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From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <RevCottonMather@verywarmpostalservice.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Playing the Game II: Playing to Win, Ch. 39 (mf rom)
Date: Thu, 13 Mar 2003 07:10:05 -0500
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And the saga of our favorite soccer hero continues...

Enjoy!




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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




- 39 -

PLAYING THE GAME


One Sunday afternoon late in October, Kayla and I were in my family
room.  This time, we actually were doing homework, instead of merely
pretending to.  Stephen was in his room, presumably doing his
homework, though in actuality, he probably had his headphones on and
was zoned out, listening to his new Van Halen album.

The telephone rang, but before I could struggle up from the floor,
my mom answered from the kitchen.

"Sean!  Telephone!"  She waited until she heard me pick up, and then
she hung up her phone.

"Sean?  It's Jaimie.  Is Kayla there?"

"Yeah.  You want to talk to her?"

"No, it doesn't matter.  I was just making sure you guys were
together.  I need to talk to both of you, I think.  Can you meet Jake
and me at Mike's Pizza in about an hour?"

I glanced over at Kayla, who was looking back at me quizzically. 
"Sure," I said.

"Okay, see you there," said Jaimie, and she hung up.

I shrugged as I stepped back over Kayla's outstretched legs. 
"Jaimie and Jake want to meet up with us," I said.

I walked over to the kitchen and saw my mom cutting up vegetables
and putting them in a big pot.

"Mom?  I don't know if it makes a difference with what you've got
planned for dinner, but Jake and Jaimie want us to meet them at
Mike's, so we'll probably eat there.  Is that okay?"

She looked over her shoulder at me.  "That's fine, sweetie.  I'm
just making a big pot of stew.  We'll have lots of leftovers."  She
smiled at me, and turned back to her work.

Luscious and I worked for a little while longer, and then we packed
up our stuff and I carried her backpack out to my car.  When I came
back in the house, Kayla was in the kitchen, saying goodbye to my
mother.  I stood in the doorway and watched my girlfriend and my mom
together.  They had come to really like each other over the past
year.  It was the oddest thing: I couldn't see how I would ever be a
pal to Mr. Lehigh, but here Kayla was, with my mom, who was treating
her like one of her best friends.

We got to Mike's a few minutes late, and Jaimie and Jake were
already there, sitting in their favorite booth.  They had soda
fountain glasses filled with ice and Cokes on the table in front of
them.  As we slid in opposite them, I couldn't help but notice that
Jaimie looked very worried.  She held out her hands toward me, and I
naturally took them in mine.

"What's up, Jaimie?" I asked.

Tears welled up in her eyes.  "Tara's pregnant," she said quietly.

"What?"  I was shocked.  "How did it... Ah, forget that, what I mean
is, she's been grounded since last spring.  When?"

"We don't know for sure," she said.  "She won't talk about it much."

"We all know she's found... opportunities," said Kayla.  She looked
as shocked as I felt.  "Didn't she use any protection?"

Jaimie looked disgusted.  "She must have fallen asleep during Sex
Education," she grumbled.  Now that the bad news was out there,
shared among her friends, her grief over this family misfortune
seemed to be lessened.  "She said she thought she was too young to
get pregnant."

"Too young?  You'd have to be pretty young not to be able to be
knocked up, a lot younger than her," said Jake.

"And thank you very much, Mr. Sensitivity," shot Jaimie.

"Sorry," Jake mumbled, abashed.

"So, who's the guilty party?" Kayla asked.

Jaimie looked down.  She was acting like she was feeling a little
bit responsible about all this, but I didn't see how any of it could
have been her fault.

"She doesn't know," she whispered.

"What?"

"She refuses to even talk about who the father is to my mom and my
dad," Jaimie said quietly.  "But she told me she doesn't know who it
is."

"How could she not know?" asked Jake incredulously.

Jaimie favored him with a look that said, You really didn't say
that, did you?  She turned back to face Kayla and me.

"Sean, she did tell me that Stephen was one of the boys she'd been
with," she said.

My heart fell into my stomach.  Of course he was.  Didn't Jake and I
chase him out of her room that night of the picnic and scavenger
hunt?  And then there was his confession the next morning.  I didn't
think Jaimie knew anything about that.

"But he's not the only one, I would guess," I said.

"No.  Tommy, Carlos, Richie, Stephen.  They seem to be the prime
suspects.  But she also mentioned three other boys she'd fooled
around with one time or another during the summer."

"Man!  When did she find the time to boink..."  Jake stopped, and
counted the names on his fingers.  "What is that?  Seven?  For a girl
who spent all summer grounded, she really got around."

"Boink?"  Jaimie looked at him dangerously.  "Is that how you think
of it?"

He backpedaled swiftly.  "Uh... no, sweetie, I just... uh... I mean,
obviously she didn't take it very seriously... and..."

