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From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Playing the Game II: Playing to Win, Ch. 28 (mf rom)
Date: Sun, 12 Jan 2003 19:10:03 -0500
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Welcome to the latest chapter of "Playing to Win".

Enjoy, my friends.






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Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
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(Copyright 2003, Rev. Cotton Mather)

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PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II


by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 28 -

THE ALL-STATE CHEER



Can a fourteen or fifteen-year-old girl really know what love is?
Even in my own overheated and taxed brain, that question haunted me
all night.  Long after I had dropped Kayla off at her house, sharing
another searing kiss full of promise, I was still bothered by what
she had told me.

In the intervening years since, I have discovered that there have
been exceptional children who have known their hearts early on.  Joan
of Arc was 12 when she first heard the voices that put her on the
path of martyrdom, and Shakespeare infused a 13 year old Juliet with
some of the most touching and memorable lines in English literature
(even though his model for Juliet, from the Italian tale "The
Tragicall Story of Romeus and Juliet", was 16).  I could not presume
then, nor can I presume even now, 20 years later, that my Luscious
was as resolute as St. Joan or Juliet.  In fact, in my own mind,
aside from the implications of having a girlfriend who was "in love"
with me, I was still able to appreciate the undeniable fact that
Kayla was gorgeous, she had an uninhibited streak, and she was all
mine.

Now I just had to figure out a way not to blow it.

As we did our homework each evening, there seemed to be more of an
intimacy between us, and Jake was well aware of it, and did his best
not to interfere too much, or give me too much shit about it when
Luscious wasn't around.  Sometimes, though, he just couldn't help
himself.

All the next week, every time he passed me in the hall at school, he
would punch me in the arm hard.

"Keep your mitts off my little sister," he said one time.

"You can kiss, but you'd best not touch," came another warning.

"I'd better not find no fingerprints where none should be," he
threatened another time.

I whirled and grabbed him by the arm that time, and pulled him off
to the side.  "And I'd better not hear about you searching for
fingerprints where you shouldn't be looking," I said.

He looked a little surprised, then shocked, and finally, seeing my
grin, he chuckled.

"Okay, deal," he said.  But just for good measure, he gave my arm
another pop.  I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me rubbing
the bruise he caused.





Coach Neville worked on getting us prepared for the playoffs.  We
were seeded first, and had home field advantage all the way through
the tournament, until the final four teams traveled downstate to
play, still three weeks away.  This was a change from last year, when
the sectionals were held at a neutral field at a local college.  We
didn't mind not having to travel to our games.  It just meant that we
could pack our stands with a good-sized crowd.  If all went well, we
would be playing two games a week until the state playoffs.

Our first game was against Lincoln Valley, the team we had
absolutely pummeled earlier in the season, beating them by a score of
11-0.  On the one hand, I was looking forward to playing against the
Bozo Brothers one more time, but on the other hand, it was a little
depressing that their team actually made it into the playoffs.
Surprisingly, they only had three losses all season long, which
probably only pointed out to all and sundry that our conference was
not particularly strong in soccer.  Still, it was tempting to look
beyond Lincoln Valley to see which opponents might be coming up for
us to play.

Watching the film on Thursday, it was apparent that Lincoln Valley
was playing a stronger game now than they did earlier in the season.
Maybe their coach had been able to infuse some religion into their
front lines, their weakest positions.  Then again, considering the
strengths of our conference, maybe it was just that they were shown
playing weaker opponents.

On Friday, the Metro Times, the big city newspaper, came out with
their statewide prep rankings for all the fall sports, along with
their All-Conference selections.  The big news for us was the
selection of Jorge Mendoza in the net, Eric Johnson as a midfielder,
and Trent Abbott as forward joining me as All-Conference players,
with Mike Evanson and Kevin Soranno also listed as outstanding
players, even though they didn't make the All-Conference team.  No
other team in the area placed more than two players on their
respective All-Conference teams, and in our conference, only Rockton
Heights had two players named.  All the other teams were represented
by one player, including Lincoln Valley, whose stopper was selected.

As we were in the locker room getting prepared for the game, the
mood was loose and light, with a substantial amount of good-natured
ribbing aimed at all of us whose name had been in the paper.  Matt
Hartigan was also in the locker room, talking with Eric and Trent,
gathering up tidbits for his own article for the local rag about the
game.

Eric and I did our customary laps around the field before the game,
but we couldn't check out the opposition, because the Lincoln Valley
team was still unloading from their buses.  We rejoined our teammates
and flopped to the ground to stretch out, taking our time and doing
more joking and relaxing than stretching.

