Page 43 of Cleats and Pumps

Omar’s eyes grew huge, and I had to resist chuckling. Football always attracted the guys who liked being tough—the ones who liked bullying a bit too. I liked Omar, and I didn’t think he was a bully, but he enjoyed prodding his teammates excessively. He had suggested over five animals, more than anyone else on the team.

By the time Omar acted out a snake, a pigeon, a chicken, and a guppy, I felt sorry for him and sent him back to sit down.

When the kids looked up at me, I waited until I had their undivided attention. “My dad was probably the hardest coach I ever had. He demanded the best from me. I was once so frustrated with the team that I almost quit. But my dad taught me a valuable lesson. Remember what I asked you to write about your teammates when we started practice today?”

The guys nodded. “Pull those out and take a look at them.”

When they’d had time to look over what they’d written, I continued. “My dad made a point I’ll never forget, one that kept me in the game. I think that point might be what’s missing here too. You see, that night when I was ranting about my teammates, my father told me, the worst and hardest criticism you have for your teammates is almost always what you need to work on the most.” I let those words sink in. “You all had no problem writing down what flaws you saw in your teammates, but, like my father told me that night, I’m guessing the words on the paper in front of you are the very things you lack as a player.”

I grabbed a bag of scotch tape I’d bought on my way to practice and tossed tape to each of the kids. “Now, go tape those to the inside of your lockers. That right there is the stuff you need to improve if you hope to be a winning team this season. Coach?” I said and turned to Jake.

He nodded. “Go do what Amos said. Then head out and run me ten laps. After that, practice is dismissed.”

The kids were surprisingly quiet as they got up and did as instructed. “You’re good at this,” Jake said when they were out of hearing range.

I shrugged. “I’ve been in the game a long time. Sometimes it’s easier to work on the body than the mind, but you know, the best players have a strong grip on both.”

Jake clapped me on the back and said, “Like I said before, you’re good at this. When you retire, you might want to consider high school coaching.”

I laughed. That would never happen, but I had gotten some good insight into what inspired me the most. Unfortunately, it wasn’t football. I loved improvisation. I loved using drama to drive a valuable point home. At that moment, I was beginning to realize, I may never go back to play professionally.

Yeah, the team had done me dirty, but I had plenty of money stashed away, and I now had a good vision of what my future held. It’s funny as hell that my father’s advice helped me see that.

I’d been critical of the kids not giving a shit. The reality was I loved the performing, the acting silly, and getting attention, but I really hadn’t enjoyed the game in a long fucking time. And when it came to fixing problems, there was no time like the present.

29

Tommy

Ofcourse,Owenwasthe first person I called when I finished the first draft of my manuscript. “One hundred ten thousand words. Can you believe I had enough to talk about to have that long a manuscript?” I asked, causing him to laugh.

“Dude, if you wrote about you and Amos, I’m not surprised.”

I paused. “I-I’m not going to publish it. I mean, I would never hurt Amos that way. It was just good to get it all out, you know?”

“Tommy, you should let Amos read it. Get his opinion. He might not mind—”

I laughed, interrupting him. “Trust me, he’d mind. Of course, he’d mind. This would end his career and put me in the spotlight too. No. Fuck no, this is just for me. I’ll probably delete it.”

“No. You do that, and I’m kicking your butt. Print it out and stick it in some safe deposit box, but do not delete it.”

I wanted to argue, but if I decided to delete it, I didn’t need Owen’s permission, so I let it drop. “Oh,” Owen said as we chatted, “I heard from Jake, the guy coaching the high school team. He said Amos is kicking teenage butt and doing an amazing job.”

I smiled. I imagined that was true. “So, do you think he’s going to become a high school coach?”

“Dude, they’d kill him. No, but I think you should go write that article about him. I think now you’ve written your book, it might be good to freelance that article like you said. Let Amos help you get back what he caused you to lose.”

“Owen, Amos isn’t the reason I lost my job.”

“Isn’t he? I mean, if you had just disclosed the drag contest we were in—”

“Then I’d be a shithole that doesn’t deserve any friends. No, that wasn’t Amos’s fault. That’s just the nature of the business I decided to take on.”

“Regardless,” he argued, and I recognized the stubbornness Owen always had when he sunk his teeth into a subject, “you should go, observe him, and write the article. It’s a win-win for him and you, not to mention the team.”

“Maybe. Listen, I need to go. I’m going to go take my grandma some contraband fast food. She’s not supposed to have it at the home, but what’re they gonna do, kick her out?”

Owen laughed like I knew he would. My grandma was a pill, and he’d known her before her mind had started to go. She would’ve totally snuck in food for someone, especially if someone had told her not to.

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