She ineffectually slapped at his hand as the tears started again. 
"Oh, never mind, you big oaf.  I know you didn't mean anything by it.
I'm just a little upset right now."

He put his arm around her and gently pulled her to him, kissing the
top of her head lovingly.  "I know, sweetie.  I'm sorry."

Jaimie sniffled and reached for a paper napkin from the chrome
dispenser on the table.  She wiped her nose delicately, and dabbed at
her cheeks and under her eyes to blot up the tears.

"Anyway," she said, after regaining her control, "do you guys
remember the first day of school?  That half-day Tuesday?"

Kayla and I glanced at each other.

"Sure, you do, don't you?  You guys were being... naughty, weren't
you?"  She smiled at us.  "I know because Tara told me she watched
you."

"Ah," I said, that dim light bulb finally flickering on inside my
thick skull.  "The face in the window.  It was Tara!"

"Yes," confirmed Jaimie.  "She came home on the bus, but I had to
stay after school to look stuff up in the library, so I didn't get
home until later in the afternoon.  Tara was home, but she was
soaked.  Remember?  It was raining that day."

"Very stormy," murmured Kayla.  She put her hand on my knee, and I
dropped my arm below the table and put my hand on top of hers.  She
turned her hand over, and our fingers naturally intertwined.

Jaimie looked at us, a smile twitching the corners of her mouth. 
"Apparently.  Anyway, I found out later that Tara saw you that
afternoon.  By then she already thought she might be pregnant, so she
was wandering around in the storm, worrying herself sick.  Anyway,
she saw movement, and she slipped between the bushes and watched you
two."  She started sniffling again, remembering her conversation with
her sister.  "She saw how much you two... cared... for each other
while you were..."

"Making love?" suggested Kayla quietly.  She glanced quickly at her
brother to gauge his reaction, but he was focusing on his girlfriend.

"None of her experiences were even remotely like... making love,"
continued Jaimie.  "It was always hard, quick, almost violent, she
said.  She thought that's how it always was.  So when she saw you,
she... she got mad.  I think she's been angry ever since."

"So now what's going to happen?" Kayla asked.

"My parents wanted to have every boy she could name arrested,
charged with rape.  They were so angry, they drove her even further
away from them.  She refused to tell them anything.  They were
screaming at each other.  Tara absolutely refuses to even consider an
abortion.  She wants to have the baby, raise it herself.  She won't
talk about giving it up for adoption, or anything."

"Do any of the boys know anything about it yet?" I asked.  Stephen
hadn't been acting any differently that I could tell.

"No, I don't think so," said Jaimie.  She sighed.  "I don't even
know if she's planning on telling them."

"It's going to become a little obvious pretty soon," said Jake.

"Yes, but she's got several weeks before she'll really start to
show," said Jaimie.  "Hopefully, by then she'll have made some sort
of intelligent decision about this baby."

The pizzas that Jaimie and Jake had ordered for us arrived, and we
spent the next hour or so chewing over the Jacks family problem while
we consumed large quantities of sodas and pizza.

Finally, Jake sat back and patted his stomach.  "I do believe that
pizza is the world's most perfect food."

"How do you figure?" asked Kayla.

"Easy," he said as he reached for one last tidbit of pizza.  "You've
got your bread in the crust.  You've got your vegetables of various
colors, tomato paste and onions and mushrooms and peppers.  You've
got your meat, with the sausage and pepperoni.  What are you missing?
It's a perfectly rounded meal."

"Oh, I get it," I said sarcastically.  "A perfectly ROUNDED meal?" 
I indicated the empty pizza pans.

"Well, you know what they say.  Mathematicians don't have all the
answers.  After all, they think 'pi r square', when everybody else
knows that pie are round.  Including pizza pies."

Kayla and I both threw scrunched-up napkins at him for that.

Jaimie said, "Pizza is missing at least one ingredient.  Without it,
no food could rationally be called 'perfect'."

Jake looked at her, smiling.  "And what's that, sweetie?"

"Chocolate, of course."

Just the thought of that made me a little queasy.  A chocolate
pizza?  Maybe not.





The next weekend was Homecoming.  Because of all the trouble the
previous year, float building was still not allowed, so the parade
was not going to be very exciting, in anybody's mind.  All the fall
sports teams were going to walk the parade route in their uniforms,
and the middle school teams would all be there, too.  The marching
band would be in the parade, and convertibles carrying the mayor and
other local politicians were going to be interspersed.

The Homecoming King and Queen candidates would also be in cars in
the parade.  The student body had held elections a couple of weeks
before Homecoming, separated by class, to choose class
representatives for the King's and Queen's Court.  Two boys and two
girls from each of the three younger classes had been chosen, and
three had been chosen from the Senior Class, the theory being that it
would be seniors who would be selected as Homecoming Royalty.