The football team was playing on Saturday, so the stands were
filling up fast.  The student section was already packed, and Jorge,
Eric, Anthony and I walked over to the fence to take a look at the
crowds.  Keisha and Ayesha came down to say hello, and Kayla came
hopping down the steps to join them when she saw me there.  She stuck
her fingers through the fence, and I held them with mine as we stood
there.

"Play well, Sean," she said, her eyes shining with happiness.

"I'll try," I said.  "It might be a little tough out there, though,
what with all these All-Conference guys wanting to hog the ball all
the time."  I glanced over to make sure Eric and Jorge heard me.  I
didn't want to waste a good opportunity to hand them some shit.  Eric
heard me, and was studiously ignoring me.  Jorge was standing by the
fence on his far side, and all his brothers and sisters, including
Kristina, were gathered in front of him, talking excitedly to him, so
he wasn't paying any attention to me at all.  Kristina was
concentrating on ignoring me, too.  I certainly couldn't blame her.
She had joined a growing list of females I have disappointed and
failed over the past couple of years.  I fervently hoped that my
losing streak with women was at an end as I turned back to Luscious,
still clutching my fingers.

"I don't think I'll have to worry about you not getting your touches
on the ball, Porter," she said.  "Somehow, you'll find a way."

I smiled at her.  "During practices, I'm a ball hog," I said.
"During games, the ball can stay on the other side of the field, for
all I care.  Fewer chances for me to fall down and embarrass myself."

"And us," said Eric, still ostensibly chatting with Keisha.

Jorge and Anthony were headed back toward the bench.  I waved to
Kay, and Eric and I ran up to join them.  I put my arm around Jorge's
shoulder.

"Hey, amigacho, I never got to congratulate you."

"Thanks, Sean.  It was a surprise, I tell you."

"Not to me, it wasn't," I said.  "You've been directing the defense
like you've been doing it your whole life."

He grinned at me.  "I have been doing it my whole life," he said.

"Yeah," I agreed.  "I guess you have, at that."  I dropped my arm
off his shoulder.  "Hey, Jorge, is Kristina still going out with
Paco?"

He shot me a surprised glance.  "I thought you was wrapped up with
Jake's sister," he said.

"Oh, I am," I said hurriedly.  "I still feel bad about how that all
went, that's all.  I just want her to be happy."

He shrugged.  He was able to squeeze entire conversations into his
silent gestures, a gift few kids our age had acquired.

"Yeah, she happy, I guess.  At least she's liking the worship.  Paco
is completely whipped, man.  He just walk around all moony eyed,
staring at her all the time, hanging around the house until Papa, he
tells him to go home.  Gives me the creeps."

"You want me to help you chase him off?"

"Nah.  Kristina's enjoying being the center of attention with him
around.  And he's basically a good guy.  Hell, I'm the one got them
together, why am I complaining?  Let her have her fun.  At least it's
with somebody who treats her good."

"Yeah," I said grumpily.  "Her last boyfriend didn't treat her so
well."

He just looked at me for a moment, expressionless.  "No, he din',
did he?" he said quietly.  "But I t'ink he learned from it pretty
good now."

"Yes, he did," I reluctantly agreed.

We left it at that.

Everybody has their own pre-game preparations that they go through,
personal time to get them into game mentality, and I stepped away
from everybody and started on my routines.  I liked to stand with my
toes on the chalk of the sidelines and stare out onto the field,
setting up my own imaginary borders.  I liked to think of myself as a
benevolent dictator of my territory, allowing transgressors
reasonably safe passage, unless they were carrying contraband, in the
form of a soccer ball.  In that case, the dictatorship became
considerably less benevolent, and stepped much closer to being
militarily threatening.  I pictured, in my mind, patrolling my
borders, friendly and relaxed, but still oh so watchful, wary of any
strangers who ventured across my invisible boundaries, ready to
strike against any incursion.

I stepped back and grabbed a cup of water, just as the announcer
started up with the starting lineup.  He announced the lineup for the
visiting team, and it took me a moment to realize, as he called out
the Lincoln Valley left forward starting player as Bruce somebody or
other, that the guy's name wasn't really Bozo One.

