Chapter 42

It was the worst week of practice the Panthers had gone through all season, at the worst of times.

For a bunch of teenage boys, it was hard to focus and place much importance on a game when their thoughts were on two teammates laid up in hospital beds. Plus, there was a bit of a hangover left over from beating Summerfield.

It seemed like all the state newspapers had stories about the tragedy, how the joy of winning a district championship turned to sorrow in less than a day.

Cole knew Gilmore would show no mercy and expected none. He soon grew tired of all the phone calls and the attention and politely informed all the writers he was sorry about the accident and hoped the boys would return to full health, but the accident would not be discussed any longer. If they wanted to talk about the Gilmore game, fine, but that was it. Cole was through talking about the accident.

He, Ichabod and Stub went by the hospital every evening after practice to visit the boys. D.J. was getting better every day and his attitude had changed remarkably.

Garrett was really low, having found out that at the age of seventeen, he had lost the use of his legs for the rest of his life.

This was one of the most difficult weeks Cole had ever gone through. It was tough to handle everything that was tossed his way. He knew that if the Panthers lost, everybody would say it was because of the two players.

But Cole did not accept that. He would do everything in his power to make sure his team did not lose. The Panthers had come too far to lose this quick in the playoffs. Cole knew this would be a difficult game, however.

Every time he watched film of Gilmore, the more impressive the Goblins looked. This was a good, solid team without any weaknesses. The early district losses were because of the injuries and the games were still close. After the starters returned, especially Adam Todd, the games were not even close.

Replacing the two starters would not be easy for a team without great depth. Kenneth would step in for D.J. He was an experienced back and Cole had no worries about using him, the only regret that Kenneth was not quite as explosive.

Todd Benton would have to play both offensive tackle and defensive tackle this week. Price House would spell him some on defense.

Cole used every trick to try and get the players motivated for Friday’s game but the players were struggling. After Thursday’s practice, he called the players together.

“Boys, we haven’t exactly had a good week of practice,” their coach reminded them. “I hate to see that. We’ve overcome the odds all year. Nobody expected us to win the district and be in this situation.”

He looked around at the boys, the message not having any impact. These boys, filled with such character and fight, appeared ready to throw in the towel.

“We’ve worked too hard to get here,” he added. “Don’t let this slip away or you’ll regret it the rest of your lives. Only half the teams in the state make the playoffs. There are a lot of teams and players who’d love to be in our situation. We’ve had our share of rough times and always got through it. Don’t let this be any different.”

Cole might as well be talking to a wall, he quickly realized. Nobody was getting inspired by his talk or seemed concerned about what was said.

He had said his piece so Cole dismissed the team. He was shaken. The Panthers were not ready to play and unless things changed overnight, there was no way Petros would stand a chance against Gilmore.

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Lucky woke up early Friday morning and for the first time all week, started to get excited about the game. His stomach was even a little upset, telling him the butterflies were coming out in full force. Up until this morning, the game had been an afterthought. It was there, of course, but there were more important things to think about.

Now, it felt like he had a big test and had not studied enough. Lucky felt like he needed a cram session, but you couldn’t do that for a football game. You were either prepared or in a lot of trouble.

Lucky sat up in the bed, rubbing the sleep away. The sunlight was filtering through the mini-blinds, lighting the room.

He looked at the clock and saw five minutes of sleep had been wasted, but knew it wouldn’t be worth it to lay back down.

On the chair next to his desk, he saw his jersey. It was the special playoff jersey the players always received with their last name on the back above the number. He was about as excited about wearing the jersey as the game.

Lucky had not thought about it all week. It was a tradition for the team to get a special jersey for the playoffs.

It had been a complete surprise. For Lucky, it made him feel like a small child on Christmas morning and discovering Santa had paid a visit.

“Cool,” he yelled, jumping off the bed and rushing to the jersey. The shirts had not arrived until last night and the coaches drove around to all the players’ houses to deliver them.

Lucky picked up the shirt, feeling the fabric. It was much like his other shirt, just new and with his name on it.

His pace quickened a bit. A shower was completed in record time and Lucky dressed quickly and while putting on the jersey, a thought hit him.

