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Message-ID: <38786asstr$1034640603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} NEW Playing the Game II: Playing to Win (mf rom) 2/?
Date: Mon, 14 Oct 2002 20:10:03 -0400
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As promised, the continuation of "Playing the Game".

Enjoy.







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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 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.
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PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II


by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 2 -

RUNNING



Jorge was a true friend.  Even with all his efforts, though,
Kristina cried for a week after she found out about what happened,
and wouldn't hardly talk to me.  Molly started out the week
practically vamping around me, but after a couple of days of me not
even acknowledging her, she toned it down a little.  It was still
monumentally embarrassing for me, but there was nothing I could do
about it.  Maybe I was imagining it, but there seemed to be an awful
lot of whispering and finger-pointing going on in the halls between
classes as I walked alone through school.  My appetite was gone, and
I couldn't concentrate on homework.

What I did, instead, was run.  Every afternoon after school, I would
grab my soccer ball and head for the park and run laps around the
baseball fields and the soccer fields.  At first I just kicked the
ball and ran after it, getting some of my frustrations out by
slamming on the ball.  Chasing that ball down got old pretty fast, so
I began to give myself targets to kick at.  Maybe it was a stick in
the grass I would try to hit, or I would aim for a fence post and
give myself some imaginary give-and-go passes.  This progressed into
doing alternating laps dribbling with just my left foot, then my
right foot, then just the inside of each foot, followed by a lap
using just the outside of my foot.  By the end of the week, I had
added an occasional lap where I would try to keep the ball in the
air, juggling it off my foot, my knee, my head, shoulder, chest,
anything I had to do to keep the ball from hitting the ground.  That
was surprisingly hard to do, especially while trying to move around
the perimeter of a field.

Twice a week, Coach Bill and the team would meet me at the park for
practice.  Bill and I had allowed the boys to pick a team name, and
they decided to call themselves the Warriors.  Lori Wilkinson saw me
working out when she dropped off the boys for practice.  I was just
coming toward Bill and the boys, doing a crossover dribble that made
me look like a hopping, wounded duck, when I saw her walking toward
me, a big smile on her face.

"What are you doing, Sean?  It looks so funny," she said.

I was out of breath, and couldn't answer for a minute.  I wiped the
sweat off my face with the edge of my t-shirt.  I saw her eyes glance
at my belly, but I was huffing and puffing too much to suck it in.

"Torturing myself," I finally managed to reply.  "It looks pretty
odd, I know, but it makes me concentrate on the ball more."

"How early are you here before practice, Sean?  If you have time, I
know Davey and Kip would really like to play more soccer with you."

"That would be great," I said.  "Practice starts at 5:00, so if you
can bring them by around 4:15 or so, that will give us plenty of
time."

"Wonderful!"  Lori clapped her hands together in delight.  "I'll
tell them about it on the way home.  If I let them know now, they'll
be impossible to handle during practice, they'll be so excited."  Her
eyes were bright as she continued, "You've been so good for them.  I
can't even express how much you have meant for them, Sean."

We chatted for a few minutes more, as Coach Bill got his cones and
drills organized.  Other moms were driving up, dropping boys off for
practice.  Justin's mother saw Lori and me talking, and came over to
say hello.

"Sean," said Lori, "this is Wendy Marcus, Justin's mother."

Mrs. Marcus was short and chunky, very busty, with short, dark brown
hair.  "Hi, Mrs. Marcus, glad to meet you," I said, holding out my
hand.

She held my hand in hers, her fingers tracing along my hand as
lightly as feathers.  "Please," she said with a twinkle in her eye,
"call me Wendy."  She turned to Lori.  "You're right, Lori, he is to
die for."  She actually winked at me as she turned and walked back to
her car, giving her backside a little extra wiggle as she went.  I
just stood there goggling at her.  Lori snorted, then burst out
laughing.

"Subtlety is not Wendy's long suit," she said with a chuckle.

"I guess not," I mumbled, embarrassed.

"I'll see you after practice, Sean," said Lori.  She waved to Davey
and Kip, and walked up the slope toward her car.  I caught myself
admiring her ass as she was walking away, comparing her slim backside
to Wendy's more substantial one, and gave myself a mental boot in the
ass for it.  'Jesus Christ, Sean, aren't you in enough hot water over
women?  Now you're going to go letching Mrs. Wilkinson?' I chided
myself.

I trotted over to catch up with Bill, so we could go over the drills
he had in mind for that day's practice.





I had also called Mrs. Dailey, from the soccer association, and told
her I would be glad to referee any games she wanted.  After some
convincing that I really did have the time for such a schedule, she
assigned three games to me for Saturday, and three for Sunday.  Along
with Coach Bill's game, that meant I would be at seven soccer games
each weekend, more than enough to keep me busy, exhausted, and out of
trouble.

The next Saturday morning, I started at 9:00 with an under-8 girl's
match, followed immediately by an under-12 boy's game that required a
lot of running on my part.  I had an hour break for lunch, and then
it was back to the field for the Warriors game.  I just had time to
help Bill pack up his equipment, and I was off to referee my third
game, an under-12 girl's game.

On Sunday, I worked as a referee in two games, and as a linesman for
an adult game.  By the time I got home late Sunday afternoon, I was
sweaty, tired and hungry, and I still had all my homework to do.  I
spent about 15 minutes on the phone with my best friend Jake Lehigh,
and managed to crawl into bed by 9:00, looking forward to simply
closing my eyes and allowing my troubles to float away for a few
short hours.

The next week it was more of the same, except that I wasn't quite
the monster at school that I had been.  Typical of such an
environment, a new crisis emerged that took the spotlight off me, and
nearly everybody, except for the primary players in the Sean Porter
Soap Opera, pretty much forgot about it all.  Even my best buddies,
Eric Johnson and Jake, dropped the subject, leaving just Kristina and
Jorge, Molly and me to address the lingering issues.

And even the other three players in the drama never mentioned the
one issue that was scaring the shit out of me: because of our little
adventure, I was afraid Molly might be pregnant.



(Continued in Chapter 3)




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