Page 56 of Chess Not Checkers
All around me, guys start heading to shower and change. Some even make a few jokes and laugh. I don’t move. I keep my eyes glued to the floor. A hand lands on my shoulder pad.
“Get cleaned up and meet me in the press room,” Coach says in a low voice.
“Yes, sir,” I rasp out. The very thought of facing the press right now feels like being asked to swallow broken glass.
“You did what you could today, kid. It just wasn’t enough. This next part is going to hurt, but you’ll be better for it. You learn more from a loss than a win.”
I clench my jaw to keep from lashing out. I want to ask him how that can be true when Jason had an undefeated college record and went on to win multiple Super Bowls. Does that mean he didn’t have to learn to be the best? Did something in our shared bloodline skip over me?
Coach senses I’m not going to say anything. He pats my shoulder, then leaves the room. I stand up and go through the motions of showering, getting dressed, and putting on my shoes. Before I leave, I grab a hat and shove it on over my wet hair. The less people can see of me, the better.
I make it to the press room with minimal interaction with others. I’m certain my expression tells everyone how I feel about making conversation. Coach is waiting outside the room for me with Zion.
“Time to face the sharks.” Coach sighs. “Remember, they don’t get any say in who you are. Only you do.”
“Thanks, Coach,” Zion says.
I merely nod. We follow him in. I can feel Zion looking at me, but I keep my eyes ahead. Cameras flash and voices swell. We step up to the table with the microphones and take our seats. Coach lifts a hand to silence everyone.
“You can ask each of the boys a few questions, then I’m sending them home to rest. Keep it respectful, or you’ll lose your chance.” Coach’s voice is authoritative, daring anyone to oppose him. He’s had his fair share of bad press conferences, and has a reputation of putting people in their place. That should make me feel better, but the media still has a way of getting under my skin.
“Shepherd, you missed some throws today, which is uncharacteristic for you. What do you think caused that?” a reporter asks.
I clench my hands under the table. Probably my lack of ability to do anything right today. “The other team had a great defense that put a lot of pressure on me. I struggled to read the field at times, but I’ve learned a lot about what to do in those situations in the future.”
“Shepherd.” Another reporter breaks in at the end of my sentence. “You said the defense gave you some trouble today. Do you think that was an issue with the play calling or the execution?”
I wish they would have asked Coach that question. They clearly want to see if I’ll throw him under the bus, but that would never happen even if I thought it was on him. It was all my fault tonight, though, so that makes the answer clear.
“There were definitely issues with execution on my part tonight,” I admit. “I should have been able to make the plays, but I wasn’t.”
“Shepherd, tonight’s loss broke the win streak that your brother upheld in his time here as a Thrasher. Does that feel like a weight lifted off your shoulders, or do you feel like you let the team and your brother down?”
Raw panic claws at my chest. This is a moment from my nightmares. Some people are afraid of snakes or spiders or the dark. I’ve only ever been afraid of one thing: losing.
“You don’t need to answer that,” Coach says to me, then directs his attention to the reporter. “You won’t have another question tonight.”
The crowd murmurs. Other reporters call out to me. Bash looks at me, asking with his eyes if I want to leave. I shake my head. Determination fills me. I might have messed up this time, but I won’t again. I take off my hat and rake a hand through my hair, before leaning forward and pulling the mic closer to me. A hush falls over the room.
“The weight hasn’t been lifted,” I say, hating how raspy and broken I sound. “It’s heavier now, and for good reason. I messed up tonight. I take full responsibility for this loss, and I want my team and the fans to know that I’m sorry, and I’m going to do better. We won’t lose another game so long as I’m on that field. I’ll work harder than ever before and regain the streak. That’s a promise.”
I stand and put my hat back on. I don’t look at Coach or Zion. Don’t listen to the press calling out with more questions. I just head straight out the door, my heart pounding in my chest at the promise I just made on national television.
I walk as fast as I can down the hallway, keeping my head down.
No more mistakes. I promised. I can’t make another mistake ever again.
The vise grip around my throat tightens.
“Shep, hey, you alright?” Jason’s voice makes me stop in my tracks. I can’t handle this right now.
“I’m fine. I need to go get my stuff,” I call without looking back, then keep going. I can feel him following me. People are glancing our way, but I don’t care. I just need out of here.
“I know it was a rough game—”
“I don’t need a pep talk. I need to go home.”
He grabs my arm. “Come on, Junior, don’t be like that.”
