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From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP Playing to Win: Playing the Game II by R.C. Mather 3/41 (mf soccer)
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Date: Mon,  6 Jun 2005 22:10:02 -0400
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Back in town now, and ready to continue.  Enjoy!

Rev. Cotton Mather
Senior Pastor,
Church of the Erotic Redemption
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ReverendCottonMather/www
http://www.storiesonline.net
www.ruthiesclub.com

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**If I had to do it all over,
I'd do it all over you**

<1st attachment, "PTW3.txt" begin>


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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)

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PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II


by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 3 -

TRYING TO MAKE AMENDS


Finally, the place we all most liked to hang out, the Dairy Queen,
opened for the season.  I  headed over there between games on a
Saturday, and found a bunch of kids there.  Molly and her  best
friend, Tessa Navarrone, were sitting at a table with Tessa's
boyfriend, Austin Graves,  and, of all people, Joey Amonte, one of
Richie Del Toro's Bulls, our local version of a gang of bad boys.
Joey was acting large, no doubt because he had one of the prettiest
girls in school  sitting next to him.  I ordered a hot fudge sundae
and joined Toby Mueller, Ashley Horvath, Josh  O'Toole, and Andrea
Coulter at another table.  Toby and Ashley had started going out
together right after the Turnabout Dance, and Josh, Molly's twin
brother, had been going with Andrea since around the first of the
year.

As I sat down, I nodded in the direction of the other table.

"What's up with that?" I asked.

Josh looked disgusted.  "You know," he said, "I used to think that
Molly was pretty much okay, as sisters go.  But lately..."  He just
shook his head at the sight of his cheerleader sister sitting with
one of the true losers of our school.

Andrea grasped his hand, as if she could somehow channel support
into him.

"Hey, Sean," Toby began, "I thought you and M... Ow!" he exclaimed,
giving Ashley a hurt look as he reached down to rub his shin where
she had swiftly kicked him.  She was giving him a stern look,
practically willing him to shut up, if all he could say was something
about me and Molly.

"So, Sean," said Ashley, trying to divert the conversation, "I hear
you've been refereeing a lot this spring."

"Yeah," I said.  "I'm on an hour lunch break right now, and then I
have to go back and referee one more game, and then the boy's team
I'm helping with has their game right after that."

"Is that the team with the Wilkinson boys on it?  I hear that Mrs.
Wilkinson is a hottie," said Toby.  Again, out of the corner of my
eye, I could see Ashley trying to kick him into shutting up, but
Toby wasn't going to let himself be caught within her range again.
He drew his feet up and sat Indian style on the bench.

"Yeah, I guess she is," I said uncomfortably.  "I just coach the
boys, though.  After all, she's kind of old.  Old enough to be a
mom, anyway."

"She could mother me anytime," laughed Josh.  That earned him a good-
natured jab from his girlfriend.

"I guess I'd better be getting back," I said as I stood and tossed
my empty paper cup into the trash can.  "Gotta keep them young 'uns
in line, don'tcha know."  I hopped back on my bike, but before I
could pedal off, Kristina Mendoza walked around the corner of the DQ.
She stopped short when she saw me, and then nonchalantly walked over
to the table where Molly and Tessa were sitting.  I heard the tone
of her voice, if not the actual words, as I rode away, making me feel
hollow and empty inside.




The Warriors were gaining a reputation as the Under-8 Boy's team to
beat.  Bill and I had worked out a good schedule for practices that
took advantage of the high energy levels and the short attention
spans of boys that age.  We did some warm-up drills first, followed
by some simple passing drills, making sure all the boys were kept
moving in patterns.  After a short break, we started up with
scrimmages.  Sometimes we played full-field scrimmages, dividing the
team into two squads.  Other times, we played 3-on-3 short sets,
rotating teams around in a kind of round-robin tournament and
playing across the width of the field.  Other times, we played the
World Cup game, usually with me in goal.

