The Grim ReaperChapter 12: The Perfect Game free porn video

I couldn’t take any more days off that summer. My time with Kelly was restricted to evenings and weekends, which was probably a good thing, at least as regards to my health. Keeping up with her appetite for sin was tiring! She might kill me, but I’d die with a smile on my face.

I did speak to Dad about a temporary dock, and he nixed it, at least for this year. “One, it’s not as easy as you think, or as cheap, or as quick. You won’t get it done, at least not done right, until the end of the season anyway. It would be better to build it over the winter and then launch it in the spring. Second, before you go to that kind of effort, let’s see if you two last for a bit.”

“Dad! It’s not like that! Kelly and I ... we’re...”

He held up a hand. “Yeah? You’re sixteen and she’s fifteen! That’s pretty young to decide on the rest of your lives. We’ll wait until after the New Year before we make any decisions on docks on other people’s property!” He snorted and shook his head.

I started to protest some more, but Dad shut me down. He did promise that the next time we went boating, Kelly was invited, and she could show us where the property was. He could look at it and figure out what we could do up there. I settled for what we could get.

Kelly was a bit more understanding. “It’s all right. He’s right, it is the middle of the season, and it will probably be a bigger job than you think. Don’t worry about it.” She gave me a big hug.

“I love you. You’re so smart,” I laughed.

“Like your mom says, you think better when somebody else does your thinking!”

For that I smacked her on the butt. Kelly squawked and moved out of reach, and I had to settle for chasing her around and pulling her onto my lap for a bit. We were at her home and her mother was upstairs, so that was as far as we got.

My job at the mill only lasted a few more weeks. School started the first week of August, and football practice started the week before. Our first game was Friday, August 24. Both Matucket and East Matucket were large enough to be in Class AAAAA, or 5-A, the classification for the largest schools in the state. The fewer the A’s, the smaller the school. I wasn’t sure what a 1-A school was, but I suspected it had one room and was built from red brick. We were in Region Three, which was an area west of Atlanta.

Both Matucket High and East Matucket High had winning teams. East Matucket High had a lot of money and great facilities and was very modern. They had all the whistles and bells. East Matucket was mostly white and upper class. If you could afford to live in East Matucket, East Matucket High was a pretty nice place to go to school. By contrast, Matucket was the older part of the county and had a lot more minorities and a lot less money. Matucket High was an older school and was worn out. What we had was two things, a greater population that went to school there and could be drawn from, and Coach Bill Summers. The population thing was iffy. East Matucket had been known to wave free admission under the noses of out-of-area students if they were good. They could waive any out-of-district costs and offer transportation to the school. That could be a powerful inducement to some kid down on Bleecker Street, which defined ‘low-rent district’. An education at East Matucket and maybe catching the notice of a college scout was a major temptation.

We knew this to be true because they had tried to recruit Terence ‘Speed Demon’ Wayans. Speed Demon was widely considered to be the best player on the team, and the one most likely to get a Division One scholarship and go pro. He wasn’t just the fastest guy on the team, he had already broken every school track record in the history of Matucket High! Speed Demon’s biggest problem was simply that he was so good that every other team would double- or triple-team him, and the rest of our offense was much more average. We needed him to stay healthy and whole.

Anyway, Speed Demon was from the heart of the Bleecker Street area. It was almost exclusively African-American, and there wasn’t enough money in the world to tempt me to walk through there at night! Speed Demon’s father was in the Georgia State Pen at Reidsville. His mother was a crackhead who had abandoned Speed and his sisters to the care of his aunt. His aunt, on the other hand, was one hellaciously righteous and God-fearing woman who raised Speed and his three sisters along with her four kids and put the fear of God in all of them to stay on the path of right and virtue! She brought them to all the school events, and woe be unto you if you were to tempt Speed into sin! On the other hand, Speed liked the cheerleaders as much as the next guy, and I don’t think he told his aunt everything that he did after school. He told us that he had been recruited by East Matucket High, and almost did it, but it was too much of a hassle to travel there.

What East Matucket couldn’t offer was Coach Summers. I heard from Dad that they had tried to hire him twice, with generous contract offers, but he thought it was more important to stay where he was, and money wasn’t everything. It didn’t matter. He produced teams that won. It was not at all unusual that we went to the Regional Playoffs and higher. Nobody could remember the last time Matucket had a losing season.