Partly due to her association with me, but mostly because she
deserved to be there, Kayla was elected as one of the sophomore
representatives.  Ashley Horvath was chosen as a junior member of the
Queen's Court, while both Molly O'Toole and Keisha Prescott were
selected as seniors.  For the King's Court, both Eric and I were
picked as seniors, and Jorge was one of the elected candidates from
the Junior Class.  The final selection of the King and Queen would
take place at the dance on Saturday night.

We all went to the football game after the parade, and on a warm and
sunny afternoon, we watched as our team bettered their record to
eight wins and one loss.  Kay and I sat together in the stands,
surrounded by most of the rest of the student body, enjoying the day,
though I couldn't help but think about all that had occurred the last
time our school was celebrating a Homecoming.

At the dance that night, we all once again gathered in the same area
of the gymnasium, though this time around there were some
differences.  Molly's date was the red-haired math whiz, Alex
Baumgartner, and my date was the luscious Kayla.  Tiny was there,
with Erica Frost, and so was Jake and Jaimie.  Jorge was still dating
Marissa Montoya, and Paco and Kristina stayed near them.  Eric and
Keisha were there, of course, as were Anthony and Ayesha, Tessa
Navarrone and Austin Graves, Toby Mueller with Ashley Horvath, and
Josh O'Toole and Andrea Coulter.  We were a big, loud, boisterous
group, and the combination of the loud music from the disk jockey and
being surrounded by my friends kept most of my melancholy thoughts
away.

Early on, Dr. Osgood stepped up to the microphone on the raised
platform at one end of the room, and introduced the King's Court and
the Queen's Court.  He called each of us to come up by him, and we
stood there as he ceremoniously tore open the large envelope.

"The Homecoming Queen for 1982 is... Molly O'Toole!"  He tried to
make his announcement sonorous, but he couldn't help smiling as Molly
was crowned.

After she had received her scepter and sash, Dr. Osgood stepped back
up to the microphone.  "Our Homecoming King is... Eric Johnson!"  We
all applauded as Eric moved up to join Molly, a huge and bright smile
lighting up his face.  They stepped down, Molly's arm tucked in his
elbow, to take the first dance as Homecoming Royalty, and the DJ cued
up a cassette recording of our school's orchestra playing our school
song.  It was corny, and it was completely memorable.  Soon, the rest
of the King's and Queen's Courts followed suit, and by the second
song, the rest of the kids at the dance joined us, and the ceremonial
part of the evening was done.  It was back to having fun again.

Kayla, Molly, Keisha, and Tessa kept me out on the dance floor most
of the evening, and I didn't mind at all making a fool of myself.  It
was a wonderful evening, and when the dance ended, everybody streamed
out of the school doors and moved as a crowd into the parking lot. 
We piled into our cars and headed out for a late night dinner to
finish the evening, giving hardly a second glance around as a
precaution against the previous year's mischief.





Of course, it wasn't long after that weekend that the entire school
found out about Tara's condition.  Speculation and rumor raced up and
down the halls for weeks about the whos, the whens, and the juicy
details.  Stephen, and his buddies were found to be the prime
suspects, so life within our little community became very difficult
for that entire group.  Tara didn't want anything to do with Tommy,
Richie, Carlos, or Stephen, and did her best to distance herself from
them.  Tracy Evanson stayed at Tara's side most of the time, trying
to be the best friend she could, while the four boys banded together
and stayed away from everybody as much as they could.  

It was very unsettling for me, as Stephen's older brother, but it
must have been sheer torture for him.  Having a popular older
brother, and having teachers expecting him to be more like me, only
added to the pressure.  I tried to talk to him, but for much of that
fall he brushed me off.  I was so busy with soccer and school that I
didn't press the issue.  I hoped that after our season ended I would
be able to spend a little more time with him and try to help him
through this.  For the time being, however, our fall season was what
was taking up most of my time and energy.

In November, we entered the playoffs as the only undefeated soccer
team in the state.  Our national ranking had moved up to third,
mostly because of the scoring firepower we were able to unleash out
of the middle.  Everybody was gunning for us, and we welcomed the
challenges.

For the regional playoffs, the team seeded eighth had to play us,
the top-ranked team, on our home field.  That was the unlucky Lincoln
Valley Bozos.  They gave up about halfway through the first half, and
we ended up playing all our bench players for a lot of the game,
winning 9-0.  Each successive game was against tougher opponents, but
we still breezed through, winning 6-1 and 5-0.

David and Lori brought the boys to every game, and Davey and Kip sat
on the bench with me during the Lincoln Valley blowout.  Coach Bill
was there for every game, too, and there were quite a few of his
players and their parents who attended at least one of the playoff
games.  A number of my summer students were there, too, especially
from the competitive group.  I talked to a bunch of them before each
game, and they were practically salivating at the thought of playing
varsity soccer at some point.  Many of them were even more rabid
about the game than I was.

