index


Message-ID: <41042asstr$1046128206@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <RevCottonMather@verywarmpostalservice.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
Subject: {ASSM} Playing the Game II: Playing to Win, Ch. 36 (mf rom)
Date: Mon, 24 Feb 2003 18:10:06 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


And we're off.  My thanks to Mycroft and Estron, two loyal and
well-informed fans who have volunteered to help with my editing and
proofreading while Purvv is under the weather.  They provided
invaluable advice and corrections, and I appreciate their help.  Any
mistakes you might find are mine alone.

Enjoy!




---------------------------------------------------------------------

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
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there
is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring
this material.

(Copyright 2003, Rev. Cotton Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------



PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II


by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 36 -

SENIOR YEAR TRYOUTS



Stephen was home and in his room by the time I got back to my house.
My parents had already gone to bed, and Michael was out.  I knocked
on Stephen's door, and opened it before he could even answer.  He was
standing at his dresser, and he spun around when he heard me come in.

"What?" he asked, already on the defensive.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I asked angrily.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he tried bluffing.

I wasn't buying whatever bullshit he was peddling.  "Jake recognized
you," I said, sitting down on the edge of his twin bed.

He folded right away.  He knew he wasn't going to be able to bluff
his way out of this, and tears started filling his eyes.

"Damn it, Sean.  Why me?  Why can't good things happen to me like
they do for you?"  He came over and sat down on the floor by my feet
and leaned back against the bed.  What did he mean about good things
happening to me?  What good things?

"What's going on, Stevie?"

"Fucking Tommy," he mumbled.  "Gets me in trouble all the fucking
time."  The tears were running down his face now.

"What did Tommy do now?" I asked.  I wasn't feeling very sympathetic
right about then, and his display of emotion didn't touch me at all.

He sighed, his breath hitching.  "Listen, don't let Mom or Dad know
about this, okay?"  He looked up at me, beseeching, but I didn't say
or do anything.  I wanted my options open.  I had the feeling this
was going to be a
doozy of a story.

He paused, but when I didn't make any move to agree, he just shook
his head.  "Fuck it, then," he said roughly.  "Get out of my room." 
He shoved at my leg, but I didn't move.  He was pretty half-hearted
about moving me out, and he gave up after just that one shove.

"Tell me," I said quietly.

He stayed quiet for a long time, as if he was mulling over whether
to tell me about it or not.  Finally, he took a deep
breath, and he started.

"There was a dude a couple of blocks over who was doing some roofing
work or something," he began.  "Anyway, he left his ladder in his
back yard, and Carlos found it.  Him and Tommy dragged it over to
Tara's house the other day.  I think they were planning on sneaking
into her room that night, or something, but they didn't.  Anyway,
they stashed it behind the garage over there."

"At Jaimie's house?  I mean, Tara's house?"

"Yeah.  It was mostly hidden behind some bushes and shit, so nobody
found out about it."

"And?"

"And, well, we knew that Tara was like totally grounded, but she
still got around it a lot, you know?"

"Like at the carnival the Fourth of July weekend?"

"Yeah," he agreed.  "Like that.  Anyway, you know she's... uh..."

"She's a real piece of work," I said.

He smiled just a little.  "Yeah, a piece of... work.  She likes to
shake her ass around, you know?"

"So I've heard," I said dryly.

"Okay, so she's skanky.  But a guy gets horny, you know?  She's been
jacking me off or giving me blowjobs for a long time, and once you
get used to gettin' it pretty regular..."

"Okay, I get the picture," I said.  "Have you fucked her?"

"Sure," he admitted.  "Tommy got her first, and then Carlos ripped
off a piece, but she wouldn't give it up for me.  Only handjobs and
blowjobs.  And then, one time last spring, we were all in the woods,
me and Carlos and Tommy and Tracy and Tara.  Tommy brought some weed,
and Tracy had a pipe, so we passed it around.  Before I know it,
Tommy and Tara are rolling around on the ground, and she's got her
hand down his pants yanking on him and he's pawing at her tits, and
pretty soon they're pulling clothes off of each other, and he bangs
her right there, in front of everybody."