He also had the backing of the Booster Club and the school principal, Mrs. Hollister. The Booster Club liked him because he got results. Mrs. Hollister liked him because he insisted we keep our grades up. That wasn’t very important to the Booster Club, but the coach didn’t listen to them very much. We all got a big speech that first practice, one where he made at least one parent or guardian show up.

“Listen up! I have some very simple rules if you want to play on my team! I am going to explain those rules in a manner even high school students can understand! Rule One is very simple. You don’t keep your grades up, you get cut! There will be no excuses! There will be no exceptions! There will be no way out! I will not go to your teachers and ask them to change a grade or give you a break! I will get copies of your grades and I will not play favorites! Is that understood?”

If you didn’t yell out, “YES, SIR!” he repeated himself even louder until you did.

“Rule Two is just as simple! No booze! No drugs! No juice! If the cops catch you, you’re out! If you get caught with something, you’re out! If you even think about something, you’re out! Is that understood?”

“YES, SIR!”

“If you follow Rules One and Two, you can still screw up and break Rule Three! Rule Three is you obey the law! You get even a speeding ticket, and I will be on you like flies on crap! You even think about misbehaving, here at school, at home, or anywhere else, and you are gone! Is that understood?”

“YES, SIR!”

To say that Coach Summers was tough as nails was probably incorrect. He was tougher! On the other hand, once you got to know him his bark was a lot worse than his bite. No, he wouldn’t get a teacher to change a grade, but if there was a test scheduled the same day as a game, he would go to the teacher and ask if we could take it ahead of time, and then he would kick our asses to make sure we passed. Coach Summers had actually played in the NFL, half a season with the Steelers as a defensive back. That gave him immense credibility with us. He would sit down somebody who was fucking off in class and read him the riot act.

“You think that you’re so good that the NFL wants you no matter what your grades are? I’ve been there! They don’t give a damn about you! Maybe one in a thousand kids will end up in the pros. Do you know the average career in the NFL? Maybe five years! For every guy who retires after twenty years and heads to the Hall of Fame, there’s a dozen guys like me. I was a fourth-round draft pick. Fourth round draft picks don’t get signing bonuses. Fourth round draft picks don’t get endorsement contracts. I suited up for eight games, played in five, and then blew out my knee. The only reason I’m not on food stamps is that I got an education!”

In any case, practice made perfect, and Coach Summers made sure we got plenty of practice! That year I was a junior and played on the varsity team. That wasn’t automatic, but Coach Summers had seen me play in the JV, and he gave me a shot in practice. That went well. A couple of linebackers had graduated last year, leaving some openings on the defense, and I slotted right in there. Interestingly, my brother Jack had slipped into my old slot as outside linebacker on the junior varsity team. He was a freshman and had done well in Pop Warner. He was at least as big as I had been at that age, if not bigger, and was just as aggressive. His nickname was Jack ‘the Ripper’ Reaper. If he played well, there was a distinct possibility he would try out for my spot on varsity next year! That would earn him a kicked ass! He was rescued from death the week before their first game when Coach Halifax made him a middle linebacker.

Our first game was on August 24, and it was an away game. We played Campbell, in Smyrna, a high school in the northwest suburbs of Atlanta. Smyrna was smaller than Matucket, and they only had the one high school. It was over an hour’s drive in a school bus, which basically sucked. Mom and Dad followed us with Jack and Bobbie Joe, and Saturday we would have to repeat it, with Jack playing the JV game, and me riding along as part of the cheering squad. Most of our games were closer; Smyrna was probably the farthest we had to travel during the regular season. During the playoffs, however, we might be anywhere in the state.

Campbell was tough, but not up to Matucket standards. We kept them down to a single touchdown in the second quarter, but we got two touchdowns and a field goal in the process. The final score was 17-6. We were able to block their point after. Their junior varsity team did better on Saturday. They managed to make their point after, and limited Matucket to a touchdown and a field goal, final score 10-7. Still, they were both wins.