We also developed a scrimmage we called Freeze Soccer.  We would
divide the team into two squads for a full-field scrimmage, and let
them go at it.  When they heard either Bill or me blow the whistle,
they had to freeze right where they were.  We would then give them a
specific instruction, such as "Red team take 3 giant steps to your
right", or "Blue team switch forwards and backs", or "You can only
touch the ball two times".  All of our instructions during Freeze
Soccer were designed to keep them from bunching up.  We were trying
to instill in them the concept of keeping as much space around them
as they could, giving them confidence to pass into open space
instead of into a crowd.  Sometimes it worked beautifully, sometimes
it failed miserably, but both Coach Bill and I knew we were building
a good foundation for all these boys as they progressed in their
soccer pursuits.  In the meantime, we discovered that the lessons we
were giving them, under the disguise of practice fun, were carrying
over into game situations.   Our team average of goals scored per
game was 6, and the average of goals scored against us was just
under 1.

At the game later that afternoon, all the moms, along with a few
dads, were crowded along the near sideline for the game.  Some of
the boys had brothers or sisters who were starting to catch the
soccer bug, and there was an impromptu passing game going on behind
the parents as Bill and I organized the warm-ups.

We had come up with the idea of using our criss-cross passing and
shooting drill as our standard game warm-up.  We called it our
Warrior Warm-up Shuffle.  It was a very efficient drill, in which we
divided the boys into four groups of three or four players each.  We
had a group line up at each of the goalposts, with the other two
groups about 12 meters straight out from the posts.  Our starting
keeper was in the net, and the balls were lined up by the goalposts.
The boys at the posts were to alternate passing the ball across to
the boys on the outside, across from their position.  Those players
would trap the ball, set themselves up with a touch or two, then
take a shot on goal.  They would then rotate around, until each
player had passed from each corner, and taken a shot from each
position.  The drill not only warmed them up for the game by keeping
them moving around from position to position, but it also helped them
to kick the ball where they intended, it gave them a chance to shoot
on goal, plus it gave our keepers lots of opportunities to try to
stop a 10-meter open shot.  We could even vary the drill by making
the players receiving the passes one-touch the ball across to the
boy on the other side, giving them an opportunity to practice their
crossing passes.

By the time the referee came over to check equipment, the boys were
warmed up and anxious to play.  We announced our starting lineups,
and let the boys know who the first substitutions would be, and had
the team gather around Bill and I for last-minute reminders, a
routine we had developed early on in the season.

"How do we play the game, boys?" asked Bill.

"Zones and lanes!" they all shouted.

"And what does zones and lanes mean?" he continued.

"Lanes are up and down the field," said Justin, "and zones are back
and forth."

"Right!  Okay, can you cross into the zone or lane next to yours?"

"Yes!" came the collective shout.

"How far over?"

"Five steps!"

"Right!  And can you cross two lanes over?"

"No!" came the resounding yell from the boys.

"Okay, boys," finished Bill, "go out there and have fun."

With a final "Go Warriors!" cheer from the boys, the starting lineup
raced into their positions  on the field and prepared for the opening
whistle.

We had heard from some of the boys, and some of our fellow coaches,
that the team we were playing, the Eagles, was a pretty good team,
well coached with some talented kids.  In particular, they had two
of the best keepers in our league, plus they were rumored to have a
very fast player who loved to play forward and score goals.  However,
Bill and I were confident enough in our team that we felt that our
opponents had to figure out how to beat us, rather than us trying to
change our game plan to suit an opponent's game.  Besides, we really
felt that the Warriors needed to face a challenge soon.  Otherwise,
practices were going to become less important to some of the boys if
they thought that winning was so easy.