He used almost the same routine for calling out our team's starters
that he used the previous week, except that he added the All-
Conference honors for Eric and Trent.  Once again, the crowd got
louder and louder as he started with the defensive side, starting
with Anthony, and then announcing Mikey and Brett.  As they trotted
out onto the field, the noise level went up another notch as the
announcer's voice intoned, "Starting as goalkeeper, a sophomore, and
an All-Conference selection, Jorge Mendoooozaaaaa!"  And the
grandstand started shaking as the entire crowd stomped their feet and
yelled and whistled.  The announcer paused to let the noise settle
just a little before continuing, "And at right defense, a junior,
also an All-Conference selection, Sean Pooorrrterrrr!"  I ran out and
high-fived all my teammates, and clapped Jorge on the back.

"Welcome to Adulation Central, buddy," I said.  "But don't get too
used to it.  Five minutes after our season is done, we're back to
being plain old Mendoza and Porter, B-average students."

"Don't I know it," he replied as we jogged back to the sidelines.
"Can't get a swelled head over playing a game."

The game was even easier than our regular-season game.  The Lincoln
Valley coaches had apparently instructed their players, under penalty
of permanent substitution, to keep the ball out of the left offensive
half of the field, where Kevin and I were patrolling.  They
repeatedly attacked our left, only to be rebuffed time and again.
Because there was no pressure at all on our side, Kevin shifted over
about 15 meters, covering more of the middle, allowing Mikey and
Robert, our center midfielders, to shift over a little, giving Eric
and Anthony a buffer.  Lincoln Valley was essentially playing a half-
field game on our half, cutting down on their offensive options by
more than 50 percent.  Their only real scoring opportunity came on a
corner kick late in the first half.  Jorge boxed up everybody on the
line, and put Anthony on the near post and me on the far post, and he
positioned Brett 5 meters out and in the middle.  The corner kick
came in high and lazy, and we were able to block out all their
players as Jorge went up and easily snagged the ball out of the air.
He punted it down to the midfield stripe, where Javier picked it up,
passed it over to Jimmy on the right, who dribbled it down the
sidelines against the defender, stopped and crossed it about 15
meters in front of the goal.  Conference scoring leader Trent Abbott
was right there, crowding out the stopper with his back and arms, and
he took the pass with his right foot, sweeping the ball off his
instep into the top left corner of the net, over the outstretched
arms of the Lincoln Valley keeper.

It ended up as a 9-0 drubbing, and we left the field satisfied with
the win, and looking forward to our next opponent, to be played on
Sunday, and who was sure to be more of a challenge than the hapless
Lincoln Valley team.

And, at Sunday's game, they were more of a challenge, but it was
still a pretty easy win for us.  Coach even pulled his core group in
favor of giving some of his bench players a little more playing time.
Trent, Eric, Jorge, and I sat together on the bench for most of the
second half, soaking up the weak sun and relaxing, for a change, as
the second team held on to win, 6-1.





The next week, we were surprised and a little disappointed when we
learned that Rockton Heights, our conference rivals, got beat in
their playoff game over the weekend, on a power play when one of
their players got a red card and had to leave the game.  Playing
short, they got beat off the ball, and the Shady Grove Orioles walked
off with the win, 3-2.

"What the hell kind of mascot is an oriole?" asked Eric, when he
heard about Rockton's defeat.

"Doesn't exactly instill fear in the hearts of their opponents, does
it?" said Trent.

"Maybe all the good animals were taken," suggested Mikey.

"Maybe so, but orioles?  Might as well just call yourselves the
Yapping Dachshunds, or the Mighty Angry Turtledoves, or something.
At least if you were the Fighting Statisticians, you could clobber
your opponents with your briefcases."  Eric just shook his head,
chuckling, while the rest of us laughed.

"I wouldn't take the Orioles too lightly, were I you," warned Coach
Neville ominously.  "Shady Grove has two players in particular who
are very good.  All-Conference selections, in fact, in a conference
full of fairly athletic teams."  He took off his glasses and casually
polished them with his loosened tie as he glanced at me with a small
smile.  "Interestingly, both of their Conference players work the
left offensive side.  Perhaps Mr. Porter, here, will finally face a
bit of a challenge."

"Yeah, great," I said.  "Just remind Kevin and Robert to keep the
ball on the offensive side of the field, okay?"

"By the way, I just got word of something that might be of interest
to you, Mr. Porter, and to Mr. Abbott, also."  He stood, and the
entire team quieted down expectantly.  "Earlier this afternoon I
received a telephone call from the State Athletic Board.  I have just
been informed that Sean Porter and Trent Abbott have both been
selected for first-team All-State honors."