Kelly came with my parents for both games, and Friday night, after we got back to Matucket, we went out and celebrated with our friends. That mostly consisted of a very rowdy party at the Pizza Palace and some private time up at the lake. Saturday we all traveled back to Smyrna taking about half the time, since even a grandmother in a wheelchair can outrace a school bus. The most amusing part of the game occurred after the game ended. The mighty Matucket Pioneers ran off the field, and one of the JV cheerleaders came up to their triumphant freshman middle linebacker and gave him a tight hug and a kiss on the lips.

That surprised all of us! “Who’s the girl?” asked Dad.

“She’s very pretty,” commented Mom. It wasn’t clear to me whether she approved or not. Another one of her babies was growing up.

I shook my head. I had seen her around, but that was it. Kelly was the one who answered. “That’s Marty Halifax. She’s a freshman.”

I gave my girlfriend an odd look. “Halifax? Like in Coach Halifax?”

She smiled and nodded. “Uh huh! She’s Coach Halifax’s daughter. Why?”

I slapped my head in disbelief! “Oh, brother! Does Jack have a death wish or something?”

“I don’t understand,” she commented.

Mom didn’t quite believe me, but Dad simply hung his head and shook it. Seconds later I heard a familiar bellow from across the field. “REAPER! GIVE ME A LAP, RIGHT NOW! MARTY! OVER HERE!”

Jack really liked to push the limits. He gave his girlfriend a second quick kiss and took off, even as Coach Halifax ordered him to take a second lap. Marty went over to her father and got into a big argument, solved only by Mrs. Halifax showing up and getting into it with her husband. Meanwhile, my brother kept running laps. Eventually he was pointed towards the locker room, as his teammates yelled out, “Dead man walking!”

When we got back to Matucket and were able to pick Jack up, I asked, “Have you lost your mind? Chasing Coach Halifax’s daughter? Are you insane?”

“Who said anything about chasing Marty? She chased me!” he laughed.

“Yeah? Her old man is going to be doing the chasing! Forget about football! You won’t live long enough to play the next game!” I told him.

“What a way to go!” he sighed happily.

I pushed the hopeless asshole towards the car. Mom and Kelly made some sympathetic noises. Dad and I had a more practical take on it - Jack was as good as dead! The only thing missing was the coffin.

The Matucket Times-Dispatch Sunday Edition put both Matucket High and East Matucket High on the front page of the Sports section. That wasn’t unusual. The two teams had one of the bitterest rivalries in Georgia high school sports, going back to the time when East Matucket split off from Matucket High. This week, they had side-by-side pictures of our leading scorers carrying the ball. For the Matucket Pioneers, there was a picture of Speed Demon racing up near the sideline as he scored our first touchdown. East Matucket had also won their game, against Langston Hughes in Fairburn, another Atlanta suburb. They had basically dominated the game from the start, and smashed Langston Hughes 34-3. The picture of the East Matucket star was quite disturbing. The caption read,” East Matucket’s star running back, Randy Holden, showing the form that will assuredly get him a Division One nod.” He had scored twice, both on rushes.

Candy Pants Holden was back. That was bad enough. What was worse was that on Friday, August 31, the Matucket Pioneers played the East Matucket Warriors at East Matucket High. It would be the biggest grudge match in years, and the paper reported that the Warriors were the prohibitive favorite. Their offense was better than our defense, their defense was strong enough to stop Speed Demon (our only decent player according to the Times-Dispatch, though not in those specific words), they had greater depth, and they had more seniors, which meant more experience. Most of our team had graduated last year, so we were mostly ‘untested’ juniors. A rout was anticipated.

I threw down the paper in disgust. “We probably shouldn’t even show up!” I told my folks. “According to this they’ve already scheduled the East Matucket victory parade!”

“So go and prove they’re wrong,” Dad said. “Surprise them!”

“Damn right!” I agreed, which got Mom to fuming about my language. I apologized and rode my bike over to Kelly’s. She was interested in boosting my morale, so she got her bike out and we rode up to the lake and she gave me a very personal cheerleading session. My morale was definitely lifted!

Monday morning the mood around school was foul. The article in the Sports section was the only thing talked about, and people were furious! It got worse at lunch. Bo Effner sat down with me and a few of the other Pioneers and hauled out a small book. “Candy Pants is ineligible to play! East Matucket can’t even play him!”

