lifting the guys up, making them believe they could beat the Spiders. The players knew Summerfield had only lost one game in two years, the one in the playoffs last year, and that the Spiders had demolished Petros last year.

But they also knew that was a different team last year and a different time. None of the other things mattered. The better team would win Friday. The records did not matter, neither did all the other things that had gone on.

Whoever put more points on the scoreboard would win. Summerfield would come in with all the confidence in the world, but the Panthers felt pretty good about their chances, also.

Cole wanted to win this one more than any game in years. It was not the best attitude with a playoff berth already clinched, but it was just his nature. He wanted to win the district championship and put the trophy in the trophy case along with all the others.

He respected Summerfield’s talent but had no respect for the Spiders’ coaches or the players for the way they behaved. In addition to trying to run the score up and talk trash, the Spiders were cheap-shot artists, always looking for the big hit to try and knock somebody out of the game.

If any of his players tried the stuff the Spiders got away with, they would be on the bench until they graduated. He would not allow his players to try and injure another player. Cole and the coaches wanted their players to hit as hard as possible, but it better be clean and they would not celebrate the hit by standing over the injured player and do a little dance.

Cole had seen this several times, an act that disgusted him. He remembered back just a few years when Summerfield was a laughing stock. Petros ruled the Spiders, beating them easily every year. Cole could have named the score several times, but played it conservatively, keeping the score respectable.

He was mixed about this game. First, Cole wondered if he had emphasized winning this game too much. Petros had already clinched a playoff spot and it would not be good for the Panthers to give everything this week and not have anything left for the playoffs. Cole also knew it would not be good for the Panthers to lose and let that linger.

But Cole decided not to worry about the future. He wanted this game. This was a win Cole wanted badly. These kids deserved a district championship and Cole would rather win this game and lose in the first round of the playoffs instead of losing this game and going deep into the playoffs.

This was the game, Cole told his players. He and his players wanted this district championship more than anything. So bad he could almost taste it.

Everybody associated with the Panthers knew the past teams had dominated the district and they did not want to let the former players or the tradition down. They also wanted this one for themselves and their coaches.

Cole and this team had come so far from the group that assembled in the August heat. This was now one of his favorite teams, not the best or most talented, but one he enjoyed coaching and being around.

Cole knew his performance as a teacher on the day of the Summerfield game was poor. He was so intense and thinking about the game his students did not learn a whole lot.

He was ready, as was his team. They didn’t care one iota what anybody thought. The Panthers believed they could win, and that they would win.

Classes were finally over for the day and Cole got all the players to meet him in the gymnasium lobby.

The trophy case was in the lobby running along both walls leading up to the concession stand. One of the cases was filled with trophies from football. The other had trophies from the other sports. There were many more trophies for football, something most people noticed quickly. Most of the trophies were dated in the last fifteen years also.

On the walls were pictures of some of Petros’ finest athletes, male and female. Each time Cole walked through the lobby, he stopped and looked at the photos, many of them of his players. His picture from his days at Petros was at the end of the wall, looking so young with a look that dared anybody to mess with him.

It always hit him in the gut whenever he looked at these trophies and especially the pictures. All the players who had been like sons to him, the trophies that showed the success they enjoyed at old Petros High School. Most of the people pictured on the walls were still living, only a few had gone to be with their maker.

The memories always overcame him as he looked at the pictures, remembering great plays and big moments. Most of his current players were standing in the lobby when he arrived, wondering what was going on.

He waited until everybody arrived. Cole walked toward the case holding all the football trophies. All the players eyed their coach as he pulled out a set of keys while walking across the lobby, selected the right key and opened the case.

Cole moved some trophies apart on the top shelf and opened an area. It left a gap about the size of the other trophies. He stepped back, looked at the spot and then decided it looked about right. Cole closed the sliding glass door, locked it and started walking away.

“I’ll see you guys tonight,” he said without turning around, his footsteps echoing on the tile floor.

The players watched their coach walk away, trailed by his assistants. They looked at each other, hoping somebody would come up with the meaning of what their coach did.

“Why’d he do that?” asked Bobby Murdock.

“He just made room for another district championship trophy,” stated Andy Dean, smiling after figuring out what his coach did.

“Then I guess we better fill it,” said Derwin. “I’d hate to see that empty spot every time I walk down this dang hall.”

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Lucky’s wrist felt much better. He had not taken any direct snaps since earlier in the week and did not know if his wrist could handle it.

His wrist was taped tightly by Doc Hardy and padded so thick prior to the game that it looked like he was a boxer fixing to put on the gloves.

Lucky could barely move his fingers and did not know how it would be possible to pitch the ball on an option to the left with his hand wrapped like this.