After our victory over Lincoln Valley, the Metro Times released
their All-Conference selections.  Eric, Jorge and I were selected,
and so was Paco.  Hap got an honorable mention, as did Weasel.  Three
first-year starters on the list was startling, even to Coach Neville.

Coach gathered the team together at the end of practice on Monday.

"Congratulations are in order," he said.  "We have some new players
who have been receiving some attention, it seems."

There was some good-natured cheering from our teammates.

"Hey!"  Adam's voice cut through the noise.  "Does this mean I can
get a new nickname now?"

We all laughed.  Eric put his arm around Adam's shoulder.  "Sorry,
man, but you're stuck with it now."

"Shit," mumbled Adam.  "I hate being known as Weasel."

"You want us to call you 'Weasel-icious' instead?" asked Brett. 
"It'll just be shortened down, anyway."

Adam shrugged.  "Nah," he said.  "I guess I kind of earned it last
year.  So, I guess I'll just have to be... I don't know... maybe
tenacious as a weasel on the field?"

"Yeah, that'll work," said Eric with a laugh.  "We'll let ol'
Hartigan know that's what it stands for, next time he comes around
for interviews."

On Wednesday, I got home after practice and settled in to do some
homework.  Kayla had told me at lunch that she had an appointment
after school, so she didn't know what time she would be able to meet
up with me.  I had gotten my assignments for the rest of the week,
since the team was leaving the next day to go downstate for the
tournament, and I wanted to take the opportunity to work ahead a
little.  My full ride to Florida was all but assured, but I still
didn't want my grades to slip during my senior year.

Mom came home from work and started on dinner.  She poked her head
into the family room.

"Where's Kayla?" she asked.

"She had something to do after school," I replied.  "She might be
over later."

"Should I set a place for her at the table?"

"I guess not," I said.

She gave me a funny look.  "Is everything okay with you two?" she
asked.

"Yeah, fine.  Why?"

She stood up and leaned against the doorframe, a spatula in her
hand.  "It's not like you to be so unsure about whether she's eating
here or not, that's all," she said.

"It's nothing, Mom.  She has other stuff to do besides be with me,
you know."

"I know, dear, it's just..."  She paused, watching me, and then
sighed.  "Never mind, then," she said, and she turned back into the
kitchen.

What's up with parents?  I shook my head.  First, they're concerned
that you're spending too much time together, and then, when they see
you alone, they worry that there's trouble brewing.  You just can't
please them, no matter what.

Michael and my dad got home at about the same time, and I went up to
get Stephen for dinner.  I knocked on his door, but there was no
answer.  I tried the knob, and it turned.

Stephen was lying on the floor, his eyes closed, his feet keeping
time and his legs moving to the music pounding out of his headphones.
Even from where I stood, I could hear Joan Jett snarling about how
much she loves rock and roll, the heavy bass beat thumping into the
floor.

I kicked his foot, and he scrambled up, pulling the headphones off.

"What?" he gritted.

"Dinnertime," I said.

"Don't want any.  Go away."

A big part of me wanted to be obstinate.  I sat down on his bed. 
"No," I said.

He just shrugged, and put his headphones back on.  I stood up and
hit the power button on his tape player.  He scrambled to his feet,
yanked off the headphones, and stepped up into my face.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he said loudly.  He had
to look up at me.  He was just hitting his growth spurt, but I had a
few inches on him.  I grabbed him by his arm and pulled him over to
the chair by his small desk, and pushed him down into it.  He slumped
there, the fight already flowing out of him.

"What do you want, Sean?" he asked miserably.

"You're my brother, Stephen.  I want to help you, if I can."

"You want to help me?  Stop being so fucking perfect," he said
heatedly.

"What?"  I looked at him in surprise.  Perfect?  Me?  Didn't he even
know me?

"Yeah.  You think it's easy being your little brother?  'Hi, I'm
Stephen Porter.  Yeah, I'm Sean's brother.  No, I don't play soccer,
too.  No, I'm not a fucking All-American athlete.  No, I can't get
good grades like Sean.  No, I can't get the prettiest girls in
school.'"  His voice was derisive and bitter.

"Nobody's asking you to be just like me, Stephen."

He looked at me like I was the stupidest creature to grace the
earth.  "Oh, yeah?  Spend a day in my shoes, Big Brother."

I was getting a little angry.  "You think I'm living a charmed life?
Well, maybe right now I am, but I worked pretty fucking hard to get
here, Stephen.  Sure, I'm good at soccer, but I started out as a
crummy player, just like everybody else, but I worked at it, because
I liked it.  Easy being me?"  I gave him a bitter, humorless bark of
a laugh.  "I've had my ass kicked more times than I like to think
about.  Last year I got beat up, kicked in the gut, and knifed, right
there in the school parking lot."  I pointed to the scar snaking down
my left arm.  Even with my summer tan fading, the scar was stark
white.

"Yeah, while you were coming to the rescue of Miss Homecoming Queen."