The whole room erupted.  Trent and I high-fived each other.

"Ah, but I am not finished," interrupted Coach.  "Second-team All-
State honors are accorded to Eric Johnson at midfield.
Congratulations to all three players."

I grabbed Eric by the shirtsleeve and dragged him up to stand with
Trent and me.  We draped arms around one another, the three of us,
basking in the show of appreciation from our teammates.

"Now, if I may continue for a moment," called Coach.  He had his
hands in the air, calling for a little quiet again.  "All of these
honors for these individuals are fine, and well justified.  However,
those accolades will be all the sweeter if they can also be
accompanied by a trip downstate.  And to do that, we have some hard
work to do this week."

And, with that, Coach Simonson fired up the projector, and analysis
of our last game began.






On Tuesday, I called Lori to see if Davey and Kip would like to work
for the team as ball boys again on Sunday.   We had a game on
Thursday, and perhaps I was looking too far ahead, but the way we
were playing made me pretty confident we would at least be playing on
the weekend.

"Oh, I know they would love it," she said.

"Great.  It'll be easier for them this time, now that they know the
guys, and they know what they will be expected to do," I said.

"Thank you, Sean.  And I believe congratulations are in order, too."

"Well, the talent pool for defenders must be a little shallow this
year," I said.  "I really shouldn't have been picked, since I missed
two games entirely, and half of a third."

"That's baloney, and you know it," she told me.  "You deserved the
honor, just as you earned it last year, too."

"Don't get me started on last year," I said.  "The only reason I
even got noticed is because of the publicity surrounding the
situation that got me into the game in the first place."

"Maybe so," she said.  "But that doesn't detract from the fact that
you played well enough, in spite of the pressure, to earn that
recognition."

"Well, thanks, Lori.  I knew I could count on you to boost me up a
little.  I appreciate it."

Even through the low-fidelity of the telephone, I could hear the
humor in her voice.  "I'm just telling the truth here, Sean.
Besides, I owe you more than you'll ever know."

"What?  How do you figure?"

She hesitated.  "I'll tell you about it sometime, Sean."  She paused
again, sounding unsure of herself.  "Sean?  On Sunday?"

"Yes?  Sunday?  At the game?"

"Yes.  At the game."  She paused once more, and then seemed to
change her mind about something.  "I'll just see you Sunday, Sean.
At the same gate?"

"Sure," I said, more confused than ever.






My confidence was not misplaced.  Our game on Thursday was against
the Apple Valley Tigers.  They were a good team - they had to be, to
make it this deep into the playoffs - but Apple Valley was a tiny
community, and their high school was one of the smallest in our area.
Their starters were decent players, but when they had to go to their
bench, they were vulnerable.

Their strategy for our playoff game was to double cover Trent as
much as possible.  It would have been a sound plan if Trent was our
only offensive threat, but as it worked out, it was a courageous but
foolhardy plan.  Once their strategy was figured out, Eric and Robert
stopped trying to feed the ball into Trent, and shifted their focus
to the other side, moving the ball over to Kevin, Jimmy and Javier.
Because of the double team, somebody was going to be open, and we
were able to spread the field out all the way to the sidelines with
passes, forcing the Tigers to scramble to cover.  Eventually they had
to pull their offensive middle guy back to help defend, allowing us
to pull another player up to attack, while leaving their chances of
moving the ball into our half on a scoring opportunity pretty
minimal.  The final result was another too-easy win, 5-0.

We found out the next morning that Shady Grove also advanced.  Our
Sunday game would be against the Orioles.






On Sunday afternoon, about an hour before game time, I was standing
at the gate, waiting, when I saw Davey and Kip come running up.
Davey grabbed at the handle and swung the gate open, and they both
dashed in and grabbed me around my waist.

"Hi, Sean!"  "Hi, Sean!"

"Hi, guys, how have you been?" I asked, trying without success to
disentangle myself.  Lori came walking up, a big smile on her face.
There was a man I didn't know walking with her.

"Hey, Lori," I said.

"Sean I'd like you to meet David McMasters.  David, this is Sean
Porter."

McMasters was a big man, with a big, open face.  He looked to be
older, maybe around 30, and there were laugh lines etched around his
mouth, evidence of a seemingly friendly guy.  He stuck out his hand,
and I shook it.  He nearly shook my arm off with enthusiasm.

"Glad to finally meet you, Sean.  Lori's been talking so much about
you, I feel like we've been friends for a long time!" he practically
shouted.

