The Competitive Edge Playing The Game IIIChapter 41 Tournament Time
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The Competitive Edge: Playing The Game IIIChapter 22: Bought And Paid For It All free porn video
Second semester started out a little easier for me. My living arrangement improved with Westy training and traveling so much. It was almost like I was living by myself.
Unlike the rest of his pledge class, who were activated at the end of the first semester, Westy was still on probation with the Sig Taus. His behavior and his attitude kept him from being lifted to full brotherhood, and I knew he was pissed off about it. I didn't care. I was still hurting over my own immaturity. I didn't have the time or the energy to concern myself with Westy's.
Once everybody else got back to school, Eddie and I met again with the team co-captains to continue working on our spring schedule. Jesse brought in the worksheets he and I had worked on over break, and he spread them out for everybody to see.
Bryan looked over the proposed travel schedule, and then looked up at Jesse.
"You and the Little Head figured this out?" he asked.
We all looked at him strangely. "The Little Head?" queried Jesse.
Bryan nodded his head in my direction. "The Little Head," he confirmed. "It's what he's been using to think with."
Rick brayed out a sharp laugh. "Good one, Bryan," he said. And, just like that, I had acquired myself a new nickname. In a short amount of time it was shortened to just "Head," but it managed to spread out from the team to other acquaintances. I was not at all happy about it, but I couldn't deny its appropriateness. Before long almost everyone I knew was calling me Head.
At least it wasn't shortened from Shithead, I reminded myself sourly. It wasn't until several weeks later that I came to realize it could just have easily come from that moniker.
Eddie and Pick put in our applications for the tournaments and clinics we had chosen. Our first event was the first weekend of March in Miami, so Pick began our practices early in February. We started right in with our Alpha-Omega scrimmages, only this time Pick mixed up the teams and the lineups on a biweekly basis.
"Ain't nobody needs to get comfortable out there," was how he explained his reasoning for changing things up so much.
In truth, it seemed to me he was working on bringing the team back together as a whole after the fall fiasco, and taking away even the dividing loyalties of Team Alpha vs. Team Omega was one of the ways he was trying to accomplish this goal.
For myself, I was enjoying my time on the field, whether I was playing back or, as I found myself occasionally, playing forward. Jesse wasn't as comfortable when he was assigned a defensive position for a few days, but I liked the change of being able to challenge the goal instead of defend it. It brought another new perspective to my appreciation of the way positions were played, and I tried to build on my newfound knowledge.
Jesse, Spencer, Bryan, and I spent quite a bit of time playing two- on-two during January. It kept us sharp, and kept us fit. Other than the time I spent with a soccer ball, or my time with Eddie, I lived a hermit's life.
I had salvaged my grades during the first semester by doing well on my finals. I didn't want to fall behind like that ever again, so I spent most of my spare time on my books. It took my mind off my troubles, and it kept me on the straight and narrow.
What it didn't do was address how I was going to repair all the personal relationships I had so spectacularly fucked up. My attitude was akin to hoping that if I ignored it all, maybe it would all go away. Wishful thinking worked like that; real life rarely did.
Spencer and Jesse both tried to get me to go out, but the most I did was grab a burger somewhere with one or the other of them. There was nobody else I wanted to talk to, nobody else for me to see. As hard as they tried, I resisted even harder. I knew it was pissing them off a little, but in my poisoned mind I didn't see any reason to change.
It all came to a head over the long President's Day weekend in February.
I got back to my room after soccer practice on that Friday night, tired after a long week. I was not looking forward to another dreary, lonely weekend, especially a long one. At least classes got me out of my dorm room.
Westy was spending another weekend at the fraternity house, so I had the room all to myself. I had about a hundred pages to read over the weekend, and I debated with myself about starting in on it or holding off on that particular task until the next day.
Around eight, I was still undecided when my room telephone rang. I picked it up, and it was Jesse.
"You want to go grab a bite?" He sounded like he wanted to let loose a little. Brittany, his girlfriend, was on a sorority weekend, and he was a bachelor for the time being.
