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From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <RevCottonMather@excite.able.boy.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 20 Dec 2001 13:57:54 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Playing the Game  20/30 (mf rom)
Date: Thu, 20 Dec 2001 17:10:08 -0500
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Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This
story is the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or
downloaded for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for
anyone to download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as
long as there is no intent to charge money or barter for the
privilege of acquiring this material.

(copyright 2001, Rev. Cotton Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@excite.com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

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PLAYING THE GAME
by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 20 -

SKIP AND THEO


I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the slip of paper. 
An unfamiliar female voice at the other end answered after three
rings.

"Hello?  This is Sean Porter.  I got a message to call this number
when I got home."

"Just a minute, Sean," the voice said.  There was a thump as the
phone was set down on the other end.

"Hello, Sean?"

"This is Sean.  Who is this?"

"Oh, I'm sorry.  It's Coach Neville, Sean.  I've been on the phone
with so many people tonight, I forget who I've talked to and who I
haven't."

"That's okay, Coach."  I was puzzled.  Why was Coach Neville trying
to contact me this late on a Saturday night?  "What's up?"

"Sean, this is very hard."  He paused for a moment.  His voice
sounded gravelly.  "There's been a terrible car accident.  Skip and
Theo..."  He paused again, perhaps to collect himself.  My own heart
was beating like a triphammer, and my palms were suddenly sweaty. 
"Skip and Theo were on their way to pick up their dates earlier
tonight, when they got into an accident.  Another car was involved,
Theo's car got pushed off the road and into a tree..."  His voice was
rising.  He stopped to take a deep breath.  "Sean, Skip was killed
instantly, and Theo is in very serious condition at the hospital."

"What?"  My knees gave out, and I hit the floor with a thump.  "What
did you say, Coach?"

"Skip is dead, son, and Theo is very badly hurt.  I'm trying to
contact everybody on the team to let them know.  I've talked to
almost everyone by now.  I've been over to the hospital to meet with
Theo's family, and Skip's parents were there, also.  It's all so
unreal.  I don't think anyone realizes quite yet what's happened. 
Anyway, I've already talked to the principal at school, and he is
arranging to have counselors available to anybody on Monday morning. 
I would like you to get to school early on Monday if you can, and
we'll meet as a team, varsity and junior varsity, in the locker room
for a few minutes before school starts."

"Okay, Coach.  Is there anything else I can do?"

"Not right now, Sean.  Just pray, pray for Skip's family, pray for
Theo and his family.  I'll be at the hospital as much as I can
tomorrow."

"I'll be there, too, as early as I can."

"Thanks, Sean.  It's going to be a very sad week next week, I'm
afraid."  With that, he hung up the phone.  I sat on the floor, the
dead receiver forgotten in my hand, until the dial tone brought me
back to the here and now.  I struggled to my feet, hanging up the
telephone, and turned to see my mother and father, and my brother
Mike, all looking at me, concern on their faces.

"We heard sirens earlier tonight.  Is this something connected to
them?"  My mom stood up and came over to wrap me in her arms.

I nodded, not sure if I could speak quite yet.  My eyes were
burning, and my vision was blurred.

I sniffled a couple of times, and got myself under control.  I let
them know what had happened, and about Coach's plan to meet early on
Monday morning.  We sat up together, the four of us, for about an
hour, talking about the accident and how much our town was going to
be affected by the tragic news.

Finally, exhaustion set in, and I slowly found my way to my room and
shut the door.  I needed a shower.  I was hoping the hot water would
wash away the last hour, clean it up and present it again with better
news.  I spent about 20 minutes standing there, just letting the
scalding water rush over me.  The water started cooling as the water
heater ran out, so I finally turned the water off and stepped out to
dry off.  I flopped into bed, the lights off, but it was many hours
before I finally drifted off into a troubled sleep.

I was feeling pretty awful when I got up in the morning.  My sleep
was fitful and restless.  I couldn't remember any of my dreams, but
they left a bad aftertaste, a lingering sour discomfort.  I wanted
more than anything to cancel soccer practice with Coach Bill's team,
but since I didn't have any of their phone numbers, I steeled myself
to go and do the best I could.  I called Molly as early as I dared,
but their house was already up and aware of the bad news.  Heather
and Evan had heard about it almost immediately, and had ended up at
the hospital, where they stayed until the nursing staff finally
kicked them, and about half the rest of the senior class, out.  She
had come home shortly after I had dropped Molly off, and awakened the
family to give them the news.