"No shit?"

"No shit.  And then Carlos decides he doesn't want to be left out,
so he grabs Tracy, and her top comes off, but she doesn't want to
fuck, so she starts blowing him while he's got a finger stuck up her
twat, and he's finger-fucking her, you know?"

"And what are you doing while all this is going on?" I asked.

He had the good sense to look a little ashamed.  "Tommy dumps a load
in Tara, but her motor's still running, 'cause, you know, Tommy's
kinda quick on the trigger, you know?"

I just nodded.  Of course he was; he was young and selfish and
stupid, and he was just looking to get his rocks off.

"So she motions to me, so I crawl over to her, and she grabs my
shirt, and pulls me down and kisses me, and then whispers, 'Hop on
and give me a ride'.  So I did."

"Yeah?  Just like that?"

He wouldn't look at me.  "It's not like I'm in love with her or
nothin'," he said.  "I just wanted to get laid in the worst way."  He
glanced up quickly, and dropped his eyes again.  "And I think I did."

"Did what, Stevie?"

"Got laid in the worst way," he said.

"Yeah," I agreed.  "Maybe you did.  So then what happened tonight?"

"Oh, yeah.  Well, we had this ladder, see?  And we knew Tara would
be sent to the house after dark, but she said to stick around, and
she'd try to sneak us in somehow.  Like, a signal with her bedroom
light, or something.  Tommy and her fixed it all up.  Anyway, Carlos
had to go home, so when we saw her bedroom light come on, Tommy says,
'Help me hoist the ladder up there', so we each grab an end and we
put it up on the side of the house by her window, and by now she's
got her window open, and she's hanging out watching us, and Tommy
shimmies up the ladder and crawls into her room through the window,
and then he motions me to come up.  So I climb up the ladder and
practically break my freakin' neck falling through the window into
her room, and I look up, and already they're lip-locked, and Tommy's
got his hand stuck down inside her panties, fingering her, and she's
got his shorts down around his ankles and has his wang out, and she's
yanking on it like she wants to pull it out by the root, you know?" 
He looked up at me again.

It didn't sound very romantic.  In fact, it sounded painful.  I
nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"So, anyway, they break apart for a moment, and she pulls her shirt
off, and she's not wearing nothing underneath, and Tommy, he kneels
in front of her, and pulls her panties off, 'cause that's all she's
got on, you know?  He pulls them off, and she puts her feet apart for
him, and he starts jabbing his finger up her cunt again.  She puts
her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, you know, she's looking
like she's really starting to get off on all this fast and furious
shit, and she's got her head back, and she's moaning and groaning and
almost bouncing up and down on Tommy's fingers, 'cause he's using two
or three fingers on her now.  And when she's done coming, or
whatever, she just pushes him away, pushes him backwards, you know? 
And Tommy, he falls down, he's so surprised, but he stands up again,
and yanks his shorts the rest of the way off, and his boner is
stickin' way out.  Anyway, Tara, she backs up until she's by the bed,
and then she just lays down, her legs spread and dangling over the
side, and Tommy climbs on, and Tara grabs his thing, just takes hold
of his cock, and pulls it, pulls him over on top of her, and he just
slides home."

