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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 
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 2005, revisions c. 2007, R.C. Mather)

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THE COMPETITIVE EDGE:
PLAYING THE GAME III

A Novel

by R.C. Mather



- 40 -

CHICK STUFF



A bunch of us were sitting on the side porch of the Phi Kappa Phi
house. They were having an Oktoberfest party, complete with a buffet
of German food. They had a keg of some cheap German beer, good enough
for us college kids, in a washtub of ice in the kitchen. The evening
started with oom-pah music, but we all tired of that pretty quickly.
It was soon replaced with standard shit-kickin' Southern rock music,
Tom Petty, Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Allman Brothers Band, .38 Special,
Charlie Daniels Band, with a little bit of Willie Nelson and Waylon
Jennings thrown in for seasoning.

Bryan and Melanie, now in graduate school, were at the apex of our
little group. I was there with Alex, and Jesse had his girlfriend,
Brittany, by his side. A couple of Bryan's friends from the
fraternity, Mitch Yates and Robby Santoro, were sitting with us, too,
along with their girlfriends. Chris Bolden, one of the freshmen on
the soccer team, was a Phi Kap pledge. Bryan had commandeered his
services for the group, and Chris was charged with making sure our
cups were never empty.

Alex was perched on the railing next to me. She was so close we were
nearly in a full-body press. Our thighs were touching, and our arms
and our shoulders, and she even had her foot wrapped around mine. It
was a warm evening. I tried shifting even a half-inch away, just to
give our skin some breathing room, but Alex reestablished the contact
right away.

Chris came up with three full cups of beer. He looked over in my
direction, noting my half-empty cup.

"You ready for a cool one, Boss?" he asked.

"I'll wait, thanks," I said.

"Cap'n?" Chris gestured to Bryan.

"Sure," said Bryan. He took the offered cup. Melanie looked
quizzically at Bryan, and then at me.

"How come you're Cap'n, but he's Boss?" she asked suspiciously.

"It's nothing," mumbled Bryan.

"No, really, I want to know. You're the team co-captain, right? How
come Sean is called Boss?"

"Honey..."

Chris was about to open his mouth and make things worse, but Bryan
caught his eye and gave him just the tiniest shake of his head.
Chris's mouth snapped shut again, and he stepped out of the way.
'Sharp kid.'

I tried to divert Melanie from pursuing this line of thought. "It's
because my team nickname shouldn't be used in polite company," I
said. "So instead they just call me by its acronym."

"I'm not sure I believe you," said Melanie suspiciously. She peered
at me. "What is it?"

"I'd tell you, if you weren't such a nice lady," I said.

"It's Big Ol' Sack of Shit," blurted Alex.

Melanie looked at Alex in surprise, but Alex just sat there, looking
as innocent as she could.

"Well, you might be too nice of a lady for him to tell you, but
everybody knows I'm not," she said. Bryan and Jesse burst out
laughing, and pretty soon everybody in our area picked up on it. The
beer made it funnier than it probably was, but Melanie finally let it
go, once we all got a laugh out of it.

Much later, and after many beers, it was quite dark in our corner.
The music had been turned down a little, and there were candles in
cut glass jars set out to provide a little bit of ambient light. Alex
was in line to use the restroom with Brittany. Bryan, Jesse, and
Chris were rehashing our last game, and Melanie was sitting there,
looking bored. Beautiful, but bored. She glanced over at me, and then
moved to sit next to me.

"Thank you," she murmured, glancing over at her man to make sure he
wasn't paying any attention.

"For what?" I asked, trying to be just as quiet.

She stared at me for a moment, perhaps taking her measure of me once
again. Seriously, she said, "I didn't like you very much last year
about this time."

I allowed one derisive, humorless bark of a laugh to escape. "Not
very many people did. I didn't like myself very much."

"Well, the team aside, I didn't like what you said to Reggie. She
was really upset."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know," I said sadly. "And I need to apologize to
her." I looked up at Melanie, trying to read her expression. "I
haven't seen her this year. Is she living in the sorority house? Can
you give me her number?"

Melanie just stared at me for a moment. "You don't know, do you?"

"Don't know what?" I didn't like the sound of that, but I had to know.