"Nah," I said. I was a little bit hungry, but not enough to get me to drag my sorry ass back outside.
"Yeah, you do," he said, seeing right through me. "I'll be there in about twenty. Call Spencer, see if he wants to come."
Before I could protest, Jesse hung up. I stood there, looking at the dead receiver in my hand. I mentally shrugged, and dialed Spencer's room.
"Yo, dude, Jesse wants to get something to eat. You interested?"
It was almost like he had been anticipating my call. "You bet," he said without hesitation.
"Come on down here when you're ready. He'll be here in about twenty minutes."
"Okay," said Spencer. He showed up at my door about ninety seconds later, his warm-up jacket slung over his shoulder. Quick, I thought to myself as I let him in. He's very quick to get ready.
We went down the stairs to wait for Jesse. When he got there, we headed over to Chaucer's, on University Avenue. Parking was sometimes a problem around there, so Jesse opted to leave his car in the lot, and we walked the few blocks to the restaurant.
We found a big table and took it over. Jesse ordered a pitcher of beer, but the waitress still asked to see our driver's licenses.
"You must be new here," grumbled Jesse as he pulled his ID out and handed it to her. In the meantime, Spencer and I both took our wallets out and shuffled through them, looking for our fake ID's. I handed her mine, with the unlikely name of Frank K. Luckie, but she only glanced at the name for a second. She was intent on examining the birthdate on it. Since it said I was twenty-two, she handed it back without a word and examined Spencer's. His passed inspection, also, though she did look at him a little suspiciously. She returned to our table with three mugs and a pitcher full of beer. Jesse poured us each a mug.
Holding his mug up, he said, "To a successful evening."
Spencer echoed, "A successful evening," but I had no idea what they were talking about, so I just clanked my mug against theirs and took a long swallow.
Just as the waitress was taking our food order, Jesse glanced up toward the door and exclaimed, "Hey, there's some friends of mine." He stood up and waved. "Over here, guys!"
I looked up and saw Trent Abbott and Eric Johnson walking up to our table.
"What the fuck?" I was shocked. "What are you guys doing here?"
They pulled up chairs and sat down on either side of me. "It's a long weekend, and we decided to take a road trip," said Trent.
"Yeah," agreed Eric. "Got a call about a friend of ours got a proctology problem he needs help with. Dude's got his head stuck good and tight up his own ass."
"Huh?" The gist of this conversation was escaping me.
Eric stared me down. "I said, dude's got his head stuck good and tight up his own ass."
"I heard you, I just don't know what you're talking about," I said defensively. It was unconvincing, even to me, and Eric didn't even give it that much credence.
"By the end of the night, baby, you gonna know," he said. He looked around. "What's a brother got to do to get a couple a mugs here? We're dry as a bone."
Our waitress scurried over with two more empty mugs and set them down. She seemed a little flustered.
"What's your name, dolly?" asked Eric.
"Juney," she said, eyes downcast.
"You a pretty thing, Juney," said Eric with a smile. He draped his arm around her waist, and she moved quite naturally closer to him to lean up against him. "Do me a favor? Bring us another pitcher? This one gonna be empty by and by."
Juney turned three shades of red at Eric's compliment, and she practically skipped off to get his beer.
"How the hell did you do that?" asked Jesse with a laugh. "She didn't even ask to see your licenses."
Eric shrugged expansively. "Sometimes you just gotta sweet-talk 'em," he said by way of explanation. I was of the opinion that Eric could get away with sweet-talking Juney, but I seriously doubted if any of the rest of us could have managed it.
Juney returned with the pitcher, and leaned down over Eric's shoulder to set it on the table. She paused there, pressed just a little against him, and she glanced back at him, as if looking for his approval. He smiled at her, and she blushed again, and stood up.