He looked up at me in distress again.  "It was really gross, Sean,
and at the same time, it was really a turn-on, you know?  I mean,
being in the same room with your best friend while he's banging some
bitch, only it's a girl I've known since forever."  He squirmed a
little, remembering.  "Anyway, he's humping away at her, and she's
taunting him, you know?  Like telling him he's got a little dick, and
he don't know how to use it, but he's in another universe, and pretty
soon I hear him grunt, and he pulls out and shoots all over her
stomach and her tits.  When he was done, he just drops to his knees
and kind of rolls out of the way, and Tara, she's just laying there,
her legs spread wide and her pussy just winking at me, and she just
watches me.  So I dropped my shorts and grabbed my cock and guided it
in, and took up right where Tommy left off.  I didn't want to hug her
or kiss her or anything, 'cause Tommy's splooge was all over her, so
I just kind of leaned up against the bed and balled her, and she had
this smile on her face like she knew I didn't want to kiss her, and
she moved her hips around on me, and before I realized it, I was
shooting off inside her."

He looked up at me again, his eyes ten years older than they were
just a few minutes ago.  "I didn't mean to, Sean.  I really didn't. 
But she's got to be on the pill, right?  I mean, a skanky slut like
that, she wouldn't take the chance, would she?"

I wished I could reassure him at that point.  I knew only too well
the terrors that came visiting when you were worried about such an
unfortunate mishap.

"I don't know, Stephen.  Maybe she is, but I don't know."

"Because Jaimie and Kayla are, so Tara probably is, too," he said.

I looked at him, dumbfounded.  "How do you know about Jaimie and
Kayla?" I asked suspiciously.

"Tara knew," he replied.  "Tara told us one time that they were."

Hoo boy.  That was not good news.  One step closer to the parents
finding out about the girls being on birth control.  The more people
who knew, the more likely the word would get out to the wrong people,
namely moms and dads.  And here, the four of us thought we had kept
that particular bit of information a secret.

He sniffled, and wiped his eyes roughly with his palms.

"What am I gonna do now, Sean?" he asked miserably.  "What's gonna
happen now?"

"I don't know, buddy.  I'll find out what I can."  I stood up and
looked down on him.  I knew there was a scowl on my face, and I hoped
it would put the fear of God into him.  "You're going to have to
stand up and face whatever comes, though.  You can't run away and
hide from it."

He just stared up at me, his eyes tearing up again.  There were high
spots of color on his cheeks, and his nose was red and streaming. 
Finally, though, he nodded, and looked down to stare at nothing,
contemplating a dreadful future.





The next day, I called Jake, first thing.

"Hey," I said.  "What's going on with Tara and her family?"

He kept his voice low and spoke very quietly into the telephone.  "I
don't know for sure.  By the time I got back there, Mr. and Mrs.
Jacks were home, and I only got to talk to Jaimie for a second this
morning when I called over there.  She told me she threw Tara into
the shower to get cleaned up, but I don't know if she told her
parents about it yet."  He paused for a moment.  "I took that ladder
down and carried it into the back of the field last night, just in
case."

I slapped my forehead.  "Great thinking, dude.  I completely forgot
about the ladder."

"Sean?  Was Stephen one of the guys?"

I sighed.  "Yeah.  And it's a real dirt sandwich."  I gave him the
condensed version of what had happened.

"Jesus H. Fucking Christ," he muttered.  "What is the matter with
that little girl?"

"Well, not only that, but what is the matter with these little
boys?" I added.

"Yeah, that too.  Why is it that guys are so easily led around by
their dicks?"

I laughed uncomfortably.  "I don't know, Jake.  If you can figure
out the answer to that, you'll be a millionaire."

"We might have another little problem," I said.  I told him about
Tara spilling the beans about Jaimie and Kayla being on birth control.

"We'll fix that right away," he said.  "School starts in another
week, and all these kids involved are going to be freshmen.  We'll
put the fear of the Senior Class into them right from the get-go."

"You want to wait that long?" I asked worriedly.

He chuckled.  "I don't think a whole lot is going to happen between
now and then.  Between the four of us, we ought to be able to sit on
these little dickheads without too much trouble."

"Five of us," I said.

"Five?"

"Yeah.  Mikey Evanson is gonna have to be informed about his little
sister, and it's not going to be pleasant.  He'll help."

"Mike graduated.  He won't be there," said Jake.