"Reggie. She didn't come back this year. She... stayed up in
Pittsburgh, to be with Elvis."

"Oh." Why was I a little disappointed? I believed it had to do more
with a need to clear the air than it did with missed opportunities,
but I have deluded myself before. "Well... can I get her address from
you? I'd like to write to her, explain what all was going on..."

She smiled sadly. "I don't think you should, Sean. It's a clean
break, leave it that way. Don't go opening old wounds. Besides, she's
making a life for herself, for... her family, back home."

"Her family?"

Melanie put her hand gently on my wrist. 'To comfort me? Or to gauge
my reaction?' "When she called me over the summer, to tell me she
wasn't coming back to Florida, she told me she was pregnant, Sean. It
happened over Spring Break. She and Elvis are expecting in December.
That's really why she decided to stay."

I took a deep breath and held it for a long time before letting it
out slowly. Was this another stain on my karma? Did I have still more
to answer for?

Melanie looked into my eyes searchingly. I was sure she could read
me easily. "Don't blame yourself," she whispered. She gently caressed
the side of my face with her hand, her expression softening. "You
didn't cause this. It was Elvis, Sean. Elvis and Reggie. It had
nothing to do with you."

"I'm not sure I agree with you," I said roughly.

She smiled, and I was gladdened by it. "Last spring I might have
said the same thing," she said. "Now I know better." She held my gaze
with the force of her look. "You're a good person, Sean. Better than
I gave you credit for a year ago." Her expression was serious. "Bryan
respects you, and Jesse thinks the world of you. I tried not to like
you very much, after... But you deserve better than that. You've
earned better than that." She gazed fondly over at Bryan, still deep
in discussion with Jesse and Chris. "I love him, Sean. I know he's
the co-captain of the soccer team, and I know he's worked hard to
earn that. He earned it."

"Yes, he has," I said.

She turned back to me. She smiled a knowing smile, and leaned
forward to kiss me gently on my cheek. With glistening eyes, she
nodded, and then she silently moved back over to sit with her
boyfriend.

"What was that all about?" asked Alex. She and Brittany had just
returned, and she had seen Melanie give me her kiss.

"Aw, you know better than I do," I said, moving over to make room
for her. "Chick stuff I will never understand."

"Chick stuff." Not a question, but a statement. "Right."

But she let it drop. 'Smart girl,' I said to myself, though I really
wasn't certain if I was thinking of Alex or Melanie. I was well aware
they both outstripped me in brainpower.

By two in the morning I was ready to call it quits. I was exhausted.
The party was still going on, but I wanted nothing more than to be in
my bed.

"Alex? I think it's time for me to go."

She stood up. "Okay," she said. "We can go."

"No, you stay and have a good time. I'm tired, but that doesn't mean
you have to leave."

She gave me a flat look, and then she smiled. "Of course it does,"
she said.

'Uh-oh, the test approaches,' I thought. I kept my mouth shut, though.
'Who says Sean Porter can't learn hard lessons?'

We said our goodbyes to our friends and walked down the street to my
car. We got in, and I headed over toward Alex's.

"Where are we going?" asked Alex.

"I'm taking you home," I said.

"Nope. Let's go to your place."

"Alex..."

She folded her arms beneath her breasts and leaned against the
passenger door. She had a set expression on her face.

"Okay," I said, "but I'm tired. I'm going to sleep. No fooling
around."

"Oh, good," she said. "I hate it when you try to fool around."

"You do not," I mumbled. 'Why are you trying to defend yourself, you
idiot? She just said she didn't want to fool around. And that's what
you want, right?' It was an internal argument with myself I knew I
wouldn't win.

I pulled into my parking spot. Alex sat there and waited for me to
open her door for her. She was just being stubborn and difficult. I
was tempted to walk away and let her stew, but I knew that would be
counterproductive to practically everything. I swallowed my desire to
make some sort of cutting comment, and instead I silently stepped
over and opened her car door. She gracefully stepped out and favored
me with a smile as she reached up to touch my cheek with her
fingertips. I accepted the gesture, and we walked together to my
apartment.