Lucky rushed into the kitchen where his father was making breakfast.

“How does this look?” Lucky asked, turning around so Lloyd and his father could see him.

“It looks good,” said Lloyd, who had three shirts like this. “If I was a sixteen year-old chick I probably couldn’t contain myself.”

“Then I’m glad you aren’t.”

Cole stood next to the oven, filled with such pride. His little boy was growing into a man. Seeing the pride and excitement Lucky had wearing that shirt started a wave of emotions for Cole.

Most schools let their players wear their jerseys on game days but Cole never did that except on playoff games.

He thought it made the playoff games just a little more special. Cole had prepared eggs, bacon and toast. Lucky was not really hungry, but forced himself to eat so his stomach would not start growling in the middle of history.

“Can we make a quick drive before going to school? Lucky asked, then explained his reasoning.

It was a good idea, Cole admitted. But it would be impossible to get it done before they were supposed to be at school. He tossed the idea around for a few minutes then called the principal and told him what was happening. Cole and the coaches had delivered all the shirts the previous night except for two.

It was game day and the playoffs started tonight so everybody needed their jersey, even if they would not play.

After they finished eating and got ready, they hurried out to Cole’s old truck and took off. He avoided the highway and took the back route to Hodgen, an old two-lane road that had potholes big enough to be seen from outer space.

Cole knew the road, however, and avoided most of the potholes, only hitting a pair of new ones that caused Lucky to bounce so high his head almost hit the roof of the truck. But still, this was much quicker as he knew the highway would be crammed with people driving to and from work in Hodgen.

Lucky and his father arrived in Hodgen a short time later. All the storefronts were painted with slogans urging the Bulldogs to win their own playoff game tonight.

Petros’ merchants, or at least the few who were clinging on, had done the same thing, of course, just much better, Lucky thought.

They made their way to the hospital and parked around back. It was a fairly new building, financed by the good citizens of the county. For a smaller town, this was one of the better hospitals in the state with all the latest equipment and technology.

Visiting hours had not started, but that did not deter them. They strolled down the halls like they owned the place until arriving at Garrett’s room.

They quietly entered, not wanting to wake him if he was sleeping. He still had a bunch of tubes and lines running to and from his body. The swelling on his face had gone down enough that his features were finally recognizable.

He was snoring loudly, almost making Cole and Lucky laugh as they entered the room. They crossed the room and laid his jersey on the bed. Cole paused for a second and said a prayer for his player.

They slipped quietly out of the room and walked down the hall to D.J.’s room. The door creaked loudly as they opened it, loud enough that Lucky expected to wake everybody on this side of the hospital.

D.J. had never been the type to need a lot of sleep and that was still true, even in the hospital. He had his head propped up and the television turned on to ESPN for Sports Center.

He was expecting the nurse to bring some more pills to shove down his throat so D.J. was surprised to see who his two visitors were.

“Good morning,” Cole announced.

D.J. smiled, much the way he used to before his attitude change.

“Come in,” he stated, waving them in with his good arm, then grabbed the remote and turned the volume down.

“We don’t want to bother you but we had something we needed to give you,” Lucky mentioned.

D.J. looked at them in anticipation, wondering what was in the small bag they carried.

“As you probably know, this is game day and at Petros our guys wear their shirts on game days during the playoffs” Cole advised, pulling the black jersey out of the bag. It had his number on it and DREW spelled out on the back, just above his number, the white lettering showing up well against the black fabric.

“We know you can’t be there but you deserve to wear this,” Lucky added, handing it to D.J.

D.J. stared at the jersey, touching it lightly, feeling the fabric and staring at his name on the back.

“Thank you,” he responded. “Can I put it on?”

“If nobody cares,” Cole replied.

“Do you guys care?” D.J. asked.

“No,” Cole replied.

“Heck no,” Lucky added. “That’s why we brought it.”

“Then I don’t guess anybody cares then,” D.J. agreed. It was a difficult procedure to put the shirt on since one arm was still held high above his body. Cole released the arm while Lucky held it in place and they managed to put the shirt on without delaying the recovery process too bad.

