The Competitive Edge Playing The Game IIIChapter 41 Tournament Time
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The team was at a series of clinics being conducted in Athens, Georgia. Offensive units and defensive units were split and working on different fields. Specific skills were being drilled during the three-day event, both offensive and defensive, so the squad was divided along those lines. Midfielders were also split up between the two units, depending on their orientation. Pick's peculiar sense of amusement contributed to his decision to reverse us for this particular set of clinics. Frenchy, Tad, Rick, Brad, and the rest of our defensive players were pretending to be offense, showing up for all the offensive drills. Jesse, Bryan, Spencer, Jose Maria, and the other forwards and midfielders were attending the defensive drills in our place. I heard some grumbling from some of the other coaches and clinic participants, but Pick's reasoning was sound, and perfectly within the stipulations of the clinic's rules. The whole exercise broadened our experience team-wide and made each unit think about how they were impacting play across the entire field. I could see why Pick wanted to do it, and just because the other coaches either didn't understand it, or didn't consider it for their own teams, was of no concern to him.
During the Saturday afternoon session I was with my teammates on the field. I was playing up, pretending I was a forward. The clinic's instructors were working on corner kicks, and we were lined up against the Alabama defensive unit.
I stationed myself at the near point of the box in anticipation of the corner kick, and I was jostling for position with one of the Alabama players, a guy in a practice jersey with the name "Anders" arced across the back. He knew our offensive unit was supposed to collapse down toward the net, and he was doing everything he could to get in my way. I didn't care; it was an exercise, not a game, and I thought the guy was taking it all way too seriously.
Brad was taking the kick, and just as he raised his arm to indicate his readiness to launch the corner kick, Anders hooked his arm in mine and spun me around as I was taking my first steps around him toward the net. He used the momentum to whip me around him, and I stumbled and ended up on the ground.
"Nice move," I said sarcastically as I got up. "Sure to draw a card in a game situation."
"We ain't in a game situation," he said. The smug way he said it, along with his smirking attitude, grated on me.
I looked around quickly, feigning surprise at his statement. "Really?" I said. "I thought this was the SEC Championship game."
"No, Doofus, you already lost that one," he said. "You're not even supposed to be here. You're supposed to be working on the 'D' drills."
I laughed at him, and his face turned red. "Dude, our defensive unit doesn't need work on defense," I said. "We need work on this side of the ball."
I didn't think he understood the thought process behind such a difficult concept, but he blustered on.
"Yeah, well, if you assholes are so great, how come you got blown out in the NCAA?" Anders sneered.
"Because we had an off day," I said. "Say, tell me, sport, where was the Crimson Tide seeded in the Big Tournament?"
His face got even redder, nearly matching his jersey in color. I knew as well as he did that Alabama never even got a bid to play in the NCAA Tournament.
"Fuck you," he said angrily.
"Ah, an eloquent comeback," I retorted. By this time we were back to jostling for position again, as Brad was resetting the ball for another corner kick.
This time, as Brad took two steps to the ball, I eluded Anders' grasp easily. As I twisted away from him, he spun around, throwing his elbow up and out. He caught me right above my left eye, and I dropped like a stone, momentarily stunned by the hit. I could feel blood trickling down my face as I got up off the ground once again. I saw Rick, Frenchy, and Tad trotting over toward me, but I waved them off.
I turned to Anders and put my hands on my hips. I hadn't bothered to wipe the blood off my face. I wanted him to see it clearly, so he would understand the potential consequence better.
"Aside from the fact it was an illegal move, it was also a cheap shot," I said. I let a little of the anger I was feeling slip into my voice.
Anders, however, was unrepentant. "So what?" he countered.
"So what? That's your only statement?"
He laughed, glancing around. A few of his teammates were watching, and each was flanked by one of my own teammates. Not much of an audience to play for.
While Anders and I were having our confrontation, Luke Severin had taken Brad's place at the corner, and he was setting up. Everybody else reluctantly moved back into their positions. I knew I could escalate this situation by being as sneaky and underhanded as Anders had been, but that would only turn the whole thing into a bloody brawl. I needed to take this asshole down and keep him down.
I wiped my face off with my jersey, and then I walked a couple of steps away from him, wanting to put just a little distance between us, shaking my head at his foolishness. He took my actions as cowardice, and he began to laugh derisively. He stepped closer to me and began hassling me again in advance of the corner kick.
I let him push me around a little. I wanted him over-confident, but I knew what he was planning. As Luke launched the ball, Anders whirled, throwing his elbow toward the spot where he expected me to be, up about nose-high. But I had ducked under his arm, and I used my hands on his waist to turn him faster than he was expecting. He got tangled up with his own feet, and he began flailing as he lost his balance. Crouching down, I held him steady for just a moment, and then turned him a little more, keeping him off-balance. He began to bend at the waist, losing his center of gravity, and his arms were outstretched as he frantically tried to stay upright. I braced my chin against my chest and stood up, just as he was starting to drop. The top of my head met his chin, and I heard his teeth clack together. His head flew back, whiplashed by the collision, and he fell over backwards. He landed flat on his back, barely conscious.
I was standing over him as his eyes fluttered open. I smiled grimly at him, until I saw pain and recognition show on his face. I wanted him to remember this incident, so I knelt down next to him. By all appearances I was giving the impression I was helping him, belaying any potential suspicions from his teammates. Anders groaned and worked his jaw, trying to get it to stop throbbing.
"Shit, man, I think you knocked loose a couple of teeth," he said, his voice wavering just a little.
