Page 18 of Love Game

“We threw the ball, caught the ball, and—in a few cases—ran the ball,” Danny added, nodding to the defensive players. “There were points, and we kept score. We fought the good fight, and we all wanted to win.” Turning to Mack, he asked, “What do you think we learned here today?”

The old man held his gaze for a moment, then inclined his head in acknowledgment. Turning to the players, he shrugged. “You learned how to play to win.”

“Exactly.” At that, Danny took a knee too. “Listen, fellas, we all know we play in the toughest conference in the nation. We all know we haven’t had a winning season in longer than anyone wants to think about, right?” That scored him a few sullen nods. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t win. Now, I can go all Al Pacino and give you the Any Given Sunday speech…”

“The what?” Landry whispered to Kilgorn.

“It’s a movie. Look it up,” Danny said impatiently. “The point is, we have to learn to fight again. As a team. I need you guys to be the pillars of that team. I need you guys to learn to fight for each other, count on each other. Then I need you to be the guys all the other players can count on.”

Groaning as he unfolded, he pulled himself up to his full height and waggled his fingers at Kilgorn, signaling for the ball. Pigskin snug in his hand again, he searched the upturned faces in front of him. “Can you do that for me? Will you?”

A moment passed when there was nothing but the sound of spring wind and birds chirping. Then Oswalt lumbered to his feet. “I will, Coach.”

“Me too,” Anderson said, surging up next to him.

He got an “I’m in” from Kilgorn and an “I’m willing to go all in” from Marcus Landry, who obviously needed to stop watching poker tournaments on late-night television.

Danny felt his chest fill with pride as one by one, his players rose to the challenge. Half-afraid he’d say something sappy, he turned to Mack. “You’ll work with Coach Jenkins? I want each position to have an individualized training plan for the summer.” Turning back to his players, he pressed the ball between both hands. “I expect you guys, as this team’s leaders, to be in tip-top shape when you come back for two-a-days. You get me?”

“Yes, Coach.” They answered almost in unison. And not one man looked away.

Gripping the ball, Danny forced himself to meet each player’s eyes. “I’m not promising we can win big,” he said gruffly. “But I’m pretty damn sure we can grab at least one conference game if we play hard. Play smart. Play this game to win. But play because you love it. Otherwise, this is a job, not a game.”

Tucking the ball under his arm, he stuck out his hand palm down. “Who’s a Warrior?” he asked, using the school’s pregame mantra for the first time.

One by one, his players added a hand. On a silent count of three, they broke the huddle with their battle cry: “We are Warriors!”

Danny hung back as Mack and the players made their way back toward campus. Tossing the ball he’d used from hand to hand, he paced the red zone as he replayed the quasi-practice in his head. By the end, he’d forgotten to be the coach. Laughing to himself, he gave his head a shake as he tried to recall the last time that happened. “Years,” he mused aloud.

“Talking to yourself already? I thought it would take longer for them to break you.”

Whirling, Danny spotted a spectator standing atop the rise at the edge of the practice field. For one heart-stopping moment, he thought the backlit figure might belong to Kate Snyder, but then he realized the shadow was too long and too broad. He shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun and squinted as he started up the incline. Tyrell Ransom smiled as he approached. They’d been introduced in passing but had yet to exchange more than cursory greetings.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Danny asked, tucking the ball into the crook of his left arm and offering his hand.

“Good. I just saw some of your guys heading back. From the smiles, I’m guessing they weren’t running wind sprints,” Ty said, giving Danny’s hand a firm shake.

Gripping the football by one end, Danny held it aloft. “Just horsing around a bit. Trying to break the ice, you know?”

Ty nodded. “Oh, I know. The first week I was here, half the team refused to look directly at me.”

“Hard to coach someone else’s recruits.”

“And hard to step into shoes worn by the same guy for decades,” Ty added. “But it looks like you’ve got Mack on your side, so that helps.”

Unsure whether the comment was innocent or a dig, Danny responded with generic man compliment number one. “He’s a good guy.”

“Oh yeah. A really good guy,” Ty concurred. He glanced toward campus, then hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, I should get going. We’ll catch a beer at Calhoun’s sometime, okay?”

Surprised and pleased by the possibility, Danny nodded. “Sounds great.”

Ty smiled wide as he backed away. “I’ll need to remember to horse around with my guys when I get ’em back this fall. I liked what I saw.”

“Can’t hurt,” Danny answered with a shrug.

Ty pointed one long finger at him. “But I feel compelled to remind you that H-O-R-S-E is a baller’s game, Coach.”

The taunt coaxed a grin out of Danny. “Tell you what, you hang an old tire from a tree, and we’ll see who can throw for letters, Coach.”

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