I stopped in the bathroom on our way to my bedroom. I brushed my
teeth and washed my face. I ran my damp fingers through my hair as I
stared at my reflection in the mirror. The Sean looking back
balefully at me had no advice to give, so I turned away.

Alex stepped into the bathroom as I came out. I heard the shower
starting as I turned down the bed. I switched on the small lamp on
the nightstand, and I scooted over to the far side, leaving room for
Alex. I closed my eyes and prayed for a quick slide into sleep,
before Alex was done with her shower.

I was dozing off when I vaguely heard Alex come out of the bathroom
and into my room. I felt the bed shift as she got in, and the covers
slid around as she scooted over toward me. I felt her arm go around
me, and she pulled herself to press against me.

"Sean?" She whispered quietly enough not to fully wake me, and I
allowed myself to slide back down toward unconsciousness. I was
barely aware as she turned around to lie on her side. She reached
back and gently grasped my wrist, pulling my arm around her. She held
my hand against her breast and snuggled back against me. The last
thing I could recall before the dreams began was the soft bellows of
her body against me, warm and soft and undemanding.



* * * * * * * * * *


We were in pretty much the same positions when I woke up. My arm was
still around her, and my morning hardon was pressed into her ass. She
was snoring softly, taking in air through her nose and exhaling out
her mouth. I really had to pee, but I was also quite comfortable
beside her.

Finally, I had to get up and go to the bathroom. I spent an
uncomfortable few minutes standing over the toilet, desperately
wishing for the blood to reverse its flow so my aching cock would
relax enough for me to go. Finally, after going over soccer drills
and trying to recall the names of all my campers the previous summer,
I deflated enough. After emptying my bladder, I turned on the shower.
I stood under the needle-sharp spray and let its invigorating action
work on my neck and shoulders. I shampooed, rinsed, conditioned,
lathered, shaved, and rinsed it all off. After drying myself by
briskly scrubbing at my skin with my oversized towel, I wrapped the
towel around my waist and went back to my room.

Alex was sitting at the side of the bed, wearing one of my t-shirts
as a nightie. She was blearily looking at the alarm clock, trying to
decipher the time. She glanced up at me when I came in, and her eyes
lit up.

"You look good enough to eat," she said.

"All rinsed off and ready to attack the day," I said.

She stood up. "I just have to rinse out my mouth, and I'll be ready
to attack the boy," she said.

"Alex..."

She looked a little crestfallen. "Yeah, I know. No attacking the boy
this morning."

I smiled sheepishly. "I know it sounds crazy, but... thanks."

"Thanks for not jumping your bones? You are one fucked up college
kid, Porter. You know that?"

"Yeah," I said. "I know." Boy, did I know.

She shuffled past me toward the bathroom. I decided to remove
temptation altogether while she was in there, so I hurriedly got
dressed and went out to the kitchen. I made a big pot of coffee and
began to break some eggs into a bowl.

As I was whisking the eggs with a fork, Spencer came out of his room.

"Hey, g'morning," he said.

"And what are you so cheerful about?" I asked.

He stepped over and poured a cup of coffee for himself. He gestured
toward my cup and raised his eyebrows. I nodded, and he topped off my
cup. "Well, for one thing, I got laid last night," he said. "Wanna
hear about it?"

"Not on your life," I said. I added milk to my scramble and poured
the mixture into a hot pan. Just then, Alex came out of my room.

"And it looks like I'm not the only one," said Spencer.

"Yeah, you were," I said.

"The only one what?" asked Alex. She opened the refrigerator and
took out a jug of orange juice.

"Nothing," said Spencer.

"Anybody want juice?" asked Alex. She opened the cupboard where we
kept our mismatched set of gas station giveaway glasses and cups.

"Sure," replied Spencer.

"Me too," I added. I scraped the cooked egg from the bottom of the
pan, stirring the concoction with a spatula. While it continued to
cook, I took some shredded cheddar cheese from the fridge and
sprinkled a liberal amount into the scrambled eggs. While the cheese
was melting, I put two pieces of bread in the toaster and pushed the
handle down.

In just a few minutes, breakfast was ready. I brought the pan of
eggs to the table, and put in two more pieces of bread into the
toaster. Alex had set the table for the three of us, and Spencer
filled our coffee cups.

