Page 42 of A Game as Old as Time

“But it is not about filling the hole that your father left, Gunner. It’s not about replacing your father.” He moved back to his chair. “Because I think we both know that’s impossible.”

Finally, someone who gets it.

“You see, I took the job because of this.” He flipped on the TV and scrolled through a menu screen. The description read “State Semi-Final” before flashing to the playoff game from last year.

“We lost this game,” Gunner blurted out, taking a seat in front of the desk.

“You did.” His coach quickly jumped to the end of the game. “What do you see here?”

I don’t want to see this.

He paused on an image of Gunner’s father, hands on Gunner’s shoulders as the final whistle blew.

I don’t need this.

Gunner shot up and began to pace.

“Gunner,” his coach said in a stern but empathetic voice, “do you want to know what I see?”

His tone forced the pacing to stop. Gunner inhaled and finally turnedaround.

“I see a father…I see a father who is so proud of his son. A father who watched as his son played his heart out against one of the top teams in the state. He watched as his team, outmanned and outsized, fought all the way to the end.”

We sure did.

“A father who couldn’t care less about what the scoreboard reads.”

Gunner was unable to pull his eyes from the small, pixelated image on the screen, and he began to replay that exact moment in his head.

I am so proud of you, Gunner.

His father’s voice was crystal clear, and it kept repeating the words that he’d spoken to Gunner that night.

“You see,” Coach Bianchi continued, “I took this job because I knew I had this. I knew I had a Weston on the sideline.”

He moved the clip forward to a picture of Gunner. “Weston” was emblazoned on the back of his jersey.

“I had heard about how great Coach Daniel Weston was, and I knew that if a man could be this great as a coach, as a man…” He pointed directly at Gunner. “Then he must have been one hell of a father as well. He must have raised one hell of a son.”

Hewasa great father.

Coach Bianchi rewound to the image of Gunner’s dad.

“When I saw this picture, I knew. I knew that I was going to take this job. And you want to know what else?” He leaned forward, almost nose to nose with Gunner as he stretched over the desk. “As a father, I know what it’s like to have this moment with your child. To know, at that very moment, that they are ten times the person you are.”

This moment.

The hair on Gunner’s arms had risen. He was looking right through his coach, still fixated on the small screen.

“Gunner, having the name Weston on the back of your jersey may feel like a curse. People in this town may expect more from you. They may ask a young man like yourself to take on things that should never be asked of someone your age.”

Every day.

“But son.” The bulky man reached even further over the desk. “Your father knew at this moment that you could handle it.”

I can handle it.

The tightness was gone from his chest, and his legs were gaining strength.

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