"You're kidding, right?  Stephen, she rescued me.  If she hadn't
stopped Jilly, he would have skewered me.  Molly put herself in
danger because I was down on the ground, getting the shit kicked out
of me."  I really didn't want to relive that night, that humiliation,
but I had no choice now.  "If it weren't for my friends," I said
roughly, "I might not be here now.  Molly, and Tiny, and Eric, and
Josh, and Kayla, they all had a hand in saving my butt.  You think
that was fun?  You think I felt like Sean Porter, Big Man on Campus,
then?  Shit on a stick, Stevie."  I wiped my cheeks.  Somehow they
had gotten damp.

"Sean, I..."

"And, yes, I'm dating the prettiest girl in school.  Was it my idea?
Stephen, I'm probably even more dense about girls than you are. 
Kayla nearly had to hit me over the head with a two-by-four before I
figured out that she would go out with me.  She was my best friend's
sister, for God's sake!  I had already fucked up two or three
relationships.  I thought I was dead in the water when it came to
dating.  Who would want to go out with me?  I was poison."

"Yeah, okay, but still..."

Mom's voice drifted up from the bottom of the stairs.  "Are you boys
coming?"

"Yes, Mom, we'll be right down," I called out.

I stood over him, looking down into his eyes.  Stephen was still
sitting there, a little slumped over, but looking up at me.  I hoped
he saw me a little differently now.

"I've worked hard to try to improve myself, Steve.  I've succeeded
in some areas, and I'm still working on other parts.  Be pissed off
at me if you want, but don't be pissed because you think I've had
everything handed to me.  Sure, I've been lucky.  But you know what
luck mostly is, Stephen?  It's a lot of hours of sweat and worry.  A
little bit of being in the right place at the right time helps, but
I've found that the harder I work, the luckier I get."

He didn't look like he believed me much, but at least he didn't bat
my hand away when I reached down and held it out for him.  He
hesitated, and then took my outstretched hand, and allowed me to pull
him up out of the chair.

"You've got problems.  I know you do.  But don't think you're alone
in any of this.  I'll help as much as I can, Stephen, but most of the
hard work to fix these problems has to come from you."

"Yeah, I guess," he reluctantly agreed.

"Let's go eat, before Mom comes up here and tries to figure out
what's wrong."

He shuddered theatrically.  "God, please no," he said.  Then he
smiled.  A good sign, I thought.  Maybe things would work out okay
for him.

We went downstairs and sat down with the rest of our family.  I was
gratified to see Stephen fill his plate.  Maybe our little talk had
helped, after all.

As we were clearing the dishes from the table after dinner, I heard
a car pull into our driveway.  I glanced up when the back door flew
open, and Luscious came running in, a huge grin on her lovely face.

"Sean!  Come with me!"  She was very excited about something.

"Hello, Kayla," said my mother, a twinkle in her eye.  "Would you
like something to eat?  We just finished up, but there are some
leftovers."

"Oh, no thanks, Mrs. Porter," she said in a rush.  "Sorry about just
barging in, but I've got to show Sean something."  She didn't even
wait for my mom's reply before dragging me out the door.

"See?" she exclaimed, indicating her mother's car in the driveway.

"See what?" I asked, confused.

She looked at me, smiling excitedly.  "What do you see, Sean?"

"Um, I see a car?"

"Yes," she said.  "And what else?"

I turned to face her.  "And nothing else," I said, confused as usual.

"Okay," she admitted.  "Then, what don't you see?"

What didn't I see?  I shrugged.

She slapped my arm.  "An adult driving with me," she exclaimed.  She
reached into her pocket.  "I got it!"  She was practically jumping up
and down as she showed me her brand new driver's license.

"You got it!" I repeated, finally understanding.  I took it from her
and examined it.  Why did her picture turn out so good, but mine was
so ugly on my license?  Of course, I didn't think it was possible for
Luscious to have a bad picture taken of her.

"Where would you like to go?" she asked, pulling me toward the car.

"I'll go wherever you'll take me," I said, as I let her push me into
the passenger side.  She skipped around to the driver's door and
opened it, sliding gracefully behind the steering wheel and reaching
around to fasten her safety belt.

"Okay, buckle up," she said as she started the car.

She drove us over to the Dairy Queen, where Jake and Jaimie were
waiting patiently, and we spent the next hour in a soft-serve ice
cream haze.  She dropped me off back at home, and we spent a few
minutes making out in the front seat of her mother's car before she
had to go home, time very well spent kissing my luscious girlfriend.





The next day, the team left at noon for the long bus ride down to
where our final games of the season would be played.  After spending
the afternoon on the bus, I was feeling cramped and lethargic.  Eric
and I got permission from Coach Neville to go for a run before
dinner, so we quickly changed and headed out to pound the pavement.