After breakfast, Spencer offered to clean up the kitchen. Alex got
dressed, and we got in my car so I could drop her off at her
apartment. We drove there in silence. When I pulled in and parked,
Alex stayed there, staring straight ahead. I knew she wanted to talk
about it all. I really didn't, but I also knew that, in this
instance, the girl had to have her way. I waited.

Finally, without looking at me, she said quietly, "Why, Sean?"

It was unusual for her to use my first name when we were together. I
looked at her, watching her. Her expression was serious, none of the
spritely playfulness with which she so often was filled.

"What do you want me to say, Alex? You know I care for you."

"But," she said sadly.

"But," I agreed.

"There's got to be a but, doesn't there?"

"Sorry," I tried. It was lame, but it was all I had at the moment.

Tears were forming in her eyes. "Is it Erin?" she asked quietly.

I sighed. 'Here it is,' I said to myself. To Alex, I replied, "No.
It's not Erin."

"But you're willing to fuck her. Why won't you fuck me?"

"Okay, yeah, I slept with Erin. And I shouldn't have, especially
when you were there, too. For that I apologize."

She turned to me, the tears running down her cheeks. She looked
absolutely miserable, and I knew it had less to do with me not making
love to her than it did with me having sex with Erin. And there was
nothing I could do or say to take that knowledge away from her. "Do
you love her?" she whispered, miserable to have to ask it, dreading
the answer.

I shook my head slowly, looking her in the eye. "No, I don't," I
said without hesitation. "And she knows it."

"Are you sure, Sean? Because I don't think she does."

"She knows," I confirmed. "We talked about it, Alex. We like each
other, we love each other as friends, but we aren't in love with each
other." I leaned back and took a deep breath, staring unseeingly at
the ceiling. Dangerous ground, and I was not good at traversing these
minefields. All I could do was blunder on, though. "She's looking for
a no-strings-attached friendship. A fuck buddy. Somebody she likes,
somebody she can trust, and somebody who can scratch her itch."

"I can do that," Alex whispered, but she was looking inside herself
more than she was looking at me, perhaps wondering if that was really
as true as she wanted it to be.

"Yes, sometimes you can," I reassured her. "But sometimes you can't.
Sometimes she wants... something... you can't give her." I sat up and
turned to her again. "But neither can I, Alex."

She snorted, and focused on me again. "Sure you can," she said
roughly. "A good stiff dick."

"If that's all it was, I'd give it to her, and gladly," I said. "I'd
give it to you, too. Do with it what you will. But the stiff dick is
attached to me, and something in here," and I tapped my chest,
"doesn't think it's such a great bargain."

She smiled sadly at me, and then she wiped at her cheeks. "Maybe
you're right, Porter. Maybe it's not such a great bargain." She
rummaged around in her purse for some tissues. As she dabbed at her
eyes, her head down, she said softly, "I might have fallen in love
with you, you know."

I chuckled at the irony. "Hell, Alex, I could have fallen in love
with you. But we both know it would have burned hot and then burned
out."

She smiled again, a little shakily, but her eyes were no longer sad.
"You're probably right." She opened the car door, and then turned
back to me. "What was the name of that girl back home?"

"Kayla," I said.

"Kayla," repeated Alex. "Pretty name." She got out of the car, and
then leaned back in. "Well, Porter, if she doesn't realize what she's
missing pretty damn soon, I may just call her up myself and tell her
off. And then maybe Erin and I will kidnap you again, and keep you
for ourselves for longer than a weekend. Long enough for you come to
your senses. Even if it takes months."

She slammed the door and walked away without a backward glance,
leaving me completely confused yet again. 

'What the hell just happened?'



* * * * * * * * * *



Pick got us preparing for the two tournaments. The SEC Tournament
would be followed almost immediately by the NCAA, and we had high
hopes of gaining the top seed in both. We were ranked fifth in the
nation, low in my opinion. Jesse Wilhoit had been named the SEC
Offensive Player of the Week three times, and both Frenchy and I had
been awarded Defensive Player of the Week once. Jesse and Frenchy, as
seniors, were no-brainers to make the All-SEC Team at the end of the
season, but I doubted I would be chosen. The combination of my
freshman year fiasco, along with the fact very few sophomores ever
garnered that much attention, made me very much aware of my youth and
relative inexperience on such a stage.