“What do you mean?” I asked. Around the table others chimed in with the same question.

Bo held up the book. “This is the rulebook on sports from the Georgia High School Association. They rule on who can play in a game. Anyway, Candy Pants got kicked out of school, remember? He was expelled last year.”

“Like I could forget?”

“So, if you get suspended or expelled from a school, you can’t go to another school and get back in! It says so right here!” He read off a relevant section, and it sure sounded like that to the rest of us.

Brax commented, “If the ban from playing games lasts as long as the original ban lasted, and Holden was, in effect, banned for life from Matucket, then he is also banned from East Matucket? Is that right?”

“That’s the way it reads to me!” agreed Bo.

Tony Vancuso asked, “Has Coach Summers seen this?”

The rest of us, including Bo, looked mystified.

There was still a lot of anger focused on Candy Pants from last year. Most of the guys he hung out with on the team last year were seniors, and they were gone now. He had been a real asshole and had gone out of his way to prove it. The idea that he was going to lead the charge over our dead bodies was infuriating.

On the other hand, nobody was thrilled with the idea of bracing Coach Summers about this. Bo asked him, though, in his job as coaching assistant. Coach had a big glass window on his office, and the rest of us were backed away from it, but we were watching closely. It didn’t look like Coach was angry at Bo, but he sure didn’t look happy, and after reading what Bo showed him, he popped up and headed for the office. The rest of us were told to suit up and get out to the field, and we turned and boogied!

Coach Summers came back about fifteen minutes later and called us together. He had dumped it on Mrs. Hollister, and she would investigate it. We were going to play East Matucket on Friday no matter what. If Holden was there, we would simply beat him, too. If you didn’t like it, there was the door! There was a lot of anger on the team, and the tackling dummies got pounded on, and the skirmishes were rough.

We calmed down a bit on Tuesday, but Coach Summers didn’t have any answers. He just told us that Mrs. Hollister was still working on it. We got the answer on Wednesday before the practice. Coach had us meet in the cafeteria before practice, because that was the only room large enough to meet in. Over at East Matucket, there was an actual team meeting room big enough to hold the team, even suited up. We used the cafeteria and hoped there wasn’t something else going on at the same time.

Mrs. Hollister came in with Coach Summers, and she had a look that said she was pissed off. It was not the look you wanted on her face when you got dragged down to her office! Coach called us to attention and said, “You all know what’s going on over at East Matucket. I asked Mrs. Hollister to look into it. The bottom line is that Randy Holden, your former teammate, is legally playing for East Matucket.”

The room erupted at that, with about half of us demanding to know why and the other half complaining in general. After about thirty seconds Coach pulled out his whistle and blew it loudly. “Knock this crap off! Now!”

Bo raised his hand. “Mrs. Hollister! He got expelled last year! According to the rulebook, he can’t play while expelled, either here or anywhere else!” There was a lot of grumbling, but Coach had a look on his face that quelled that quickly.

“I will answer your questions, gentlemen, but I expect you to act like gentlemen.” She turned to Bo. “That is an accurate statement, Mister Effner, but not complete. That expulsion has been overruled by the Superintendent. As such, it no longer holds force. Therefore, he can play.”

“WHAT!” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet.

“REAPER, SIT DOWN OR YOU’RE OFF THE TEAM!” yelled Coach Summers.

I dropped down into my seat again. On top of Candy Pants getting off with a warning in the spring, this just took the fucking cake! However, Mrs. Hollister stepped up. “No, it’s all right, Coach. If there is anybody here who has a right to understand this, it’s Mister Reaper.” She turned to face me. “There are things that happen in our lives that we don’t always like, Graham, and this is one of them. I went to the Superintendent, but so did Mister Holden’s parents and their lawyers. Their argument is very simple. The incident, and that’s what they’re calling it, did not happen on school property and therefore is not under school jurisdiction. They are arguing the expulsion was invalid. In addition, as a juvenile all records are sealed, so I can’t argue a crime was even committed. I’m sorry about this, Graham, but even if I take this to the School Board, that won’t be for three weeks, and they probably won’t countermand Superintendent Broadsky.”