"He's going to community college for a year, living at home.  He'll
want to know about this."

"Okay, five of us.  Good.  So, I guess I'll see you later."

"Call me if you hear anything more," I said before hanging up.  Even
if Jake didn't call me back, I knew I could get more information that
afternoon.  Luscious was coming over and staying for dinner.

When she got to my house, she was carrying a gym bag, and wearing
gym shorts and a baggy tee shirt, along with her running shoes.

"Oh, no," I groaned.

"Come on, you lazy bum," she said.  She reached and pulled me up
from my very comfortable slouch.  "I don't want you getting all
flabby.  Besides, an older guy like you needs to take care of
himself."  She giggled and stepped easily out of the way when I tried
to tickle her for that remark.  She pushed me toward the stairs.  "Go
change," she commanded.  "I'll be out in the back, stretching."

Well, that was a sight I really didn't want to miss, watching my
Luscious stretch out, so I hustled upstairs and threw on an old shirt
and slipped into my running shoes, and took the stairs back down two
at a time.  I would tie them when I got back outside, where the view
was much better.

Kayla was bent over double when I stepped outside, her knees locked
and her palms flat on the ground.  She looked around her legs and
held her position as I stopped and admired her form, and she smiled
at me, knowing full well what she was doing.  I almost missed the
bottom step because I was looking at her ass as I came down the
stairs.

She raised herself up gracefully.  "Come on, clumsy," she said.  She
gently pushed me back so that I was sitting on the concrete step, and
she knelt and began tying my shoes.  She glanced up at me and smiled
again, and leaned forward just a little more to concentrate on her
work.  Of course, when she did that, the neck of her tee shirt
gapped, and I got just a glimpse of the top swells of her breasts,
along with the edge of her white bra.  As much as I was fascinated by
the sight, I had to look away after a moment.  It would be
uncomfortable, and more than a little embarrassing, if I had to run
with a hard-on tenting my shorts.

I stretched out my hamstrings, and figured that was good enough for
an easy run, and we started out, going down the driveway and heading
over toward the park.

"How are Jaimie and Tara?" I asked.

She scowled a little.  "It's a real mess over there," she said. 
"Jaimie got Tara cleaned up and into bed before her parents found
out, but she's really afraid Tara's going to do something like that
again."

"She can't very well nail the upstairs windows shut, can she?"

"No.  She really doesn't want to tell on her sister, but she's
thinking that might be the only way to protect her from herself, too."

We were jogging at an easy pace, breathing regularly and able to
converse without gasping.  We ran around the perimeter of the park
and headed out through the surrounding neighborhood, intending on
swinging around and coming back to my house by running past Kayla's,
about a four-mile loop.

I gave her the sanitized version of what Stephen had told me, and
also told her about my conversation with Jake.

"Will that work?  Confronting those kids like that?" she asked, a
little worriedly.

"Sure it will," I assured her.  "They're just punk kids.  They'll
listen up."  I hesitated for a moment, and then jumped in to see if I
could help Stephen out.  "Sweetie, do you know if Tara is on birth
control pills?"

She glanced over at me.  "I don't know, but I'll see if I can find
out," she said.

By the time we got back to my house, our conversation had turned to
more pleasant subjects, and I felt great.  That run was just what I
needed to clear my head of jumbled thoughts.

Everybody was home by the time we returned, and Mom was fixing up
platters of bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches, cut into triangles,
along with cut-up fruit and sweating glasses of soda and iced tea. 
Kayla grabbed her bag and ran upstairs to take a quick shower while I
helped Mom lug the food out to the picnic table in the back yard. 
When Kay came back down, she insisted on helping while I got cleaned
up.  It would have been a lot more efficient if we had been able to
shower together, but I didn't think my parents would be very
accepting of that suggestion, so I didn't even mention it, except to
Kayla as we passed each other in the hallway.

"I would have preferred to take my shower with you," I whispered.