We worked hard on incorporating Lightspeed into Jesse's offense. We
were loading the deck for a push for SEC Player of the Year and a
possible Collegiate All-American designation for him. He wanted, more
than anything, to sign on with a quality college coaching staff after
graduation. He was looking forward to helping to construct a dynasty
similar to Pick's, and any accolades we could help him acquire during
his senior campaign could only help him find a great school and a
great coach who would see his potential.

We also worked on nullifying the doubling maneuvers that were so
effectively used by Tampa against us. We knew other teams would see
those films, and the good ones would know how to exploit the
weaknesses they saw. We had to reinforce those seams and keep our
opponents guessing.

We opened the SEC Tournament against hapless Alabama. They had a
good coaching staff, but they just didn't have the horses on their
team to be able to pull off a smothering defense against us, or
against anybody. They were seeded last in the tournament.

It was a blowout, a 10-0 laugher. Pick let out all the stops, and
didn't pull any punches. He let us play, and he allowed Jesse and
Lightspeed to score as many times as they wanted. Aside from our
offense being able to score at will, the only other memorable
occurrence during the game involved an old acquaintance of mine.

I had had an encounter with a Crimson Tide forward during a clinic
the previous spring, a player by the name of Chet Anders. We met
again on the field.

"How's it going, asshole?" Anders was trotting up the lane by me,
trying to get himself set up in an advantageous position during their
opening drive.

I glanced over at him, noting his speed and his direction. I wanted
to make sure I had his passing options minimized. "I see you've taken
to wearing a mouth guard," I said. "Makes it a little harder to
breathe, doesn't it?"

"I'm wearing it because of you, asshole. You gave me a cheap shot
last time. I'm not going to let you do it again."

I just laughed at him. "In the first place, it wasn't cheap. You
earned it, fair and square. In the second place, if you do something
to earn another shot, there's not a lot in your arsenal that can keep
you from receiving it."

Our conversation was at an end, because Spencer and Frenchy began
weaving their coverages. It was time to get involved.

I didn't think anything more of my friend until a little later in
the first half. I was back playing sweeper when a ball came soaring
overhead in my general direction. I was about to go up to head it
back upfield when something, a sixth sense, made me lean back, away
from the trajectory of the ball. Just as I did, I heard the whistle
and felt the breeze as Anders' cleats just missed my nose. He
couldn't have missed by more than a few millimeters, leaping high
into the air and trying to take the ball at about the height of my
head. I lost my balance as I came down, startled by the near miss. If
I hadn't shifted back, I would have had half my face scraped off. It
pissed me off, but by the time I scrambled back to my feet, Anders
was trotting away, back to his own area.

I shook it off as best I could and continued playing. I scored one
goal and assisted on two others in the first half, which went a long
way toward forgetting Anders and his problem. On the reset after our
fourth goal of the half, I took up my customary right defensive spot.
The next time the ball came down by me, one of the Alabama
midfielders was dribbling down the sideline. Jeremy kept on him, and
passed coverage on to me on a switch. Jeremy moved behind me to cover
Anders, and I moved up to take the ballhandler. Anders must have
wanted to set a pick, because he moved up close behind me, and the
midfielder tried to thread a pass around me. I took a couple of steps
to the right to intercept, and suddenly found myself face down on the
turf. Anders had jumped up and, on the pretext of going for the ball,
kneed me full force in the small of my back, knocking the wind out of
me.

I struggled to get up while the referee came over to whistle the
foul. Anders protested loudly, and only shut up and moved off when he
saw the referee start to reach into his pocket for a card. In the
meantime, Jeremy and Spencer came over to see if I was all right.

I got to my knees while I got my diaphragm working again, and Jeremy
helped me to stand. I stretched back, trying to work the kinks out of
my back, and I glanced over at Anders, standing off toward the middle
of the field with a smirk on his face. I was getting really weary of
poor players resorting to cheap shots and dangerous tactics to
compete.