“Unbelievable!” I said. Around me the murmuring got louder and uglier. I even heard a call or two to boycott the game.

“KNOCK IT OFF! KNOCK IT OFF, I SAY!” roared Coach Summers. We all settled down, and he gave me and the rest of the team an angry look. “You do not treat Mrs. Hollister this way! I am almost ready to bench the lot of you! Now, you apologize! NOW!”

We all muttered an apology and settled back down.

Coach wasn’t finished with us. “Now, if you can’t abide by this, you know where the door is, and don’t bother coming back! If you can’t play clean football, I will bench you, permanently! If you decide to go after Randy, you will never play again! Is that clear!”

There were some mumbled agreements, none heartfelt, so Coach yelled it out. “IS THAT CLEAR?”

“YES, SIR!” we roared back.

Coach’s final words were to me, personally. We were all sitting at the cafeteria tables. He came over to the one I was at and leaned down over it, facing me. “Mister Reaper, are you going to be able to play this game cleanly and according to the rules or not?”

“Yes, sir!”

“If I see one bad hit, if I see one foul, if I see one instance where you go after Randy Holden, you will be off the team so fast your ass will take a week to catch up! Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir!”

“If you skip an assignment to go after him, you are gone!”

“Yes, sir!”

He went back to the front, but I wanted just one clarification. I stood up. “Coach! What about if Randy becomes my assignment? Can I take him down then?”

He looked back at me and gave me the first smile of the afternoon, the smile a wolf gives an injured fawn. “Then you eat him alive, and you shit out his bones! Is that clear enough for you, Mister Reaper?” Next to him, Mrs. Hollister tried to hide a smile.

That was what we all wanted to hear! Within seconds, the entire team was pounding on the tables and chanting over and over, “EAT ‘EM ALIVE AND SHIT OUT THE BONES! EAT ‘EM ALIVE AND SHIT OUT THE BONES!” Randy Holden had just single-handedly given the Matucket Pioneers a focus for the game.

By Thursday the news spread throughout Matucket High. Even the students who had never heard of me and couldn’t care less (most likely the vast and overwhelming majority) still felt this as an insult to the school. People were talking about East Matucket and the ‘traitor’ and his ‘treason’. By Friday, Benedict Arnold would have beaten Randy Holden in a popularity contest. Friday was game day, and the football team could wear their game day jerseys to class. No matter where we went, kids who wouldn’t be caught dead at a football game were telling us to kick some ass. By Friday afternoon kids were yelling in the hallway what was now our slogan, “EAT ‘EM ALIVE AND SHIT OUT THE BONES!”

We took the school bus over to East Matucket High, and the place was a madhouse. At least half of the Matucket Police Department must have been there, directing traffic and keeping the warring sides separate. An ambulance was sitting near the west side of the field, just in case. Forget about the parking lot, the police were directing traffic on any scrap of ground or grass that could be driven on.

When we got out of the bus, the yelling was deafening. Most schools don’t have a visitor’s locker room, so you usually have to make do using the girl’s locker room. Sorry about that ladies, but it is what it is. Keep a lock on your locker. It still beat having to gear up at home and ride the bus over in your uniform and pads. That’s bad enough riding to the game, but riding home, when you’ve been sweating and getting rained on was much worse.

Most of the lockers had locks on them, but there were enough empties we could use them, at least until some of us opened them and found garbage and piles of shit in them. Coach stormed out of there to complain, but the rest of us just suited up from our gym bags. We were indeed getting a warm welcome from our brothers from across town. We were already pissed and angry coming into the place, and now we simply wanted dead bodies and blood. We suited up in our purple and gray uniforms and put our game faces on. Coach didn’t have to give much of a warmup speech. We were already warmed up.

We went out onto the field and headed to our sideline. Ahead of us a photographer with a jacket saying Times-Dispatch was taking photos. Across the field and up in the stands WMGA, Channel 9, the Matucket television station (“ Matucket News 9, the News Matucket Wants, the News Matucket Needs!”) had set up television cameras. They would be broadcasting highlights of the East Matucket victory on the late news.