Molly said she would call Tessa, and the two of them would meet me
at the park.  My brother Mike dropped me off at the park with my gear
about 15 minutes early, and said he would pick me up after practice.

The girls got there a few minutes later, and while we were waiting
for the team to show up, Coach Bill explained to us the drills he
wanted to work on today.

The boys on the team started straggling in to the park.  Some of
them walked, others were dropped off by parents.  Lori came with
Davey and Kip, and immediately walked over to me and wrapped me up in
a warm hug.

"I heard about the accident," she said.  "I'm so sorry, Sean."

"Thanks," I said, "but I'm not sure I should be the one to be
accepting condolences."

She kept on holding me tightly, as if the sheer strength of her arms
could hold off the relentless stroke of the clock.

"I'm sure," she said.  "Just because you aren't a blood relation to
those boys doesn't mean you aren't hurting right now.  They were
friends and teammates, and anybody that close is suffering."

"Maybe you're right," I said, and I hugged her back.  I did
appreciate her concern.

We set the boys up in a four-way criss-cross passing pattern around
one of the netless goals in the park.  There was a line of four boys
at each goalpost, and two lines about 12 meters out and 10 meters
apart.  The balls were kept at the posts and passed across to one of
the boys outside, who would trap it, pass it over to the other boy in
the other outside line.  That player would take the pass, dribble two
steps, and take a shot on goal.  There were three boys on the team
who divided up the goalkeeping duties for the team, and each of the
three took a turn in goal, with Tessa there the whole time to give
them tips on how to prevent the score.  There was mass confusion to
start with, and the outside lines tended to drift closer together,
but with Molly, Tessa and I coaxing them on, the drill started to run
smoothly, and the boys were kept moving from position to position,
sometimes passing and sometimes shooting.  

When that drill started to wear down, we set up a drill known as
World Cup.  We divided the team into groups of three, with one
keeper.  There were 16 players, so it worked out well for five teams.
We threw out four balls, and the five teams scrambled for a ball. 
The object of this drill was to practice moving into open space, and
communicating with teammates.  Any team that scored a goal came off
the field, and the remaining teams restarted with one less ball,
until there finally there were just two teams left, battling after
one ball.

By the end of practice, the boys were sweaty and puffing from the
drill, and feeling pretty good about how they had performed in the
World Cup drill.  Before Coach Bill let them go, he talked to them
for a few minutes about what we had worked on that day.  I hoped the
lessons would carry through to their next game day.

Michael picked us up after practice, and we dropped Tessa and Molly
off at their houses before going home.  I wanted to take a shower and
get something to eat before I went to the hospital to see Theo.

That afternoon, my dad willingly gave up his NFL jones to drive
Molly and me to visit Theo.  He waited in the lobby the whole
afternoon while we waited our turn to go in and see Theo.  The
waiting area was milling with teammates and school friends of Skip
and Theo, the boys standing around trying to be stoic and strong, and
the girls weeping and hanging onto each other for support.  It was no
surprise to me that Maggie, Skip's girlfriend, was not there, but I
did notice that Allison, the girl hanging on Theo's arm at the pool
party, also did not make an appearance.

When it was finally our turn to go into Theo's room, we found that
it was nearly as crowded as the waiting room.  His parents, brother,
two sisters, grandparents, and Coach Neville were all there,
surrounding the bed.  Theo was in a drug-induced coma, tubes running
everywhere, scary machines crowding the walls.  He was in traction
and had multiple internal injuries.  Coach whispered to me that the
long-term prognosis was favorable, but they didn't know if he would
ever run again until they could bring him out of the coma and get
going on his physical therapy.  Theo looked so small and frail there,
and Coach was sunk in on himself, keeping going by sheer willpower. 
I felt nearly as badly for him as I did for Theo's family.

Later that evening, we finally left the hospital.  Dad drove us
slowly past the spot where the accident occurred.  There were long
skid marks on the road, and the tree they had hit was badly scarred. 
There were dozens of flowers and candles, tributes to Skip and
prayers for Theo, scattered around the tree.  It gave the area a look
of peace and tranquility, a far cry from its reputation from that day
forward.

By the time I got home, I was completely wiped.  I barely had the
energy to undress before I crawled between my sheets and fell almost
immediately into a dreamless slumber.  The start of one of the
toughest weeks of my life was just ahead.



(Continued in Chapter 21)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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