I stared at Anders. "Look, Sport, don't take this wrong. But you've
yanked on my chain for the last time. Don't try it anymore."

Anders tried to look innocent, and then he brayed out a humorless
bark of laughter. "And what are you going to do to stop me? And don't
call me Sport, asshole." He turned his back to me.

I could only roll my eyes. He didn't think I could stop him? It was
lesson time. I turned to Jeremy. The referee was timing us, so I had
to hurry with my instructions.

"Take this spot, Jeremy. Spencer, take the kick from Jeremy and then
pass it back to me. I'll be in the middle, right behind you. Make
sure it gets up in the air, okay?"

"You got it, Boss," said Jeremy. Spencer and I trotted toward the
middle.

"You sure you're okay?" asked Spencer.

I gave him a thumbs-up. "Just get that pass to me."

"Don't open yourself up with that guy on you," Spencer warned, but
then he took his position.

Jeremy put the ball in play by passing it up to Spencer. Spencer let
a midfielder close on him, and then he turned, as if he didn't have a
choice, and looked to pass the ball back. He lofted it to me. Out of
the corner of my eye, I saw Anders anticipate and bunch up for
another attack. Just as he left the ground, I stepped to the side.
His karate kick, ostensibly at the ball but in fact aimed at the back
of my neck, found nothing but air. I reached out as his leg reached
full extension, ninety degrees from his body, and I grabbed his
ankle. I gave his foot one violent, powerful twist, and then I let
him go. Just before I let go, I felt a satisfying pop resonating from
his knee.

Anders howled and grabbed at his knee as he fell to the ground. He
hit the ground hard and began rolling from side to side, still
clutching his knee in obvious pain, when the referee came up to us.
He looked at me, and then looked at Anders, and silently shook his
head. He reached into his pocket.

'Uh-oh,' I said to myself. 'Maybe I overstepped here.'

Instead, the referee stood over Anders and waved his red card at
him. By then, Alabama's coaching staff and medical team were out on
the field.

"You've got to be kidding," screamed the head coach, immediately in
the referee's face.

"Don't bother," said the referee, his expression brooking no
argument. "He should have been flagged earlier, and you know it. Now
get him off the field, Coach. You're playing a man down."

Grumbling, but knowing better than to argue, the coach accompanied
Anders as he was carried off the field on a stretcher. I heard their
trainer say something about an ACL, but I had no sympathy for the
guy. Even though it was going to be his team's last game of the
season, there was no reason for a player like Anders to even be on
the field. 'You want to fight? Take up hockey instead.'

At the end of the half, the referee tacked on an additional four
minutes of stoppage play, time enough for us to score our seventh
goal of the first half.

I was tossing down my second cup of Gatorade when Pick and Eddie
came up to me.

"Officially, I am outraged at your actions out there, son," said
Pick. I looked over at Eddie. He seemed quite unconcerned, so I knew
there was more coming. More, unofficial, and almost certainly not
anywhere near outraged. I took another sip.

"I apologize, Coach. It won't happen again."

"Apology accepted, son. Unofficially, a' course, I'm gratified to
see you put that sum' bitch down. He was gonna do somebody an injury
out there."

"Yeah, and that somebody was me," I said. "He was gunning for me
right from the start."

Pick chuckled. "Oh, I know it, son," he said with a wink. "I wasn't
worried about you, though. I was concerned because once he saw he
wasn't gonna be able to rough you up much, he might have turned on
somebody out there who wasn't as quick to get out of the way."

"Well, I think we're done with Mr. Anders for the rest of the game."

"True enough, but still. He gots teammates. Keep your eyes open, ex-
pecially them ones in the back of your head."

I smiled. "Will do," I said.

Alabama was toast, though. They had no fight left in them. All
during the second half they abandoned all pretense of offense,
relying instead on collapsing everybody back on defense whenever we
had the ball. It made for some interesting patterns, especially since
we could move everybody except our keeper and our sweeper all the way
up to midfield. We had to work the ball with some improvising,
pinpoint passes just to even get a look at their net. It was a real
throwback to the value of all those boring passing drills we all had
been subjected to in our youth.