The roar from the Matucket High side was insane, but it was matched by the East Matucket fans. They were there to watch the East Matucket elite whip on the black city kids and white trash that went to Matucket High. East Matucket High might be the elite team, but that was simply a reflection of what East Matucket itself was. After a bit, it settled down. The East Matucket High Marching Warriors band came out and did the Star Spangled Banner, and we pledged allegiance, and the team captains were called out to the center for the coin toss. East Matucket won and chose to receive. They wore gold and red and looked as hungry as we did.

I’ll be fair about it. While the Pioneers were stoked up and wanted to stomp the Warriors, the Warriors were just as amped up, and they were very good. That first quarter we spent the entire time going back and forth, up and down the field, with not much to show for it. After eight minutes, the Warriors got close enough to the Pioneer end zone that they could kick in a field goal. After that, they kicked it to us and Speed Demon ran it back forty yards before being chased out of bounds. We spent the rest of the quarter moving up another thirty yards and kicking our own field goal. It was tied at the end of the first quarter, 3-3.

Tempers were flaring across the field. We were talking trash and they were, too. On just about every play, the refs would have to step in and separate a Pioneer and a Warrior who were getting in each other’s faces. One of the things that made it different, though, was how personal it had gotten. Everybody would be trash talking at Holden, yelling out, “We’re coming for you, Candy Pants!” and “You’re a dead man, Candy Pants!” I don’t think his teammates knew his old nickname, and they gave him a few strange looks. Otherwise, they gave back as good as they got. As amped up as we were, it was still going to be very difficult to win this game.

Over on the sidelines, things were just as nasty. After a bit, I saw Bo talking to Coach Summers, and gesturing towards the Warrior sideline. When I had a chance, I dragged him loose. “What’s up, Bo?”

“It’s Candy Pants! He knows our playbook! He’s over on the other side telling their coach what we’re doing!”

I gave my friend a curious look and looked across the field. The Pioneer offense was out there, leaving Candy Pants on the sideline. He was standing there next to their head coach and drawing on a piece of paper. The son-of-a-bitch was outlining our plays! “That bastard!” I exclaimed.

Coach Summers must have heard me. “Forget about it, Grim. It’s perfectly legal. They do it all the time in the pros. Get over it. You guys can win this.”

“Yes, Coach,” I answered. Still, it rankled me deep down, and I told the rest of the defensive squad as well. They were all staring over at the other side and giving Holden the stink eye. About the only thing we had going for us there was that Holden was on the offense, so he probably didn’t know our defensive playbook.

We kicked the ball back to the Warriors at the start of the second period. They were able to run it out to their thirty, and it was time for me and the rest of the defense to go back to work. We ran out and did a brief huddle, and then took our positions.

We ran a normal four-three defense, meaning we had four guys on the line, backed up by three linebackers. Filling out the defense we had a pair of cornerbacks and a pair of safeties to protect against the deep run and the deep throw. I was the left outside linebacker. Earl Ray James was our middle linebacker. He was a senior and the defensive captain, and he acted as our ‘defensive quarterback’. The right outside linebacker was Antwan Lebray, another colored kid from one of the poor neighborhoods over by Bleecker.

The defensive line consisted of left and right ends, Jerry “Moose” Moosbrugger and Dax Vercolo. In between them were the left and right tackles, Tyrell “Bull” Vander and Tony Vancuso. Backing us all up, in case we fucked up, were our left and right cornerbacks, Hank Papandros and Brax Hughes, and our left and right safeties, Billy Bob Smith and Tyrone Vander. Tyrone and Tyrell were both brothers, fraternal twins who didn’t look at all like each other. Tyrell was squat and beefy, and Tyrone was taller and slimmer. Of the eleven of us, eight of us were juniors. Only Earl Ray, Dax, and Hank were seniors.

Still, we weren’t babes in the woods. On our right side, Tony, Dax, and Antwan might not be the fastest guys on the field, but they didn’t let any holes get opened in the line. Somebody might be able to run around them, but they were going to have to work at it. On our left side, things looked good for us. Both Earl Ray and I were a lot faster than Antwan, and Moose and Bull were very big and strong. Not only weren’t they going to let a hole be created, but they could also create one of their own, letting me and Earl Ray through as needed.