Read Online The Wanderers by Richard Price - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Price
Tags: thriller, Young Adult
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distance Joey saw Jo-Jo and Ralph with duffel bags. Ten minutes later Peter Rabbit, Ed Weiss, and Lenny Mitchell showed up. They had an hour until game time. Everybody was silent. The Del-Bombers finished their warm-ups and left the field.
"Anybody wanna run?" Joey asked. Joey, Buddy, and Ralphie started jogging around the field. Joey felt tight. He felt fast. On the third lap he fell into some fancy broken-field running. So did Ralphie. Buddy trotted back to the Stingers.
"How you feelin', Joey?" asked Ralphie.
"Good. We're gonna run their asses off."
"Yeah."
They ran two more laps. Joey saw Perry standing with the guys and shouted in delight. Perry wore his Stinger jersey. "Hey-y, mah man, you playin'?"
"Nah, I just came in case you guys got in a fight."
"How's your arm?"
Perry shrugged. "Busted."
Four more Stingers showed up. Each time somebody else came the Stingers felt a little looser, a little more relaxed. Soon rooters showed up from the projects, and when the girls, C, Margo, Laine, Anne, and a few others, came, it was time for the Stingers to get the show on the road.
The first thing they had to do was get into their gear. This was an important ritual because changing into their uniforms was all they could offer in the way of a pregame show. Each player had a different specialty. Richie liked to stomp around naked to the waist in subfreezing temperature while he looked for his shoulder pads. He would isometrically tense his gut, puff out his chest, and parade in front of the girls in a flurry of preoccupation, making sure the wind caught his hair just right so he could frown heroically like a raw-muscled Viking on the prow of a raiding ship somewhere in the North Sea. His whole show was pretty effective; seeing a guy seminude in the winter was the equivalent of seeing a girl in a bikini in the middle of Manhattan. Joey was a cup insertion and ball adjustment man. His thing was to open his fly, peel his briefs to the curly perimeter of his pubic hair, and make a major production of inserting the large white diamond-shaped protective cup. One hand up to the forearm in his pants he would jiggle his balls align his cock, and do little dances of adjustment to secure and anchor his goods against the coming violence of the afternoon. If Richie liked to frown heroically Joey's expression was a grimace of Herculean labor like he was moving two cannonballs inside his briefs. Some guys did shoulder-pad slamming duets. Like mountain goats butting heads, they would square off, ramming shoulders together to make the pads set better. Then they would walk around shrugging, making small circles with their shoulders to signify they were ready. Perry's forte was the most impressive. Perry never really enjoyed being a big guy except for football, and before a game he liked to come on twice as big and mean as he was. After he put on his shoulder pads he would wrap his arms around a big tree and slam his shoulders against the trunk to settle the pads. The whole tree would shake and nuts, squirrels, leaves, bird's nests, and whatever else was up there would rain down on the fans. Last year Perry got so carried away he separated his shoulder and missed four games.
At midfield Richie and Ray Rodriguez, the co-captains of the Stingers, met Leslie Frances and Toby Barrett, the co-captains of the Del-Bombers, and shook hands.
"G'luck, man."
"G'luck."
Walking back to the sidelines, Richie made some comment to Ray about niggers. Ray, the only Puerto Rican playing for either team, didn't know whether to be pissed at him or agree.
Fifty yards from the fans, Emilio Capra stood alone. He saw that Joey was playing halfback, and Ralphie Arkadian wasn't even playing offense. He saw Lenny Arkadian with the rest of the assholes cheering their heads off, and he resisted an urge to ask him how his half-assed halfback kid brother was doing.
Today was Joey's day. He saw daylight every time he got the ball and near the end of the first
"Anybody wanna run?" Joey asked. Joey, Buddy, and Ralphie started jogging around the field. Joey felt tight. He felt fast. On the third lap he fell into some fancy broken-field running. So did Ralphie. Buddy trotted back to the Stingers.
"How you feelin', Joey?" asked Ralphie.
"Good. We're gonna run their asses off."
"Yeah."
They ran two more laps. Joey saw Perry standing with the guys and shouted in delight. Perry wore his Stinger jersey. "Hey-y, mah man, you playin'?"
"Nah, I just came in case you guys got in a fight."
"How's your arm?"
Perry shrugged. "Busted."
Four more Stingers showed up. Each time somebody else came the Stingers felt a little looser, a little more relaxed. Soon rooters showed up from the projects, and when the girls, C, Margo, Laine, Anne, and a few others, came, it was time for the Stingers to get the show on the road.
The first thing they had to do was get into their gear. This was an important ritual because changing into their uniforms was all they could offer in the way of a pregame show. Each player had a different specialty. Richie liked to stomp around naked to the waist in subfreezing temperature while he looked for his shoulder pads. He would isometrically tense his gut, puff out his chest, and parade in front of the girls in a flurry of preoccupation, making sure the wind caught his hair just right so he could frown heroically like a raw-muscled Viking on the prow of a raiding ship somewhere in the North Sea. His whole show was pretty effective; seeing a guy seminude in the winter was the equivalent of seeing a girl in a bikini in the middle of Manhattan. Joey was a cup insertion and ball adjustment man. His thing was to open his fly, peel his briefs to the curly perimeter of his pubic hair, and make a major production of inserting the large white diamond-shaped protective cup. One hand up to the forearm in his pants he would jiggle his balls align his cock, and do little dances of adjustment to secure and anchor his goods against the coming violence of the afternoon. If Richie liked to frown heroically Joey's expression was a grimace of Herculean labor like he was moving two cannonballs inside his briefs. Some guys did shoulder-pad slamming duets. Like mountain goats butting heads, they would square off, ramming shoulders together to make the pads set better. Then they would walk around shrugging, making small circles with their shoulders to signify they were ready. Perry's forte was the most impressive. Perry never really enjoyed being a big guy except for football, and before a game he liked to come on twice as big and mean as he was. After he put on his shoulder pads he would wrap his arms around a big tree and slam his shoulders against the trunk to settle the pads. The whole tree would shake and nuts, squirrels, leaves, bird's nests, and whatever else was up there would rain down on the fans. Last year Perry got so carried away he separated his shoulder and missed four games.
At midfield Richie and Ray Rodriguez, the co-captains of the Stingers, met Leslie Frances and Toby Barrett, the co-captains of the Del-Bombers, and shook hands.
"G'luck, man."
"G'luck."
Walking back to the sidelines, Richie made some comment to Ray about niggers. Ray, the only Puerto Rican playing for either team, didn't know whether to be pissed at him or agree.
Fifty yards from the fans, Emilio Capra stood alone. He saw that Joey was playing halfback, and Ralphie Arkadian wasn't even playing offense. He saw Lenny Arkadian with the rest of the assholes cheering their heads off, and he resisted an urge to ask him how his half-assed halfback kid brother was doing.
Today was Joey's day. He saw daylight every time he got the ball and near the end of the first
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