We decided to run the same route we had done the previous year,
following the streets from our hotel to the practice fields, about
two miles away.  It was cold out, the weak and dying sun casting long
shadows everywhere.  We got to the fields just as one of the other
teams in the semi-finals was packing up after a practice.  We ignored
them as we did a couple of circuits around the four practice fields
and the main stadium, where we would play the next day.

"You think our team will be back here again next year?" asked Eric
as we jogged easily along.

"I don't know," I replied.  "They should be pretty strong, be able
to win their way at least into sectionals, I would think."

"Be kinda fun to come back and watch them, if they make it this far."

"Maybe," I said.  "Be tough to sit there and not want to be out on
the field, though."

"True."

"Besides, I think we'll probably be too busy to be coming back next
fall."

"Yeah," he agreed.  "NCAA tournament being played all through
November, and if your team of scrubs can make it that far, Maryland's
gonna kick your Gator ass."

He flashed me a grin, and turned on the afterburners before I could
react.  He was already five steps ahead of me when I started after
him, but there was no way I was going to ever catch him.  He stayed
seven or eight steps in front of me, and even taunted me by turning
around and running backwards for a few yards before he finally slowed
down and let me catch up.  We had sprinted about a quarter of a mile,
and we slowed to a more leisurely pace so that our breathing could
stabilize as we headed back toward the hotel.

The next morning, we took the bus over to the fields for a short
practice.  We did some passing drills, mostly give-and-goes to keep
us moving.  It was very cold, the temperature hovering just above
freezing, even though the sun was shining brightly.  Nobody wanted to
be standing around, getting cold.  Everybody ran, just to keep warm.

We practiced for about an hour and a half, and then we piled back
onto the bus.  Our driver had kept the bus running the whole time,
and it was wonderfully warm inside.  We went off in search of lunch.

We were playing the evening game, under the lights, so we had the
afternoon free.  "Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan" was playing on HBO,
so my roomies and I piled around the floor in front of the TV and
watched Ricardo Montalban eat up the scenery, until it was time to go
down for a light, early dinner.

The temperature had dropped when the sun went down.  When we got to
the stadium, I walked out onto the field.  The grass, still green
under the lights, was crisp and a little crunchy under my feet.

We were playing Forest Glen High School, a big suburban school.  We
had never lined up against them before, but we had studied film of
their game.  They played a similar game to ours, in that they
believed that strong defenses win games.  While their defensive
players, including three All-Conference players, were very good,
their offense didn't seem to match up to ours.  We were confident
that if we could hit them hard and fast, right from the opening
whistle, and make them play from behind, we would be able to advance
to the finals.

On their opening offensive set, their midfielders tried to move the
ball down the sidelines while their forwards angled in toward the
goal, trying to skate along the creases in our coverage.  Paco
quickly covered the ball-handler, and managed to kick the ball off
the opponent's leg and out of bounds.  I raced over and picked it up,
and rifled it downfield, hugging the sideline, before Forest Glen had
a chance to recover.  Our right forward, Jimmy Brooks, picked it up,
and crossed the ball over to Hap, in the middle.  Hap had three
choices: he could keep the ball and try to go past the sweeper, who
was coming up to challenge him; he could pass it back to Jimmy, who
by then was being covered by the left defender; or he could work the
ball over to our left, to Eric and Alex.  He used his right foot to
square pass over to Eric, who one-touched it back into a little bit
of open space behind the sweeper.  Hap stepped around his defender,
picked up the ball, and faked a shot on goal.  The stopper and the
keeper both bit on the fake, and Hap tapped the ball back over to
Eric, who now had a clean shot at the near corner of the net.  He
fired a hard shot into the top corner, and our game plan was in
action as we took an early 1-0 lead.

Forest Glen didn't get this far by being a team prone to panic, and
our quick goal didn't scare them off.  Perhaps it was the cold, or
maybe it was tournament jitters, but they were a step behind us on
our scoring drive.  They got warmed up quickly, however, and their
defense tightened up and started playing our midfielders tougher
after our goal, and the game played pretty even for the rest of the
first half.

At halftime, Coach Simonson called for our offensive players to
gather around.  He motioned for me to come over and join him.

"What are you seeing out there, Sean?" he asked.

I looked around.  I knew what I saw, but since I was a little
removed from the action on the offensive side of the field, I wasn't
sure how accurate my observations were.  I turned to Eric.

"I'm seeing something, but you tell me what you know, from your
vantage point," I said.

He shrugged.  "They're playing tight on us.  If they was any closer
to me, we'd be sharing underwear.  Their midfielders are gonna get
tired if they insist on playing such tight defense."

"Assume they've got a deep bench," said Coach Simonson.  "They're a
big school, they're going to be able to insert fresh legs.  Sean? 
You saw it, let them know."