He stood in the doorway leading out to the football field. Both bleachers were filling quickly. The home side was filled with black and white, the visitors sporting the blue and silver colors of Summerfield.

It was a cool night, bordering on cold, far removed from the August heat that met the players at the start of practice.

Lucky could not think of any other place or thing he would rather be doing. He had looked forward to a moment like this his entire life, a big game on this hallowed ground where so many of his heroes played before him.

He had so many memories of players from years past, the big plays and the wins. The times Petros’ players rose to the occasion. He witnessed many of those moments, always wanting to be in a position like this. Finally, that day had arrived.

Lucky did not know anybody snuck up behind him.

“Man, I wish I was you,” said Lloyd, causing Lucky to jump.

“Why?” Lucky asked, although he was sure of the answer.

“You get to play the game. I won’t ever get to do this again and miss it. You know, I never knew how special it was and what it meant until it was over. The way the team works together, the sound and feel of the pads popping, the band playing the school song. And the way it felt to win a big game. It shouldn’t be that way but after you’re through with sports, it’s just never the same anymore. At least not to me.”

Lucky did not doubt a word his brother said. He could not imagine not having the opportunity to compete on a field or in a gym. Lucky really wished there was some way to freeze this moment.

“Don’t take one minute for granted,” Lloyd advised. “It goes by too quick. You need to live it for all it is worth. This is your moment, Lucky. Take advantage of it.”

Lloyd popped his brother on his shoulder pads and slowly walked away, still looking out at the field. Lucky looked out at the lights to see if it was raining, silently praying and thanking God for giving him this moment.

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The mouthing started as soon as the players took the field for warm-ups. Lucky was called every name in the book and some he never heard before.

He laughed about it, as did most of his teammates. They tried to ignore the comments, knowing the Spiders were doing this to try and upset them and get their minds off the game.

As the teams went through their drills, the Spiders continued mouthing off, saying things so bad it embarrassed Cole.

Summerfield’s coaches stood nearby, acting like there was nothing wrong with what their players were doing. Cole tried to ignore it, but grew angrier after every comment and obscenity.

Cole had no use for that type of behavior or language and would have sent any player who acted that way to the stands, never letting them back on the field again. His players were doing a good job of staying focused and not responding to the Summerfield players.

He did not sense that trouble was brewing. After all, he did not feel any need to supervise his assistants.

Cole did not see Stub turn around and start walking toward the Summerfield coaches, but certainly heard what was said.

“Do you guys not care what your players are saying?” Stub asked, approaching four coaches.

Cole turned around to see what was happening. Stub was standing in front of the Summerfield coaches, not the least bit intimidated.

“You worry about your boys,” responded one of the coaches, who stood a full head taller than Stub. “We’ll worry about our guys. You’ll have a lot more to worry about than what our boys do in the pre-game.”

“I wouldn’t put up with players like that,” Stub countered.

“Yeah, and you don’t win as much either.”

“We’ve won our share of games,” Stub added, not bothered that almost everybody on the field was staring in his direction. “And we’ve never had to cheat or try to embarrass another team.”

Cole decided it was time to stop this before it got out of control. Players on both teams were now starting to move toward the coaches.

Summerfield’s head coach, Alan Mabry, came strutting toward Stub, flailing his arms wildly.

“You need to get back on your side,” hollered Mabry, who was all slicked up for the game in a wind suit. He didn’t bother wearing a hat, not needing to since not a single hair on his head would ever be out of place.

“I don’t see that you’re hoss enough to do it,” Stub yelled back, turning to Mabry, who stood at least six inches taller, outweighed Stub by at least fifty pounds and was some ten years younger.

“Here comes your daddy,” Mabry added, pointing at Cole. “You better just get back on your side of the field and listen to him before you bite off more than you can chew.”

Stub started to say something, but never got the chance.

“Stub, you go on back with the boys,” Cole ordered, walking straight toward Mabry. “I’m only gonna tell you this once. You better get back there with your players and take your coaches with you. And you and your boys need to watch what you say. You’re supposed to be teaching these boys and I don’t see that you’re all that good of an example.”

Mabry started to say something but never got the chance.

“Coach, I’m not going to put up with one more comment,” Cole advised. “You are a poor example for these kids. I am not going any further with this but if you feel up to continuing this after the game I will be right here in the middle of the field. But until then, you need to remember you guys are visitors and we don’t allow that type of behavior around here. Either change it or get back on your bus and go home.”

Cole turned around and walked back to his players, his status growing higher in the eyes of his players.

The Petros players got a kick out of watching their coaches stand up to the Summerfield coaches. Cole had done what they wanted to do, only better.

Shortly after the encounter between the coaches, the players filed back into the locker room. A sense of nerves filled the room as the players got a drink and waited for the coaches to address them one last time.

