belched softly and said, âWelcome to the varsity, bro.â
Coach Alvin let a few more well-wishers congratulate Cody before he cut in. He handed Cody a cup of water. âDrink this,â he commanded. âThen follow me. We have a lot of work to do.â
Coach Alvin spent most of the practice with his defensive backs. He explained that when facing run-oriented teams, Paul Goddard would play one corner with Rhodes at the other. Berringer would represent the teamâs last line of defense as a roving safety. When battling a team that favored the pass, Goddard would move back to strong safety, his natural position, and Cody would start alongside Rhodes.
âIâm not gonna blow any smoke up your skirts,â Coach Alvin said, pointing a finger at Cody, then Rhodes. âBoth of you are two or three steps slower than Winston Lydell. And youâre a whole bunch of steps slower than Craig Ward. His 4.4 in the forty is a team record. So youâre going to have to give receivers more cushion that weâd like. And you, Mr. Martin, are going to have to learn how to get low and knock guysâ legs out from under them. Youâre not gonna be wanting to hit anybody high. I got a cat almost as big as you.â
Chapter 5 Road Kill
L ightweight. Sissy-boy. Powder puff. Moron. Hapless idiot. Lying on his bed on Friday night, Cody ran through the list of names Coach Alvin had called him during his first three varsity practices. He chuckled to himself. A year ago, in middle school, Coach Smith had used similar terminology, and it had hurt. But there was something about the way Coach Alvin tossed the terms around, almost like nicknames. There was no venom dripping off them.
And Coach Alvin peppered everyone with monikers. When ATV would fumble during a scrimmage, he became âSUVâ or âMinivan.â One missed tackle and Jeff Tucker became âJeff Tuckered Out.â
Brendan Clark was the only player who had escaped the whiplash that was Coach Alvinâs tongue. And that was because Cody hadnât seen Clark make a mistake or fail to hustle during even one drill.
With Ward injured, Clark always won the end-of-practice gassers, the grueling sprints across the width of the football fieldâsix or seven times in a row. It wasnât an unfamiliar sight to see him clinging to the chain link fence after practice heaving his lunch.
Just before Cody slipped into sleep, he prayed, âThank you, God, that I made varsity. This is the coolest thing to happen in a long time. Not to seem ungrateful or anything, but Lost Valley is a grind-it-out running team, and I wouldnât mind it at all if they stick to the run all afternoon tomorrow. Amen, and go Eagles!â
Lost Valley tried to surprise the Eagles by trying to hit a receiver on a drag pattern over the middle on the first play of the game. That was the first of their two pass attempts for the entire game.
The Vikings featured a hulking 230-pound fullback named Nash who touched the ball almost every play. By double-teaming Brendan Clark, also on almost every play, Lost Valley was able to spring Nash for several big gains.
ATV did his best to keep Grant in the game, piling up 188 yards on twenty-six bruising carries. But the team missed the luxury of putting Craig Ward in at receiver when they needed a big gain. Ward also returned kickoffs and punts. His backup, unfortunately, was Winston Lydell.
Grant trailed 14â7 and had the ball late in the fourth quarter, but ATV was too gassed to run effectively, and Dean Hammond, the Eagle QB, misfired on three straight passes to end the game.
âThatâs just great,â ATV snapped in the locker room after the game. âWe get beat by Lost Valley. That doesnât even sound like a school. Sounds like a salad dressing!â
It was only five oâclock when the yellow school bus pulled into the Grant High School parking lot. Cody, who hadnât played at all,
Coach Alvin let a few more well-wishers congratulate Cody before he cut in. He handed Cody a cup of water. âDrink this,â he commanded. âThen follow me. We have a lot of work to do.â
Coach Alvin spent most of the practice with his defensive backs. He explained that when facing run-oriented teams, Paul Goddard would play one corner with Rhodes at the other. Berringer would represent the teamâs last line of defense as a roving safety. When battling a team that favored the pass, Goddard would move back to strong safety, his natural position, and Cody would start alongside Rhodes.
âIâm not gonna blow any smoke up your skirts,â Coach Alvin said, pointing a finger at Cody, then Rhodes. âBoth of you are two or three steps slower than Winston Lydell. And youâre a whole bunch of steps slower than Craig Ward. His 4.4 in the forty is a team record. So youâre going to have to give receivers more cushion that weâd like. And you, Mr. Martin, are going to have to learn how to get low and knock guysâ legs out from under them. Youâre not gonna be wanting to hit anybody high. I got a cat almost as big as you.â
Chapter 5 Road Kill
L ightweight. Sissy-boy. Powder puff. Moron. Hapless idiot. Lying on his bed on Friday night, Cody ran through the list of names Coach Alvin had called him during his first three varsity practices. He chuckled to himself. A year ago, in middle school, Coach Smith had used similar terminology, and it had hurt. But there was something about the way Coach Alvin tossed the terms around, almost like nicknames. There was no venom dripping off them.
And Coach Alvin peppered everyone with monikers. When ATV would fumble during a scrimmage, he became âSUVâ or âMinivan.â One missed tackle and Jeff Tucker became âJeff Tuckered Out.â
Brendan Clark was the only player who had escaped the whiplash that was Coach Alvinâs tongue. And that was because Cody hadnât seen Clark make a mistake or fail to hustle during even one drill.
With Ward injured, Clark always won the end-of-practice gassers, the grueling sprints across the width of the football fieldâsix or seven times in a row. It wasnât an unfamiliar sight to see him clinging to the chain link fence after practice heaving his lunch.
Just before Cody slipped into sleep, he prayed, âThank you, God, that I made varsity. This is the coolest thing to happen in a long time. Not to seem ungrateful or anything, but Lost Valley is a grind-it-out running team, and I wouldnât mind it at all if they stick to the run all afternoon tomorrow. Amen, and go Eagles!â
Lost Valley tried to surprise the Eagles by trying to hit a receiver on a drag pattern over the middle on the first play of the game. That was the first of their two pass attempts for the entire game.
The Vikings featured a hulking 230-pound fullback named Nash who touched the ball almost every play. By double-teaming Brendan Clark, also on almost every play, Lost Valley was able to spring Nash for several big gains.
ATV did his best to keep Grant in the game, piling up 188 yards on twenty-six bruising carries. But the team missed the luxury of putting Craig Ward in at receiver when they needed a big gain. Ward also returned kickoffs and punts. His backup, unfortunately, was Winston Lydell.
Grant trailed 14â7 and had the ball late in the fourth quarter, but ATV was too gassed to run effectively, and Dean Hammond, the Eagle QB, misfired on three straight passes to end the game.
âThatâs just great,â ATV snapped in the locker room after the game. âWe get beat by Lost Valley. That doesnât even sound like a school. Sounds like a salad dressing!â
It was only five oâclock when the yellow school bus pulled into the Grant High School parking lot. Cody, who hadnât played at all,
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