Lucky brought out another object out of the sack and handed it to D.J. It was his favorite baseball hat, one he seldom went anywhere without. It was a black hat with a white “P” on the front.

“Thanks,” D.J. added, putting it on with his good arm.

Lucky and Cole watched D.J., both smiling broadly. Cole began each day with a prayer and one thing he always prayed for was to bring joy to other people’s lives. That prayer had been answered in a great way today and the day had barely started.

“We’ve gotta get going,” Cole pointed out, then patted D.J. on the arm. “We’ll be thinking about you.”

“We’ll miss you,” Lucky said.

D.J. nodded. His eyes were misting up a little. He started to wipe the moisture away, not wanting anybody to see him like that. Then he stopped worrying about it.

“I’ll listen on the radio,” he added.

“Good,” Cole responded.

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It was warm, muggy and windy all day and it carried over into the evening. It was way too warm for this time of year. The weather guy said there was a chance of storms and for once, nobody doubted him.

The wind gained strength all day, blowing hats off heads and whipping the flags on the pole into a wild dance.

Gilmore’s buses started arriving almost two hours before game time. As usual, the Petros players crowded around the window to watch the visitors depart the buses.

They looked a lot like other teams, except these guys seemed a little bigger than most. The Goblins had won the state power-lifting championship the last two years and it was easy to see why.

“Those guys are ripped,” Kenneth commented. “Even the little guys look like they’re taking steroids.”

“It doesn’t matter,” replied Derwin, the one player who could match up against any Gilmore player.

Cole had always been a believer that a team played like it practiced all week. He hoped that wasn’t the case tonight because the Panthers stunk it up most of the week.

The players had shown a little more life over the last couple of days. It had been tough for Cole to focus on the game so he knew it was even tougher for a bunch of high-school boys, knowing two of their teammates and friends were laid up in the hospital.

Plus, the Panthers would have to play their best game of the year to win. Gilmore was that good.

Cole had been upbeat all day, trying to share the enthusiasm. The players sensed that and were coming around.

The bleachers were filled even earlier than usual, even before the first group of players took the field for pre-game warm-ups. There was a long line waiting outside both ticket booths. The line outside the home side stretched nearly a block, most of the people wearing black and white.

“Dang, look at all the people,” Lucky exclaimed, standing in awe.

“I didn’t know that many people lived here,” Happy commented.

“A lot of our alumni have come back,” Ichabod said.

“That’s good,” Happy added. “What’s ‘alumni’?”

“People who graduated from here,” Lucky explained.

When the Petros side saw the players emerging from the locker room, a huge roar erupted, one that carried out into the parking lot where the fans waiting there added to it.

“Dadgum, this is cool!” Happy exclaimed.

From the other side, the Gilmore players started jogging out on the field, dressed all in white except for blue numbers. The Goblins looked even more impressive up close, even bigger than they had on film and last year when they manhandled the Panthers.

Cole could tell a lot about a team by the way they came out on the field and warmed up. Gilmore was well coached and prepared for this game, just as Cole expected. He also knew the Goblins expected to win since they dominated Petros lost year and the Panthers were without two key starters.

Cole didn’t put a lot of stock in it, but always liked to see how the writers at the major newspapers picked games. Every prediction he saw, other than the one by Scoop, had Gilmore winning in a blowout.

He felt a little slighted his team still got little respect. This school had a lot of tradition and pride and nobody seemed to realize that. But that was something that could be used, Cole knew.

The Panthers were still not as sharp as normal in the warm ups. The enthusiasm was coming back, but still not at a level the coaches wanted to see.

As the players retreated back to the locker room to get ready for the final time, Cole had seen all he could take.

The players were milling about when Cole unleashed on them.

“It’s time to stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he stated, in a voice few players had ever heard their coach use. “I know it’s been a tough week, losing two good players. But I can guarantee you that nobody’s gonna feel sorry for you if we don’t win this game.

“You think Gilmore feels that way? Heck no. They’re here and they want blood. They expect to win and mop the field with you guys, just like they did last year with Summerfield. They don’t respect us.”

He pulled several pieces of paper out of his pockets and started reading.