She gave me a smoky smile.  "We'd have run out of hot water," she
murmured.

I came back from my shower just as my dad and my brothers were
sitting down at the picnic table.  Mom and Kayla were opposite the
men, and I slipped onto the bench next to my Luscious, and we all dug
in.





Tryouts for the school fall sports teams were held beginning Monday.
Soccer tryouts were scheduled for Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday
afternoons, and the team lineups would be announced after Wednesday's
session.  Full team practices began on Thursday, and our first game
was to be a week later on Friday, during the first week of school.

Coach Neville met with those of us who had been starters on the
previous year's team for an hour before tryouts were to begin on
Monday.  I looked around the room as we settled into desks in one of
the health classrooms.  It would be strange not seeing Kevin Soranno
playing in front of me, or Mikey Evanson and Robert Anderson in the
middle, but it was a shock to realize that Trent Abbott wouldn't be a
part of this team.  All had graduated, and Trent had left for college
on Sunday.  He had gotten a soccer scholarship at South Carolina, and
we had speculated excitedly all summer long on the prospect of
playing against each other in another year.

On the other hand, our entire defense, with the exception of Mikey,
was returning.  Jorge was a junior, and Anthony Rogers and I were
returning as seniors.  Eric Johnson and Javier Perez were returning
seniors for our offense, and Jimmy Brooks, our right forward, was a
junior.  We only had to fill four starting positions lost because of
graduation, an enviable position for a ranked team.

"Gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?"  Coach Neville
smiled as he surveyed the classroom.  "As you all know, these next
three days will be open tryouts.  All positions must be earned, no
matter what your successes or awards in previous seasons.  That said,
I anticipate that the seven of you, unless your games have somehow
gone horribly wrong during the past several months, will be returning
to your customary positions on the field."

Brett spoke up.  "Coach, do you have any idea who you might like to
see in the forward and midfield spots that are open?"

His smile was tight and knowing.  "We'll have to see how the tryouts
go," was all he would say.

He handed out schedules, and talked about what drills he had planned
for tryouts.  He wanted us to meet with him again on Wednesday
morning, so we could give him some input on what we saw during the
tryouts.  He emphasized, however, that the final decisions on the
makeup of the team were his, making sure we all understood that.

We spent the entire Monday session running and conditioning.  We ran
laps around the track; we ran 40-yard sprints, 60-yard sprints, and
100-yard sprints, all timed.  We ran 1-mile races, timed again, and
then ran more laps.

It was brutal.  There were maybe 100 kids trying out for the soccer
teams, and of those, maybe half made it through the running phase in
halfway decent shape.  A number of kids ended up on their knees,
tossing their lunches along the fence, at some point during the
festivities.  Even the couple dozen or so of us who had known what to
expect, and had prepared over the summer, were pretty much beaten
down by the pace.

At the end of the first day, those of us who had been on the Varsity
team the previous year were sprawled around one of the benches on the
side of the field.  Eric, Jimmy, Javier, Anthony, Jorge, Weasel,
Rich, and a couple of other subs were all there, sucking down water
and trying to summon up the energy to walk a little to cool down
before the muscles started tightening up.

Coach Simonson came over and harangued us to get up and move around.
Moaning and complaining the whole time, we all finally managed to
drag our weary asses up off the bench or up from the ground and take
a one-lap walk around the track.

Rich Ingrams moved up to walk with me.  "Hey, Sean, I hear you were
running a clinic for little kids over the summer," he said.

"Yeah, I heard that, too," said Weasel from behind us.  "That must
have been boring."

Eric turned around and stared at him.  "Maybe you should have signed
up, Weasel.  Might have been able to teach you a thing or two."

"Why do you say that?  You weren't there, were you?"  One thing
about Adam Prince the Weasel.  He was sure to get his motormouth
going before he dropped his brain in gear.