I put my hand on his chest. My fingers so close to his sore jaw got his attention.
"Here's the thing," I said quietly. I tapped my fingertips against his chin lightly, and Anders flinched each time he felt my fingers drum against him. By then others were beginning to move toward us, no doubt concerned that Anders had not yet gotten up. "I got your move now, sport. It only gets worse from here. I can, and I will, put you down on the ground each and every time you try to pull shit like that again. Understand?"
He nodded tersely. I could see even that small movement was painful for him, which gave me a small measure of satisfaction. I stood and held out my hand to help him up. He looked at it as if it was a viper, but then he reached up and let me pull him to his feet. His knees were a little unsteady as he walked slowly toward the sidelines, holding his jaw.
He's going to be eating soft food for a few days, I thought as I watched him go.
Frenchy trotted over to me as some of Anders' teammates huddled around him to help him off the field. "You gave him a - how do you say it? - a Sloaning, n'est ce pas, Porter?" Frenchy was smiling, perhaps remembering his own Sloaning.
I laughed. "Yeah, Frenchy, I guess I did."
"Good on you," he said with feeling, clapping me on the back. "I was watching, yes? He deserved his Sloaning."
I looked over at him, a little startled, but there was no deception to be seen in my teammate.
"Thanks," I said.
"No problem," said Frenchy, sounding quite happy. He trotted back off to his own assignment, leaving me just a little bewildered.
The next afternoon, in the bus on the way back to Florida, I was sporting a bandaged forehead and a black eye. Everybody seemed to be considering it an honorable badge, but I certainly didn't. It hurt like hell.
The oddest part of the whole incident was how Frenchy loved to tell the story of how I had acquired my shiner. His embellishments each time the story was retold got a little embarrassing, but my teammates certainly seemed to enjoy them, laughing and encouraging him into telling the tale over and over again.
Off the field and on campus, I tried to keep a low profile. I wanted to keep my nose clean, and I had had enough of complications in my life to last me a very long time.
Alex, of course, had other plans. She called me every few days, just being friendly, and we met occasionally for lunch or for drinks after dark.
There was considerable attraction between us, but I thought we both were more interested in being friends than exploring anything further. Alex just wasn't into anything serious, and I had no desire to go down that path, either. Even so, she had me thoroughly confused, a condition I was unfortunately very much used to.
Very often, when we got together, one or another of her friends joined us. Sometimes it was another guy, and sometimes it was one of her girlfriends. Her most frequent companion, however, was her friend Erin.
Erin turned out to be a lot more fun, and even sometimes downright silly, a different girl from the one Alex had introduced. They say first impressions are the ones that stick, but with Erin my opinion changed almost every time I saw her. She was self-assured and acting older at the bar the first time I met her, but she was a typical eighteen-year-old freshman the next time she came along with Alex. She was wearing an REM t-shirt with a smear of dirt across the stomach as she practically tumbled into the booth at Chaucer's, laughing at something Alex had said.
The next time, getting a Gator Tail at Joe's Deli, she was dressed all in black, with black nail polish. Only her ash-blonde hair, this time falling loosely to her shoulders, and her open and friendly smile kept her from achieving a complete Goth look for the day.
One time, while the three of us were at Chaucer's, Alex the pixie was sitting next to me. She had her legs crossed Indian-style, and she would occasionally rock up onto her knees in the booth, balancing herself casually.
"There's a Beach Boys tribute band playing at the Warehouse tomorrow night, Porter," she said. "Wanna go?"
I shrugged. "Sure, I guess," I said.
"How about you, Hughes?"
Erin glanced at me, and then at Alex.
"I don't have a date," she said.
Alex laughed. "So what? We'll go as a threesome."
I thought I saw Erin blush just a little. A modest girl, I thought to myself. Embarrassed about an oblique reference to a threesome. How cute.
Damn it, Porter, get your head out of the gutter. It was an innocent remark, I chastised myself. What a freak I could be sometimes.
"Okay," said Erin. "It sounds like fun."
I risked my life by letting Alex drive again. This time I crawled into the back seat, tightened up my seat belt, and wedged myself into a corner to pray. Erin looked pretty relaxed in the passenger seat, chatting with Alex as we sped along.
"Do you think that's a good idea, distracting her while she's driving?" I managed to say from clenched teeth.
Erin glanced back at me in surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked, seemingly genuinely perplexed.
I closed my eyes and kept my mouth shut all the rest of the way to the Warehouse. They're both nuts.
Once again we made it alive. I was very happy to be able to crawl out of the back of Alex's car, still in one piece. It wasn't as crowded outside the club as it had been the previous time Alex and I were here, but Chugs was on duty as usual at the front door.
"Hiya, Chugs honey," said Alex as we walked up to him.
"Alex. How ya doin'?"
"Lookin' forward to fun, fun, fun until Daddy takes the T-Bird away," she replied.
Chugs chuckled, a deep rumbling sound.
"How you, Sean?" he asked.
I was a little surprised he remembered my name. "I'm good," I said.
"Who's your friend?" Chugs asked, looking Erin over. "You got an ID, sweetheart?"
Alex sidled up to Chugs. He bent down. She whispered in his ear for a few moments, and then he straightened up.
"Goddamnit, Alex," he began. She pulled him back down and whispered to him urgently again.
Finally he sighed. "You're gonna get me fired someday, Alexandra Claudine Wallace." He gestured roughly toward the door. "You hear my whistle, and you get her cute little ass out the bathroom window. You hear me?"
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