And the Eagles were good.  Before we even had a chance to challenge
their starting keeper to see how effective he was, their fastest
player, a small Hispanic boy who controlled the ball as if it was
lined with iron and his feet were magnets, took control of an early
play.  He seemed to know the limits we had assigned to our lanes,
and managed to find the seams where our boys  weren't supposed to
double-team.  One against one, not a single player of ours could keep
up with him, and within the first five minutes of the game, he
squirted through our defense twice,  approaching our goal with the
ball.  The first time, his shot went wide as our keeper came out,
just like he was supposed to do.  The next time, our keeper was a
little slow in coming out to challenge the boy, and the ball slipped
past him, and into the back of the net.  For the first time all
season, we were behind in a game.

Panic set in on our side of the field.  All of a sudden, the
Warriors were scrambling all over the field, and our lanes and zones
got sloppier and sloppier as the players gave in to temptation and
started stalking the ball, wherever it went.  Oddly, it slowed down
the Eagles after the game had degenerated into swarmball.  They only
scored twice more on us during the first half.  The Warriors, on the
other hand, couldn't manufacture even one goal against their
opponents.  We couldn't even mount a serious challenge on their
keeper.  Bill was pacing the sidelines, calling out to his players,
practically pleading with them to play their positions,  but our team
was beyond the reach of our coaching out on the field by then.

At halftime, the boys were panting and jittery about what was going
on out on the field.  Bill  and I handed out water and orange slices,
and asked the boys to sit around us and try to be quiet, instead of
yelling at each other about blown coverages and missed assignments.

"It's not so bad," I said to the boys.

"It's terrible!" retorted Andrew.  "They're really good.  Better
than us."

"So what?" said Bill.  "Maybe they are better than you, maybe they
aren't.  Does that mean you're just going to give up?"

"No!" shouted Davey.  "Warriors don't give up!"

Andrew looked abashed as the rest of the team reluctantly agreed.

"But what can we do about that kid?" asked Andrew.

Now we had their attention.  They were frustrated, and ripe for some
better playmaking  decisions.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," I said.  "Devon, you're going
to be our goalie, and our defensive co-captain."  He nodded, and
reached for the keeper's jersey.  "All the defensive players on the
field, listen for instructions from Devon.  A lot of the time, the
keeper can see what's happening on the field better than the players
that are involved with the ball, so he will be in charge of
directing you guys around.  Davey, you will be the other co-captain,
in charge of the offense.  You can move forwards and midfielders up
or back, and I want you to play center-mid.  That way you can direct
everybody around you, if you need to.  Zones and lanes are now
expanded to overlap by half."

"What do you mean, Sean?" asked Kip.

"That means that you still need to play your lanes and zones," I
said, looking around at all the boys.  "But, you can cross over to
as much as half the zone or lane next to you.  But no more than
half.  All right?  Everybody agree?"

There was a general mumble of agreement, until Bill's voice cut
through.

"Everybody needs to agree to the plan, otherwise it won't work," he
said.  "Does everybody agree?"

With much more enthusiasm, the boys endorsed the plan.  Bill and I
got the boys standing, and we gathered together for a unifying cheer
of "Go Warriors", and our second-half starting lineup took the field.

With Bill and I shouting encouragement and suggestions to our
captains and the team, the second half progressed a lot more
according to plan.  Devon moved the defense around a bit when he
thought it was necessary, but he was a little uncomfortable in the co-
captain's role, afraid of being too bossy.  Davey, on the other
hand, reveled in his role as co-captain, and moved players up and
back on his side of the field at whim.  Bill finally had to send in a
substitute with specific instructions for Davey to only move players
when it was necessary.  He looked a little disappointed when he
glanced over to the sidelines after receiving our message, but he
calmed down out there, and let his players play the way they were
supposed to.

The expanded lanes and zones did the trick.  Every part of the
field, except for the sidelines,  were now double-covered, and our
midfielders and defensive players did a great job in shutting down
the Eagles.  They got one more goal on us late in the game, and we
managed to make up some ground on the offensive side.  Their keepers
were good, stopping 8 of our 10 good shots on goal.   The score at
the final whistle was Eagles 4, Warriors 2, but our kids still walked
away from the loss feeling like they had played well, especially
after Bill pointed out to them that they had won the second half, 2-
1.