The coaches were outside, waiting for the right time.

Gary stood up in the center of the room and cleared his throat to get everybody’s attention.

“You know, everybody in this room knows what’s at stake tonight,” he stated. “We win and we’re district champs. If we don’t win, we don’t get anything for finishing second.

“The seniors haven’t had the kind of career we expected up until now. We expected district championships and maybe even a state championship. None of that has happened…yet, but we have it all in front of us now. We need to give everything we have and play as a team. We can win this game. There is no way anybody on that other team can want this more than we do.”

Gary had said his part and sat down, his body shaking because he was so intense.

Derwin’s intensity at least matched that of his teammate, probably upped it a little. There were blood veins poking out of his forehead and his neck. He had gotten some black shoe polish and rubbed it under his eyes and on most of his face, making him look even scarier.

He stood and slammed his hand on his helmet, making a whacking noise so loud several players jumped.

“There ain’t nobody out there that thinks we can win this game,” Derwin shouted, not the least concerned about his grammatical error. “Nobody respects us. They think we’re gonna roll over and die like we did last year. But I could care less what anybody says or thinks.

“That’s cause I know what we can do. When that game ends tonight, I want everybody to be able to walk up to the mirror on the wall, look at it and know you’ve given everything possible to help win this game. We will not lose this game!”

Everybody stared at Derwin, wondering how he could be this intense. Most of the players were confident the Panthers would win, but seeing Derwin added to their confidence level. He was a little frightening and all the players were glad Derwin was on their side. Cole had a couple of things to say but knew there was nothing he could say that was as meaningful as what his players said.

Ronnie Jones seldom said a word, so it was a bit of a surprise to see him slowly stand, looking around the room at his teammates and coaches. His sleeves were sown together so tight on his arms that his biceps looked huge. His hair was a little long and wild. A razor had not touched his face in a long time and his heavy beard made him look older and scary.

“I only got one thing to say,” he stated, looking around the room, “don’t bother stepping out of this here room if you don’t know we’re gonna win this game.”

Cole had given some good motivational speeches before but discovered the players usually responded better when their teammates spoke up like this. He could tell the guys were ready to play as they shifted nervously, looking at the ground. Several of them chewed on their mouthpieces.

He finally stood and walked into the center of the room.

All the players stood and gathered closely around their coach, took a knee and held hands with teammates.

Cole led his team in a short prayer.

As the “amens” were muttered, the players grabbed their helmets and stood.

“Don’t be afraid to succeed,” Cole shouted. “This is our night!”

He got out of the way and the players practically broke the door down in their zeal to get out on the field. Other than the Hodgen games, it was the biggest crowd at a Petros game in years. There were people everywhere, so many there were several rows of people in the end zone.

A group of Summerfield students stood outside, hollering obscenities and insults at the Petros players as they filed outside. The students had painted their faces blue and silver. Cole had no idea how good a school Summerfield had, but knew he was glad was not his employer.

Derwin walked toward the students, glared at them and growled like a rabid dog, causing the Summerfield students to withdraw quickly.

“You talk a lot,” he shouted at them. “Why don’t you girls get out on the field?”

They continued walking away, their pace quickened considerably.

The spirit line was massive, a huge wave of black and white. When the fans saw the Petros players they erupted in a loud roar. The players gathered in the end zone, jumping up and down and shaking each other, then Derwin took off down the line, followed by his teammates. He ripped through the banner and the old stadium was rocking like it seldom had before.

Cole was in awe, feeling the emotion. He wished there was some way to bottle this feeling, or at least to have a tape of the support his team had, although it could never tell the full emotion.

As he walked along the sideline, watching his team jogging back down the field, Cole hoped his guys were not too hyped. He knew everybody would be okay after they got a chance to hit a couple of times, but until then the coaches were worried about the nerves.

The Panthers won the coin toss and elected to receive the ball first, which was not usual. Cole always liked to play defense first and receive the ball at the start of the second half, like most coaches, but this time he hoped to draw first blood.

“How come you did that?” Stub asked.

“Just had a feeling,” Cole countered.

The Summerfield players stood on the edge of the field, staring down the Petros players, hollering and making some more obscene gestures while the coaches did nothing. They wore silver helmets and pants, along with white shirts and blue numbers.

Petros’ players were tired of the act by now so they ignored the visitors, jogging out on the field to receive the kick. Kenneth was back deep with Skip.
Summerfield’s players finally took the field. In the brief period after the teams lined up and before the ball was kicked, everybody stood and made noise. The energy level was so high people who just came to the game because it seemed like the thing to do, got caught up in the excitement and joined in, clapping and hollering.

It was time for a little football.

Chapter 40