"Actually, yeah, I was there.  And it was fun.  And educational. 
And it helped me to stay in shape.  How you feelin', dipshit?"

Weasel actually made it through the first day pretty well.  He was
limping a little, and he looked pretty washed out, but most of the
guys looked worse.  Eric, of course, looked nearly fresh, even with a
bright gleam of sweat on his dark skin.  His breathing had already
normalized, and he looked like he was out for a stroll on the track.

"I feel all right," Weasel said rather defensively.

"Good enough to go one-on-one for a spot on the starting lineup?"
Eric asked.

Weasel stopped and glared at Eric.  The rest of us stopped and
looked at the two of them.  "What do you mean?"

"Simple," said Eric.  "Full net size, you and me one-on-one.  You
get three chances to try to stop me from scoring, then I get three
chances to stop you.  Most goals wins."

"Wins what?"

Eric thought for a moment.  "I win, you don't issue any challenges
all season long.  You win, me and Porter will recommend you for the
sweeper spot in the starting lineup."

"Really?  You'd do that?"  Prince looked a little uncertain, as if
he didn't believe we would live up to our end of the bargain.

"Sure.  You beat me, you're good enough to start, far as I'm
concerned.  But here's the catch, Weasel.  Just because we recommend
you, don't mean Coach will listen.  All we can do is whisper in his
ear."

Weasel turned to me.  "Do you agree to this, too?"

I shrugged.  "Sure," I said.  "You beat Eric, I'll let Coach know
you want the sweep, and I'll give it my endorsement."

I could almost see the light shine in his eyes at the thought of
starting in the middle.

"Hold on there, sport," I said.  "If you win - and that's a very big
if - and if you get the starting spot - another very big if - you
listen to your keeper, your stopper, and your two defensemen.  Listen
and act as if your life depended on what they said.  When Jorge says
'jump', you start jumping, and you don't stop until he tells you to
stop.  Got that?"

"Sure, but..."

"But nothin'.  Agree to it, or you don't even get the chance to win
the one-on-one.  Okay?"

His face got red, but he must have been working on his anger
management, because he didn't say another word.  He just tersely
nodded.

"Okay, good.  As soon as Coach dismisses us, we'll grab a couple of
balls and do it."  I turned around and resumed walking around the
track, and the others followed.

When we got back to the locker room, I quietly let Coach know what
was going on.  He tried to be serious as he listened, but I could see
amusement dancing in his eyes as he let me know he would be in his
office for another hour, going over the day's events with Coach
Simonson.

The word must have gotten out, because there were about 30 kids
hanging around the field when I got back out there for the challenge.
Almost all the guys from last year's Varsity and Junior Varsity teams
were there, sitting around and anticipating the contest, and there
were a few kids from the summer clinics, incoming freshmen who knew
Eric and I, and were intensely interested in what was going on.

I walked out, holding two soccer balls under my arms, and Eric and
Adam got up and joined me.

"The full half field is in bounds," I said.  "Play on, unless you
hear me blow my whistle.  Offensive player gets the opportunity to
bring the ball up from the midfield line, and just about anything
goes after that.  Once the defenseman either kicks the ball out of
bounds, or takes over control and dribbles away, or knocks the ball
more than 10 yards behind the offensive player, that turn is over,
and you restart.  Each player gets three opportunities on offense. 
Understood?"

I got nods from both players.

"Okay, who goes on offense first?"  I looked at them both.

"Let's play our positions first," suggested Eric.  "I'll take the
first offensive set against the defensive specialist, here."  He
jabbed his thumb in Weasel's direction.

"That okay with you?" I asked Adam.

He shrugged.  "Sure, I guess," he said.

I set them up, and blew my whistle to get them started.  Adrenaline
was working in Weasel's favor for the first point, and he managed to
knock the ball away from Eric's feet and out of bounds pretty
quickly.  Just that small exertion, however, had him huffing and
puffing.  The day's excesses were going to take their toll on him
quickly.