"Sweetheart, could you fetch us some menus? We been drivin' awhile, and we got some ... hungers." Eric looked at Juney seriously, and she nodded quickly, and practically ran over to the bar to grab some menus. She returned and handed them to us with a smile, saving her warmest smile for my man Eric.
Juney left us for a moment to look over the menus. "Dude, you are going to get yourself in so much trouble," said Trent, but he was grinning.
"Nah," said Eric. "You just got to know when to turn it up, that's all."
"So, tell me again why you guys are here?" I asked as we were studying the menus.
Eric nodded in Spencer's direction. "Mr. G. called us up, told us you was hurtin'. We all decided you needed some ... intervention."
"Intervention? I don't..."
"But first things first," Eric interrupted. "What we really need to do here is eat some of this fine food Juney is gonna bring out for us, and then we are gonna get you drunk."
Three hours later, we were still at the table. We had emptied eight pitchers of beer, and were working on a ninth. Juney had slipped us a couple of free ones, and when she was done with her shift she sat with us. Spencer had moved over to make room so she could put herself next to Eric, and we contributed greatly to the noise and the atmosphere of fun that permeated Chaucer's that night.
I was happily sloshed, and much of the evening has been lost to my memory, but nothing mattered much at that point. I was with the best friends I had in the world, and they were here with me.
Sometime late that night the three of us, Eric, Trent, and I, managed to find our way back to my dorm room. I crawled up to my bed, while Eric and Trent challenged each other to an intense game of Paper/Rock/Scissors to see who got Westy's bed. The loser had to crash on the ratty couch. Eric won, and he hauled himself up and pretty much passed out on top of Westy's blankets.
Much later, after we had fallen asleep, I was awakened by the light coming on in our room.
"Oh, man, whoever that is, shut off the damn light," I moaned. It was like shards of glass being shoved directly through my eyeballs and into my brain.
"Who the fuck is in my bed?" I heard Westy say.
I sat up blearily to see Westy standing by our desks, looking angry. I could hear Trent snoring softly from the couch below us.
"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the fraternity house," I said.
"Fuck 'em," he said. "I want to sleep in my own bed."
Without getting up, Eric muttered, "Ain't your bed tonight."
"Oh, yeah? Says who?" challenged Westy, clearly angry.
Eric sat up and looked down at my roommate. "Go back to your frat house, frat boy. Somebody else got claim to your nest tonight."
Westy grabbed for Eric's ankle. "I don't think so, Goddammit," he said. He tried to pull Eric out of the lofted bed, but Eric simply kicked Westy's hand away. I heard Eric sigh, and then he lightly leapt down and landed on the balls of his feet right in front of Westy. Eric showed absolutely no intimidation at all, even though Westy had about two inches on him. Eric looked strong and fit, and he looked confident.
"Look, friend, you tole Porter you was gone for the weekend," Eric said quietly. "Ain't our fault you changed your mind."
Westy tried shoving Eric back, but Eric was not going to be moved that easily. His shoulder moved with the force of Westy's push, his torso twisting, but his feet never moved. What Westy's action did, however, was wake Trent up, and get me down from my bed. The four of us in that small room took up just about every available inch of space, and Westy was forced to step back away from the three of us.
Westy looked uncertainly at us. "I don't like this," he muttered.
"I don't doubt it," said Eric. "Just the same, you got a bed to go to. I suggest you go find it."
Westy grumbled darkly under his breath for a moment, and then he decided he was in no position to press the issue. He turned and opened the door. "Fuckin' soccer pricks," he muttered as he left.
I looked at Eric, who was watching Westy calmly. "I don't think he liked you very much," I said.
"Fuck him," replied Eric. "He don't like anybody very much. Except maybe himself."
"Even so, he'll have more to say about this."
Eric merely shrugged. "I'll try not to leave any skid marks on his sheets."
"Oh, okay, that will make it all better," said Trent with a laugh. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a dream featuring Christy Brinkley that I left unfinished, and I would like to get back to her."
"Say hi to her for me," said Eric as he climbed back up into Westy's bunk. "I know she misses me."