"Really?"  I shot Lori a glance, but she was just standing beside
him, smiling affectionately at David's introduction.

"Oh, yes," he continued.  "And the boys!  My goodness, they think
you're the tops!"

"The tops?"  What the hell were the tops?  I had no idea, but
apparently they were good things.

"Absolutely!  Right, boys?" said David as he turned, looking around
for Davey and Kip.  They had already run down the path toward the
door into school, though, and he just shook his head in bemusement.
"Those boys move faster than just about anything else I've ever
seen," he said with a smile.  He held out his arm for Lori.  "Well,
come on, then, Mrs. W., we'd best be finding our seats in the stands,
hadn't we?"

Lori was almost floating above the ground as she slid her arm
through his proffered elbow.  "Yes, David," she said.  She looked
back to me, her entire face aglow.  "And thank you again, Sean.  This
means the world to me, and to the boys."

And they walked off together.  David was almost a foot taller than
Lori, but somehow it didn't look funny at all.  It looked kind of
nice, especially when I saw him moderate his naturally longer stride
to accommodate Lori's shorter step.  I smiled and shook my head, and
then walked over to where the boys were waiting as patiently as they
could, by the door to the locker room.  It was time to prepare for
the game.

Maybe the Shady Grove mascot was weak and goofy, but the team was
not.  At the referee's opening whistle, they started an offensive set
that was quick and effective in getting the ball down close to our
goal.  They were not afraid to use the sidelines, and they relied on
their speed and agility to make crossing passes to their forwards in
front of the net.  Their first attack, on our left side, slipped by
Eric, skirted the line, and their midfielders and forwards all
attacked, leaving Anthony to scramble to stay with their right
forward, who was handling the ball.  Even so, Anthony was a step
behind him when he lofted a cross into the box, and defenders and
attackers alike went up to try to head it.  Brett Oldman managed to
muscle his mark off the ball, and he headed the ball over toward me,
but I had two opponents on me almost before I got to the ball.  I
managed to knock it off the shin of one of their players, and it
caromed out of bounds, skidding along the fence.  Davey tossed me
another ball as I stepped out to handle the throw, and I caught it
and immediately turned and whipped it as far as I could down the
line, hoping that Kevin or Jimmy would be able to snag it.  Kevin
trapped the ball, a defender right behind him with his hand on
Kevin's back, but he was still was able to sideswipe the ball into
the center, where Robert picked it up, passing it over to Eric right
away, who was momentarily open.

As soon as the Orioles defenders recognized that Eric had the ball,
they dropped back, picking up their assignments, and their
midfielders and forwards came back to assist, blanketing their half
of the field with players.  I thought that their forwards and
midfielders were going to be exhausted by halftime, trying to play
both sides of the ball like that.  If they built up a lead by then,
though, they could afford to play keep-away during the second half,
without the need to mount any offensive charges.  Eric couldn't
advance the ball, so he passed back to Anthony, back across the
midfield stripe, and we reset while the Orioles came back over to try
for an interception.

Jorge and Mikey recognized the pattern at about the same time I did,
so we spread out in the back and passed the ball laterally, Mike to
me, me to Brett, Brett to Anthony, until we could find an opportunity
to advance it.  We were able to work the ball up to Kevin and Robert
occasionally, but we didn't seem to be able to move it forward any
further than that, and the ball kept on returning back to us.  Then,
on an unintentionally soft pass from Robert to Anthony, a Shady Grove
midfielder managed to intercept.  He split the field, running in the
seam, as Anthony and Mike angled toward him.  Brett picked up the
center forward, but that left their right forward open, behind
Anthony, and the midfielder threaded a pass over to him.  He stopped
the ball with his right foot, took two shambling dribbles, and
launched a shot at goal.

Jorge was awake and paying attention, though.  He trusted Brett to
hold off the man in the center, and had kept one eye on the ball, and
one eye on the forward behind Anthony.  When the pass was made, Jorge
was as ready as he could be.  He rushed out at the forward, cutting
down on the shooting angle, and managed to block the ball, deflecting
it over toward the right post.  The Orioles forward on my side saw
the opportunity, and ran hard toward the loose ball, but I was right
with him, and I managed to shoulder him away, keeping my arms and
elbows tucked.  I took the ball out from his reach with my left foot,
and popped it back toward the sidelines.  My opponent looked to the
referee, perhaps looking for an obstruction call or a charge, but the
referee indicated a legal play, telling him to play on.