It was also a very tiring game to play for Alabama. We could kick
back and rest a lot more than they could, since we were playing a
three-man game on half the field. They were forced to play nine or
ten, and they got in each other's way a lot. Still, with that many
bodies in their defensive half of the field, it was difficult for us
to work the ball in close. We eked out three more goals, but they
weren't as easy as the goals we got in the first half. Even so, by
the final whistle, Alabama had to feel like they had played us about
as evenly as they could during the second half. For us, we were glad
to walk off the field with the victory, no matter how it was acquired.



* * * * * * * * * *



We tore through the SEC tournament. In the finals, we played a very
strong Auburn team. They had done their homework, and they tried a
version of Tampa's doubling defense. We instigated our collapsing
answer to the double-teaming, though, and it worked reasonably well.
We walked away with a 3-1 victory in the championship game.

The SEC Championship, along with the Georgetown Championship, made
us the team to beat in the Southeastern Division of the NCAA
tournament. As we anticipated, we got the top seed in the division,
and a first-round bye.

In the meantime, Jesse Wilhoit began gathering in the accolades. He
was named Offensive Player of the SEC Tournament, SEC Offensive
Player of the Year, SEC Player of the Year, and a second-team All-
American.

Other Gators were also honored. Frenchy finished in second place
voting for SEC Defensive Player of the year, and was voted to the All-
SEC Team, as was Jesse. To my surprise, I had come in third in the
voting for SEC Defensive Player of the Year, and, was also on the All-
SEC Team. Spencer was voted to the second-team All-SEC Team, and
Lightspeed got an honorable mention. It was all good. I dutifully
sent off the newspaper clippings to my mom, giving her fuel for her
hen parties. I also sent copies to Coach Neville, my old high school
coach, though I had the feeling he would have known about the awards
already.

The NCAA tournament started for us the second week of November. We
had to travel up to Athens, Georgia, for the first games. If we
advanced, we would be going to Kansas City.

We watched as North Carolina State beat Vanderbilt, setting up our
second-round match-up. We had played North Carolina State earlier in
the season. I didn't anticipate a lot of trouble from them. Looking
forward, though, I began to think about our possible third-round
match-up. Maryland defeated Miami in the first round, and if they got
through East Tennessee State, we would see them on the field.

Eric Johnson, going head to head with Harlan "Lightspeed" Lightfine.
Yowzah!



* * * * * * * * * *



Of course, while all this was going on, other stuff was not standing
still. Mom was upset I would miss another Thanksgiving at home,
though that just meant she was anticipating having me home for
Christmas break, when she could smother me for almost four entire
weeks. I promised her this year I wouldn't cut out early. In fact, I
was looking forward to sleeping for much of the holiday break. I was
getting tired, tired of studying, tired of living half my life on a
bus, tired of running. I was losing weight as the season aged, an
inevitable occurrence considering the pounding I was giving my body.
I knew Mom would fatten me back up again over the holidays.

Homework was becoming a chore, too. Finals were coming up very soon.
Between traveling to the games, missing classes because of our
schedule, and gearing up for the end of the semester, I felt a little
overwhelmed. I studied as much as I could stand while we were in the
bus, and I tried to be good about studying in the hotel room whenever
I could. It was tough, though.

The other thing I tried not to neglect was my letter writing back
home. I still sent Kay a letter from every one of our away games, and
there was always at least one letter waiting for me by the time I got
back to school again. Inconsequential, everyday stuff, but
communication just the same.

I put the Alex/Erin Conundrum on a back burner, pleading for mercy
because of the brutal schedule I was under. They understood, and
didn't make any demands on my time. They both took off for
Thanksgiving break anyway, each heading for home to spend the holiday
with their families, and they both had finals to think about.

Erin was focused on her grades in anticipation of applying to law
school, so she was at the library almost all the time. Alex, in her
senior year, was on a push to graduate on time, with honors. Though
she was thinking of staying in Gainesville and looking for a career
after graduation, she was keeping her options open. It kept her busy,
trying to sort through applications for graduate school and job
interviews.

And, of course, my Potentially Good Idea was still itching in my
brain. During that late fall, I began to put it in motion.






(Continued in Chapter 41)


  
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