I shut off the light and was asleep again almost before my head hit the pillow.
I woke up sometime around noon the next day, feeling pretty bad. We had a practice at two, and Trent and Eric went over to Denny's for a late breakfast while Spencer, Jesse, and I limped over to the fieldhouse for two hours of practice.
I was really looking forward to a nap after practice, but my friends weren't about to let me off that easily. We grabbed a soccer ball and goofed off down by the Lake Alice athletic fields, playing keep-away along the sidelines of a couple of flag football games. On the way back to the dorm, we stopped and talked with some coeds who were strolling along the Plaza of the Americas, a central gathering place on campus. Eric schmoozed the girls, and he dragged Trent and me into the group and into the conversation by mentioning to them that I had been a high school All-American. It was embarrassing to have all that brought up, especially in light of my problems at the end of the season, but fortunately, soccer was not popularly followed. The girls were very impressed with the news, and apparently had no idea about how our season concluded.
Eric ended up inviting them to meet up with us at Chaucer's, and they cheerfully accepted. We left them huddled together, talking and whispering and glancing at us as we walked away.
"Dude, what are you doing?" I asked, once we were out of earshot.
"Hey, we're all single guys, just out to have us some fun," he said expansively.
Trent just snorted.
Later that night, we gathered up a bunch of my teammates and took over Chaucer's. The girls from the Plaza showed up around ten, and Juney was there, too, with a couple of girlfriends. Luke Early got lucky with one of the girls from the Plaza that Eric had invited, and they split off pretty early to go make their own fun. Eric had Juney on one knee, her friend Alicia on the other, and I had another of the Plaza girls, an exotic little wisp of a thing who told me her name was Chloe, hanging on my arm.
Sometime during that night I felt somebody grab my other arm, just as I was lifting my mug up to my mouth. Beer slopped out and hit my chin, and I heard a vaguely familiar voice say, "Well, well, if it isn't the famous Sean Porter."
It took me a moment, and I was none too happy to recognize Maureen Saunders, the chubby girl with the bad complexion that Westy had brought up to our room last fall. She had an evil gleam in her eye.
She looked balefully over at Chloe. "This your girlfriend, Sean? Not much meat on her bones."
Chloe looked distastefully at Maureen. "And you are?" she asked haughtily.
"I'm his Number One Fan, and the girl he's going to marry," said Maureen. I jerked my arm away from her and stepped back.
"No fucking way," I spat. "You really are a psycho, aren't you?"
"Seanie, how can you say that?" Maureen tried batting her eyes at me. If she thought she was being alluring, she was horribly mistaken. Chloe stepped back with me, and was looking at Maureen as if she was examining an ugly stain on her shoe.
"I'll tell you what," I said. I was drunk enough I didn't care what I said to her to drive her away. "I'll just give Westy a call. Maybe you can meet him over at Reitz in one of the men's room stalls again."
Maureen stared at me. "That's not nice," she said with a frown.
"Got your kneepads packed in your purse just in case?" I asked cruelly.
"You're as much of an asshole as that asshole roommate of yours," she spat.
"Aw, gee, and I thought you were my Number One Fan," I said with a fake pout. I deliberately turned Chloe away, and we ignored Maureen. She finally got the hint and left.
"Who was that unpleasant person?" Chloe asked.
"Somebody my roommate introduced to me," I said. I glanced at her mug, and saw it was as empty as mine. "We need more beer," I said, reaching for a half-full pitcher on the table.
About an hour later I was pretty sloppily drunk. I was hanging on Chloe, or maybe she was hanging on me, when Eric and Trent pulled me up.
"Time to go, Head," said Trent. He giggled, an incongruous sound coming from my normally serious friend. "Head. What a great name."
"Why ish he calling you Head?" slurred Chloe.
"It's a nickname he acquired playing soccer," said Eric. Why does he not sound inebriated? He has to be as drunk as I am, I said to myself. "Dude thinks too much."
Maddie
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