As I was helping Bill pack up equipment and clean up our bench area,
Justin Marcus came toward us, dragging his mother along by her hand.

"Sean!  My mom says it's okay!" he shouted as they got closer.

I was confused.  Did he tell me something earlier that I didn't
remember?  "What's okay?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, Sean," said Mrs. Marcus.  "Justin asked if he could join
in when you were giving Davey and Kip their soccer lessons.  I guess
he just forgot to ask you first," she added sheepishly.

"No, that's fine," I said.  "It's just been for about 45 minutes
before practices.  I've been here anyway, working on my own game,
and I'd be glad to have Justin work with us, if you can get him here
that early."

"Oh, that's no problem, really.  I'll call Lori, and we'll work out
a schedule.  Is that okay?"

"Sure, that's fine," I said.  "It beats running by myself, too."

She handed me a slip of paper with her address and phone number on
it, waved to Bill, and headed back across the field, Justin in tow.
I shoved the paper into my pocket and returned to picking up the
rest of the orange peels scattered on the ground like so many lost
Halloween smiles.




Before going home to get cleaned up, I decided to swing by the DQ
one more time, just to see if  any of my friends were there.  Jorge
Mendoza was there, with Trent Abbott and Eric Johnson, two more
friends from the varsity soccer team.  I plopped down on the bench
next to Eric.  He lightly punched me on the arm in greeting.

"How you doing, Seanster," he said.

"Doing okay, I guess.  The boys lost their first game this
afternoon.  Got outplayed in the first half, and couldn't make up
the lost ground," I said.

Eric grunted.  "Probably good for 'em, anyway," he said.  "They was
getting too confident, probably."

"Probably," I agreed.  "All in all, it wasn't a bad thing."

Jorge stood up.  "You going to be here for a few minutes?" he asked
me.

I shrugged.  "Sure," I replied.

He walked over to the pay phone hanging on the side of the building.

Trent said, "Hey, are either of you signed up yet for the Olchick
clinic this summer?"

I looked over at Eric.  He looked as confused as I felt about the
question.

"What's the Olchick clinic?" he asked.

"You know Duane Olchick, right?"

"As in Duane Olchick, the pro soccer player?" I asked.

"No, Duane Olchick the pro fry cook at Mickey D's," said Trent
sarcastically.  "Of course, Duane Olchick the pro soccer player.
He's running a clinic this summer.  Two weeks of intensive training,
high school and college players.  I heard he might do some shorter
clinics with some younger kids, too, right after.  Anyway, me and
Mikey Evanson were going to sign up.  You guys need to ask Coach
Neville about it.  I'm sure he's got the information on it."  Coach
Neville was our varsity soccer coach.

Jorge walked back to our table in time to catch the last of what
Trent was saying.  "Are you talking about the Olchick clinic?  Yeah,
I t'ink Kristina and I are both going to go to that this summer."

"Who were you calling, Jorge?" I asked.

He pointedly ignored my question.  "How about you, Eric?  You going
to go to the clinic?"

"I dunno," he replied.  "Depends on how much it's gonna cost.  I've
got to work a lot this summer.  Gotta start saving up for college.
And Keisha's going to want me to spend some money on her this
summer, probably."

"Man, you almost married," said Jorge disgustedly.  "She's really
got you by the cajones, doesn't she?"

Eric smiled.  "Yes, she does, and sometimes that's every bit of
okay, amigo."

We all laughed at that.

A small voice drifted to us from around the corner of the building.

"Jorge?  Venido aqu�, por favor."

Jorge looked around toward the front of the Dairy Queen, then
glanced back at me a little guiltily.

"Wait here, Sean.  I'll be right back," he said.