“These are predictions on our game tonight from the newspapers across the state,” Cole stated, squinting his eyes to read the fine print. “You know what? Nobody picked us to win. Most of them picked us to get beat bad. Here we are with a team that is district champions, playing on our field in front of a huge crowd and nobody thinks you guys are good enough to win.

“I don’t know about you, but that hacks me off. We’re a better team than that. I’ve seen what we overcame. This is a team that’s come together like few teams I’ve ever coached.”

He stopped for a second to let that sink in.

“If you guys don’t want to play tonight and prove everybody wrong, let me know and you won’t play,” Cole continued. “We’ve got two of our guys laid up in the hospital dying to be here playing and a lot of you guys act like you’d rather be somewhere else.

“I looked up in the stands and saw many of the guys who wore these uniforms before you and made this program what it is. They’d give anything to be in your shoes right now, playing in a playoff game in this kind of atmosphere.”

Cole was pacing around like a caged animal, so intense now the players were shying away. He seldom got this worked up, but when he did, the players gave him all their attention.

“The true mark of a champion is how they react when they face adversity,” Cole remarked. “Yeah, last weekend we were sucker punched with some bad things. But when I look back on this year, the thing I’ll remember most is not the district championship or beating Summerfield, it’s how you boys respond to this situation.”

“Show me what you have in your heart. Give everything you have out there tonight and then reach deep inside and pull some more out. I don’t want anybody stepping out on that field unless they’re ready to win this game. Give me eleven guys and the rest of you can stay in here, I don’t care. But those eleven guys who want to win will get it done, I can guarantee you that. Anybody who wants to feel sorry for themselves or scared to play Gilmore need to get out of your uniform and get out of this locker room.”

Cole hoped he had not pushed too hard, but knew they needed this. He was even ready to play now. Cole threw down the press clippings and stormed out of the room, followed closely by the other coaches.

The players finally looked up from the ground once the coaches left. It was a far different group than had been there only minutes earlier. They weren’t used to being talked to like that and did not care for it.

Derwin walked to the front of the room. He was so upset the blood vein running up his forehead was poking out far enough it was visible from the back of the room.

“It’s time we show everybody what we’re made of,” Derwin yelled, then raised his helmet to the ceiling. "This is our time and our house. They’ll wish they never stepped foot on our fields. We’ve gotta hit harder than we ever have. You’re gonna have to block harder and tackle harder. Punish them! Those guys are good, we know that, but they ain’t Petros Panthers!”

The players started whooping and hollering. Their pride had been challenged and they did not care for it.

Cole had nearly walked to the home sidelines when he heard the home side erupt. He looked back toward the locker room and saw the Panthers storming out, drawing the crowd into a frenzy.

He stopped and waited for Lloyd.

“Isn’t this great?” Cole asked. “You can sure feel it tonight.”

Lloyd was so intense it looked like he had not heard his father. This was the same way he had been back in his playing days. It usually wasn’t until the second quarter before he calmed down enough to play well.

“Man, I’d like to go out there and hit somebody,” he mentioned.

“So do I,” Cole added. “We’d be even better if you played.”

The band started playing the school song and the home side stood and clapped. Cole wondered if he had been too rough on his players. Even if he had not ripped into them, it would be hard for the guys not to get fired up with this kind of reception.

Cole looked around and saw many of his former players lined up against the fence, many wearing their old letter jackets. He nodded and waved at them, memories coming back when these young men played on this same field in situations much like this.

He saw the banners scattered all over the fences and the stands. There were several references to Garrett and D.J., urging the Panthers to win for them.

Yeah, Cole wanted to win one for those guys, but also wanted to win one for the guys playing tonight and all the people supporting the Panthers.

He stood still and watched his players come rushing through the spirit line, tearing apart the banner and almost running over the cheerleaders leading them out on the field.

It was an impressive sight, one that even added to his existing goosebumps.

Gilmore followed the Panthers out on the field, getting the same kind of recognition, only smaller.

The captains met at the center of the field. The Panthers won the toss and deferred until the second half. Gilmore chose to take the ball, giving Petros the wind advantage.

It was gusting even harder, making it tough for guys to keep their hats on.

The playoffs were about to kick off, bringing with it a whole new season.

Chapter 43