Page 4 of I Got You

I’d have been crazy to turn it down unless I wanted to go into commentating, and that was a hell no. I hate dealing with reporters and interviews. Being on camera was my least favorite part of playing in the NFL, much to my agent’s dismay. If there was a way to avoid it, I did. So I owe Rob, my relentlessly stubborn and most annoying agent, for all but kicking my ass to Colorado.

“Hey, Rob.” My voice sounds like it hasn’t been used in days. It hasn’t, except for cursing.

“Has the wolf left the cave recently?”

Rob thinks he’s funny. I don’t remind him he’s not.

“So, are you ready for another week, coach? I bet those kids didn’t know what hit them last week. The great Shane Carter, gracing their field.”

“Rob, I made my expectations clear, and they got to work. We didn’t sit around having storytime and snacks.”

He ignores my clipped response. “How’s working with Cavanaugh?”

Rob is referring to the head coach, who’s known for molding teams and carrying them to the top. The man speaks at only one volume, loud, but looks out for his players like they’re his own. I’ve already seen this as he works with the team and in his invitations to have me over to dinner.

“He’s fine, although I’ll need a hearing aid by the end of the season.”

There’s a sigh of annoyance, and I have no doubt Rob’s rocking back in his chair. “That’s seriously all you’re going to give me? No ‘thank you’ for saving your butt from becoming permanently ingrained in the couch or getting you a job where you can still flex your endless array of knowledge, skill, and talent?”

“No.”

“How about tickets? I’ll fly out and take you to dinner to ensure you’re at least conversing with someone outside of work hours once this quarter.”

“I’ll see what I can do about tickets. Not sure about dinner. I may have plans.”

He laughs, and even though he can’t see it, I might’ve smiled. A little.

“Alright, I’ll look forward to it.” He’s unusually quiet for a minute. “You’re doing the right thing. You may not feel it now, but you can help these kids. You still have so much to offer the game.”

I don’t respond, and he says goodbye. If only I felt that way. Maybe I will. Right now, it still feels like I don’t have anything left to offer anyone or maybe that I want to offer…even myself.

∞∞∞

After two weeks, I walk into the practice facility, not really knowing what to expect. A few players are working out between classes, and I try to come up with their names. As the defense coach, I’m focused on the defensive line, but I need to get to know the team.

I have no idea what this coaching job will turn into, but since my conversation with Rob this morning, I’ve been thinking a lot about what he said and his confidence in my ability to help these kids become great. Maybe I can help. My coaches at every stage, along with my drive, is what allowed me to achieve my dream.

I tip my head to the players as I pass on my way to my tiny shoebox of an office. I step inside and feel like a gorilla stuck in a cage, the small space making me jittery. Besides a desk and computer, the office is empty, and I intend to keep it that way. The less stuff, the more breathing space.

I sign onto the computer and get to work. I’m still trying to get down to the nitty-gritty of what I want to focus on and where the individual players need work. If I have a chance to help this team, I need to get to know these players' strengths and weaknesses and not just my defensive line, although that’s where I’ll start.

After spending a couple hours on the computer and making notes, I hear the team filing down the hallway toward the locker room for practice. Coach Cavanaugh sticks his head around the door frame.

His one volume only, loud and gravelly, could shake the foundation. “I have a meeting, but I’ll be on the field as soon as it wraps. Get the boys warmed up, then we’ll split.”

“Sure.”

I shake the ringing from my ears, knowing I need to talk with him about my plans for defense, but I’m giving myself another day or two to see these boys in action before I really get down to business and kick things into high gear.

So far, the team seems like a tight-knit group, led by Cole Matthews as team captain. I have to figure out how to earn their trust and demonstrate my ability to make them better, stronger. That all starts by gaining their respect and confidence on the field.

They all know my career history and what I was able to do as a player. I have to show them that I can incorporate that into making them better players and a better team. If I’m going to do that, I need to quit moping around and get my ass back to playing football, even if I’m not the one running the field.

With my clipboard in hand and a whistle around my neck -- I wear a whistle for shit’s sake -- I stride out of my office toward the field where the team is warming up. I glance around, not seeing Matthews. That doesn’t sit well with me. He’s the team captain. He should be the first one on the field. I don’t care how good of a player he is or who his father is. He should be here.

The team gathers around, waiting for instruction.

“Where’s Matthews?”

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