"Okay," I said, a little reluctantly.  I didn't want to seem like I
was ordering them around, but Coach was insistent that I contribute
here.  "They're on you hard, but that's okay.  We're letting them
play close by staying a little too bunched up.  When they're playing
that tight, they're leaving a lot of open space.  We need to spread
out a little more, and work on getting the ball into the open
quicker, and relying on our speed in the middle."  I turned to Paco
and Hap.  "They're focusing on Eric, because of his reputation.  That
means you guys have got to recognize when he's being suffocated, and
don't try to work the ball in to him.  Find another outlet.  There's
always more than one option out there."

They nodded in agreement right away.

Eric picked up on the suggestion.  "Good, Porter.  And another
thing, guys.  Keep in mind that we don't always have to be advancing
the ball.  I know that scoring opportunities come better if we're
aggressive, but passing back to Weasel, Porter, or Anthony isn't a
retreat, it's just a reset."

The players all nodded, the enthusiasm building again.

Coach said, "We've done a good job of keeping the ball in their half
of the field.  Don't let up, but keep in mind that the open spaces
work in our favor, too.  Okay?"

We just had time to grab a little more water before the second half
began, so our impromptu meeting broke up.  A few minutes later, the
referee blew his whistle to get the teams back on the field, and the
second half was set to begin.

Our strategy session seemed to help us play a little better, a
little smarter.  Forest Glen had made some halftime adjustments,
primarily in their offensive looks, but we didn't give them much of a
chance to put them into action.  We started passing the ball back and
resetting our own offense, passing into space, utilizing give-and-
goes and relying on Paco, Hap and Eric to be able to run down leading
passes.  The field opened up, and we got more good looks at the goal.
Their stopper and keeper stepped up their games, though, so we were
only able to convert two of those opportunities, but it was enough. 
We advanced to the finals on a 3-0 victory.

The weather improved a little for the Saturday afternoon
championship game.  It was sunny and warmer, though spectators still
were bundled up against the chill.  For the players, it was almost
ideal playing conditions.  South High School, and their star player,
Spencer Goldman, had advanced to the finals, also, so it was to be a
rematch of the previous year's championship game.

Spencer, Eric and I met up on the sidelines before the game.  Eric
knew him from last year's championship game, and from the All-State
banquet.

"Well, here we are again," said Spencer.

"We said we'd be back," I said.

"But this year it's our turn," he reminded me.

Eric snorted.  "Your turn?  We ain't layin' down here, boo.  It's
your turn to try."

Spencer smiled.  "Fair enough.  But be prepared, Johnson.  I'm going
to run you all over the field today."

"You can run, but you can't hide," retorted Eric.

We shook hands and headed back toward our respective benches.

The game started out slowly, each team probing the other for
openings.  South's coaches knew very well about our strength in the
middle, and did their best to keep the ball out of reach.  The
problem they faced was working the ball from the back, all the way up
front, bypassing the midfielders.  To do that, they had to rely on
longer, less accurate passes into the true strength of our team, our
defense.  We were able to rebuff every attempt to penetrate, and
every time they gave up the ball to us, we moved it up to our
midfielders, exactly where South didn't want it.

Again, our game plan worked to our advantage.  We were able to
control the ball better than South, and because their midfielders
were forced to bunker and play defense, their offensive sets were
ineffective.  On the other hand, we, too, had difficulty moving the
ball into shooting range.  South always made sure they had numbers on
their side, dropping their midfielders back to smother the field.

Toward the end of the first half, Spencer headed a high, long pass
upfield, and managed to knock it into open space behind Adam, who was
defending against him.  Spencer moved around and picked up the ball,
and dribbled it up.  Sensing an opportunity, South's left forward
tried to move around me along the sideline while Spencer threaded his
way along the seam of our coverage, between Brett and Anthony. 
South's right forward kept Anthony's attention sufficiently to allow
Spencer to challenge Brett and Jorge, with his two forwards in
position to take side passes from him, and his middle forward weaved
around, trying to get open for a crossing pass.  Weasel was coming up
from behind, but Brett still had to make a decision about whom he
should cover, and he opted to stay with the ball-handler.  He came
out to challenge, but that left South's center forward open enough
for Spencer to get the ball over to him.  The forward one-touched it
as Brett dove after the ball, trying to slide-tackle the ball away. 
Spencer found the ball on his foot, with only Jorge blocking his
access to the net.  He took a high shot, and the ball hit the top
rail of the goal, and dropped straight down.  It hit Jorge on his
calf, and dribbled into the net behind him.  For the first time all
season, we were playing from behind, as the half ended with South up,
1-0.

Once we got cups of water, Coach Neville had us huddle around him.

"There's no need to panic, gentlemen.  We've been here before, and
we've come from behind before.  Stick to your game plan."  He pointed
at each of us, pinning us with his stare.  "You got here by playing
smart.  Continue to play smart, and capitalize on their mistakes."

"They aren't making many," grumbled Hap.

"They're making them," said Eric.  "We're just not recognizing it
when they do."