On the second point, Eric juked him badly, and got enough of an
opening to pound the ball into the net.  Eric walked nonchalantly
back to the midfield stripe and waited for Weasel to retrieve the
ball and toss it to him.  Eric let the ball drop to his feet, and
immediately took off at a dead run.  Even I was impressed that he had
that much speed and energy left in him, after running so much during
tryouts, and there was no way that Adam was going to be able to
backpedal and stay with him.  After three tries, Eric had scored
twice, and Adam had made one stop.

They switched positions.  Adam rested a moment, hands on his knees
and sweat dripping from his nose as he tried to catch his breath.  He
looked up at Eric, who was standing hipshot on the 18-meter mark,
waiting patiently, arms crossed and looking relaxed.  Weasel sighed,
took a big breath to fill his lungs with oxygen, and started out.

He was skilled with the ball, but there was no way he was going to
be able to outrun Eric to the goal.  He tried his best to feint
around him, but Eric, from years of pulling stunts on opponents, knew
what he was doing, and could play a defensive set very well.  He kept
his eyes focused on Weasel's stomach, letting his peripheral vision
track the ball.  The feet, the arms, the shoulders, the head, even
the hips could be used to fake out an opponent, but the midsection
has to go where the body goes, and Eric was well aware of it.  He
kept watching Adam's core, and simply moved in the same direction his
midsection moved, and Adam was forced to concede the point.

On his second trip down, Weasel tried lofting a pass over Eric's
head.  Eric simply ran backwards a half-dozen steps and kneed the
ball out of bounds, for the match.  The only reason to play out the
last point was for pride, and Weasel was out of gas, pride
notwithstanding.  He just waved his hand at Eric, conceding as he
walked over to the sideline, clutching his side and blowing hard.

Eric came jogging over and took Weasel's arm.  Weasel stood up
straighter, perhaps anticipating having to take some shit from the
victor, but Eric simply said, "Nice game, Prince.  You played your
hardest."

Adam looked startled.  He searched Eric's face for a possible
punchline, and didn't see one, so he nodded.  "Thanks," he said
hesitantly, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Eric just
nodded once at him, and let him go, walking over to get his bottle of
water out of his gym bag.

The crowd dispersed, clumps of players walking off together, no
doubt talking about the one-on-one challenge they had just watched,
and speculating on what it all meant.  Eric, Jorge and I gathered up
our stuff and headed back to the door into the locker rooms, and
knocked on Coach's door.

"Enter," said Coach Neville, and Coach Simonson opened the door for
us.

"How'd it go?" asked Coach Neville.

"About what you'd expect," I said.  "But Prince showed some guts out
there, Coach.  And quite a bit of restraint."  I turned to Jorge and
Eric.  "What do you guys think?"

Eric just nodded, only now allowing himself to look as tired as he
had to have felt.

Coach looked at Jorge.

"If you want to start him as sweep, I t'ink we can work with him. 
You agree, Sean?" asked Jorge.

I nodded.  "Yeah," I agreed.  "He's a more mature player than he was
last year.  I think we can play with him."

"Thank you, boys," said Coach Neville, giving nothing away.  "See
you tomorrow."  And, with that, we were dismissed.

On Wednesday, after practice, Coach tacked up two pieces of paper on
the bulletin board in the locker room.  One had the names of the guys
who had made the Junior Varsity team, the other contained the names
of the Varsity players.  All 7 of the freshman players who had
attended my clinic made the JV team, I was glad to see.  As far as
the Varsity list was concerned, there was only one surprise,
considering the number of returning players we had.  That surprise
was that the two sophomores who had been on the JV team last year,
and had attended my clinic, were both on the roster.  I was
unaccountably pleased about that.

On Thursday morning, at our first team meeting, Coach would announce
his starting lineup.  Who would fill the four vacant spots?  We all
had to wait for one more day before we would find out.





(Continued in Chapter 37)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+