He walked over and around the corner.  Trent and Eric and I just
looked quizzically at each  other.  We could just hear two voices
murmuring in Spanish from that direction.  Finally, Jorge came back
around the corner.  He pointed at me, and gestured for me to join
him.  I got up and walked over to him.  He silently pointed me
around the corner, but he didn't accompany me over to where Kristina
was sitting, alone, at another table, her back to me.  I looked at
him.  He just shooed me along, and turned to rejoin the other guys.
I hesitated, and then walked over and sat down opposite Kristina.
Her eyes were downcast, and they were red and teary.  She was
clutching a paper napkin nervously, and her shoulders were hunched.
It was obvious that she didn't want to be here with me.  I couldn't
blame her.

"Hi," I said.

After a moment, she finally responded with a weak "Hi," still not
looking up.

"Look, Kristina," I blurted, "I know I hurt you.  You can't beat me
up any worse than I've been beating myself up.  But it meant nothing
to me.  You've got to believe me!"

She looked up at me now, her eyes hard, pinning me down like a bug
in an eighth-grade science project.  "It meant nothing to you?
Sean, it meant everything to me.  Everything!  You were so kind to
me, so patient, I thought we were getting along really good, you
know?  I thought I might even have been in love with you, and I
thought you might have felt the same for me.  And I find out in the
worst possible way that it was all a lie!  And now you tell me it
meant nothing to you?  Is that how you valued me?  You were willing
to risk losing me over 'nothing'?  And this is supposed to make me
feel better?"  She just shook her head at my insanity, as tears
began to stream down her cheeks.

Hoo boy.  Now I had really stepped in it.  All the arguments, all
the rationalizations that had  sounded so logical in my mind, slipped
away like a deer through an early-morning fog.  I slid out of my
seat and moved around the table to sit next to her.  I tried to drape
my arm around her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, scooting away
from me down the bench.  I wasn't going to give up so easily,
however, so I slid down next to her and grasped her hand in both of
mine.   She allowed this small comfort, at least.

"Kristina, I did love you.  I DO love you.  What do you want me to
say?  That it did mean something?  It's just not true.  Molly and I
have a history, Kristina.  I can't help that.  I never meant for
anything to happen.  You have to know that.  You know how she's been
lately,  Kristina.  I just got caught up in a bad moment.  If I
hadn't been tired from the game with the kids, and worked up from
the... studying..."

She flashed me a look that told me I was on dangerous ground.  I
knew I should go slowly here,  but I was getting pretty worked up
now, myself.

"Well, it's true, and you should know it.  I promised I would take
things as slow as you wanted,  and I stopped when you said stop,
didn't I?"  She just looked at me noncommittally.  "Well, didn't I,
Kristina?"  She reluctantly nodded in agreement.  "I stopped when you
said stop, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't going to feel a
little frustrated," I continued.  I was on unsteady ground here, but
it was too late to turn back.  "It was late, and I was tired, and I
think Molly just unconsciously took advantage of the situation, and I
just got caught up in it without thinking.  Christ, if I could take
it all back, you know I would..." I trailed off, finally running out
of apologies.  At least she hadn't removed her hand from my grasp
yet, which I took to be a good sign.

Kristina took a big, shuddering sigh.  "I just can't pretend to
still be Molly's friend," she said, almost to herself.  "Not after
what she's done.  I can hardly stand to look at her anymore."  She
looked up at me again, her brown eyes large in her darkly tanned
face.  "I heard a rumor, Sean.  Joey Amonte is telling people that
Molly told him she's going to have a baby."

I was speechless.  A baby?  Was it mine?  Was it even true?

"Sean?"  Kristina brought me back out of my suddenly dark thoughts.
"If it's true, if she's pregnant because of you, I could not accept
that.  It's just all too horrible.  But if it's not true..."  She
left the sentence unfinished.  I thought I understood: if Molly was
pregnant, it was all over with Kristina, but if the rumor was false,
maybe - just maybe - Kristina would be my girlfriend again sometime
soon.

Maybe.




(Continued in Chapter 4)
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