The game seesawed back and forth like that all the first half, and
by the time the referee blew his whistle for halftime, I was pretty
winded.  I looked at the rest of my team, and they were looking like
they felt the same as I did, tired and blowing hard, but still coming
off the field feeling like we had accomplished something, keeping
them out of our goal.  Their offensive lineup had to be even more
winded than we were, and they had nothing to show for it.  Of course,
neither did we, but I knew that Eric and Trent couldn't be shut out
for the entire game.  Something would happen.  In fact, Eric, Trent,
Javier, Jimmy, and Robert were huddled together with Coach Simonson,
trying to come up with just that something.

At the start of the second half, I was feeling pretty decent again.
On our kickoff, we moved the ball back to Eric, and Trent took off
downfield at a hard sprint, part of the play they had designed.  Eric
launched a high pass down the sidelines, leading Trent by about 10
meters, and Trent picked it up from over his shoulder at a dead run,
and kept on going.  Eric, meanwhile, relying on his speed, ran as
hard as he could, angling in toward the middle, with Javier heading
toward the right side, in front of Eric, for a diversion.  The
Orioles sweeper loped out to cut off Javier, and their stopper warily
came out to try to track Eric.  Trent put on the brakes, and his
defender scrambled to stop and reverse, but Trent was open for long
enough.  He powered a crossing pass to Eric, and the Orioles stopper
closed on him, keeping him from a clear shot.  He stayed off Eric,
though, fully expecting him to try to make a move around him, but
instead, Eric one-touched the ball back into open space in front of
Trent, who was now in full stride, bearing down on goal, with his
defender two steps behind him in a delayed reaction to the play.  The
ball reached Trent's left foot in stride, and he swept it off his
laces, over the keeper's head, and into the high far corner of the
net, for the first goal of the game.

The stands erupted with cheers, and from the student section came
the syncopated cry, "All State!  All State!  All State!" in honor of
the offensive combination of Eric Johnson and Trent Abbott.

On the Orioles restart, it became apparent that they, too, spent
halftime coming up with adjustments.  They still loaded up the
offensive side, but this time they sent more players into the middle
and their left.  The ball came over to their left midfielder, and his
forward took the sideline route, so I was forced to guard the passing
lane, until Kevin could come back to pick up the man with the ball.
The forward slipped ahead of me, back toward his midfielder, and got
the ball, and then immediately passed it back over as the midfielder
stepped closer to the center.  They worked a two-man game against me,
keeping the ball moving between the two of them and away from either
Kevin or me, staying near the sidelines, moving constantly into open
spaces.  On the one hand, it was a clever way of keeping the ball
down in our area of the field.  On the other hand, it didn't really
advance the ball, and eventually something would have to be done.

Mikey Evanson forced the issue by sliding over to make it three on
two.  He stepped in front of the midfielder and intercepted, but all
he could do was knock the ball to the side, instead of control it.
The ball was headed just behind me, with the Orioles forward in front
of me.  He stepped to the side, probably intending on retrieving the
ball as it passed behind me, and so he was caught.  I heeled the ball
back to Mikey on a give-and-go, and took off upfield, knowing that
Mikey would do the right thing, one-touching it back to me.  I was
just running up to the Orioles midfielder when the ball came at me
from Mikey, and I stepped in front of it, still with my back to it,
and let it run up my left leg.  I boosted it up and over, and Jesse
Wilhoit's Alley-Oop One-Man Give-And-Go looped over the surprised
midfielder's head, landed bouncing on the other side for me to pick
up, and I headed downfield with just one defender between me and the
corner of the box.  I angled a hard pass just in front of Javier, and
he feinted at it, making the keeper hesitate, and let it go past him
so that it could hit Trent, who rocketed it past the diving Oriole
keeper for goal number two.

Trent came running over to me, and jumped up and landed on me, and
we both fell to the ground.  Eric jumped onto both of us, and the
pileup began as we yelled and screamed.  The student section started
up with their "All State!  All State!" cheer again as we slowly
extricated ourselves, and we jogged back to our side of the field
side by side, Eric and Trent and I.

It was all over but the shouting.  The Orioles coach had to
substitute his midfielders, who had run the field as hard as they
could, but they were scrambling to make something of nothing by then,
and all their offensive tries were rebuffed.  We were content to play
the time out, and the clock worked in our favor, running the Orioles
out of time before they could score.

We were headed downstate.




(Continued in Chapter 29)



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