"I've got an idea," I said.  "Weasel, how are your legs?"

He looked a little puzzled.  "Fine, I guess.  Not tired, if that's
what you're asking."

"Okay, here's my thought.  Goldman's their primary threat, right?" 
Everybody pretty much agreed with that.  "How about if we put Prince
on him?  Adam, if you can stick to him like you're his Siamese twin,
maybe we can knock him out of his rhythm."  I looked over at Anthony
and Brett.  "If Adam is marking Spencer, he could be anywhere on the
field.  That means we've got to fill in, expand our patrolling areas."

"I can mark him," said Weasel.

"Okay, good.  Anthony, you and I will have to work into the diagonal
to help cover his ground.  We'll take the sides, and Brett, you'll
have to cover more of the middle."

"That will leave us pretty vulnerable right in our midsection,"
warned Coach Neville.

"I know, but if we shut down Spencer, take him out of his game, I
think his forwards won't be able to cope very well.  Adam, you mark
him, stay on him tight, and we'll double-team him wherever he goes. 
The three of us will cover your turf, and one of us will help you
pick him up when he's trying to attack.  That means that you guys in
the middle, Hap and Paco and Eric, are going to have to drop back on
defense a little more and cover any open men.  Okay?"

"Sure, man, we can do that," said Paco.

"Last game of the season." said Eric.  "No sense savin' up.  Let's
leave it all on the field today."

Coach interjected, "If anybody starts to feel like they're losing a
step, signal the sidelines, and I'll sub you out for a rest as soon
as I can.  Don't forget we've got some fresh bodies we can throw at
them."

We jumped up and ran out to take our positions on the field.  Now
that we had a game plan, we were anxious to see how effective it
would be.

The referee started the second half, and we were off.  Adam proved
the worth of his nickname.  He was as obnoxious as a weasel, staying
in Spencer's face.  He pushed against him, got in his way, stuck his
feet out and tripped him up when the ball was on the other side of
the field, and generally made Spencer's afternoon miserable.  As a
result, Spencer wasn't able to handle the ball, and his teammates
eventually stopped trying to pass the ball to him.

We attacked whenever we could, worked on keeping the ball on their
side of the field, and Spencer dropped back to play defense, hoping
he would be able to get away from Adam for awhile.  Weasel followed
him back deep into their half of the field, however, never giving him
a moment's rest.  It threw South into a turmoil.  They couldn't
recognize our weaker middle, because they couldn't control the ball
long enough to probe.  By the 60th minute of the match, they were on
their heels, falling back under the slightest pressure, battling to
maintain composure.  In the meantime, we had tied the game up on a
goal by, of all people, Alex Spivak, and we were getting more and
more looks at their net.  Our energy level was climbing at a rate
similar to South's deterioration.

At the last, Spencer tried dropping all the way back, into their
stopper's territory, and Weasel was right there with him.  Eric sent
up a high, arcing Hail-Mary type of kick, and Weasel leapt up, his
hand on Spencer's back to help give him some boost, and he headed the
ball toward the net.  South's keeper dived for the save, and just
managed to knock it down.  The ball bounced twice, right to Jimmy
Brooks, and he was able to hit it with his laces, rocketing a shot
past the kneeling keeper, and into the net, for a 2-1 lead, with less
than five minutes to play.

South reset, and tried to attack, but we were able to repulse it,
and we managed to play keep-away until the final whistle.  We had
successfully defended our state title.

We piled up in the middle of the field, laughing and shouting and
deliriously happy.  We managed to disentangle long enough to line up
and slap the hands of the South players, and shake hands with their
coaches.

Afterward, Spencer came up to me.  "That was your idea, wasn't it?"

All innocence, I replied, "What do you mean?"

He laughed.  "Yeah, I thought so.  Nice going, Porter.  It was a
good trick."

I laughed with him.  "I hope you're not too pissed, Spencer.  I told
you we wouldn't lay down for you."

"Yeah, you did," he said.  "You guys won it, fair and square.  I'm
pissed, but I'll get over it.  See you at the banquet."

"Save me a seat," I said.

"Hey, and I'll see you next fall, too.  Finally, I won't have to
play against you."

I looked at him, puzzled.  "Why?  Aren't you playing college ball?"

"Sure I am," he replied, chuckling.  "At Florida.  I can't wait to
take the field with you and Jesse Wilhoit.  We'll have a team, won't
we?"

We shook hands on that.  It was great news.  He was a great player,
and a good guy.  It was going to be nice having another friendly face
at college.

I trotted back to rejoin my teammates, who were still celebrating on
the sidelines.  Everybody was happy, and both Coach Neville and Coach
Simonson looked very pleased.  The most pleased of all, however,
especially when Coach Neville solemnly presented him with the game
ball, was Adam Prince, the weasel of the soccer field, and hero of
the championship game.





(Continued in Chapter 40)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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