index


Message-ID: <51457asstr$1119607801@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP - Playing to Win: Playing the Game II by R.C. Mather 10/41 (mf soccer)
Lines: 298
Date: Fri, 24 Jun 2005 06:10:01 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


And, after a bit of a delay, we continue...

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

Would you like to be notified when I post new chapters or stories?  Sign up 
at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/RCMStories/join

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

<1st attachment, "PTW10.txt" begin>


---------------------------------------------------------------------

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.
---------------------------------------------------------------------



PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II


by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 10 -

A WHOLE LOTTA WORTHWHILE



By the end of the following week, I was falling-down exhausted, both
physically and mentally.  Riding herd over 60 kids between the ages
of 7 and 12 wasn't the fun and games I had thought it would be when I
accepted Duane's invitation to join his staff.  But, on the other
hand, I got to watch Duane, Nicholas, James, Katrina and Tasha in
action, and even provide a little help as they lectured, cajoled,
whistled, directed, pointed, stopped, persuaded, maneuvered, and
otherwise controlled the swarm, and actually taught some soccer in
those moments in between.  Davey and Kip were lost to me in the
shuffle, even though they tended to try to hang around me the first
day.  By the end, they had assimilated into the group so well, that I
hardly got to say anything to them all week long.

On Friday, Duane took all of his assistants out for a nice dinner
after the clinic had finished.  I borrowed my brother Mike's car, and
met them downtown at The Great Midwest Steakhouse, one of the most
expensive restaurants in town.  The others were already there,
looking at their menus, when I arrived.

"Ah, Sean, welcome," said Duane.  "No date tonight?  I thought you
would bring a girlfriend."

I shrugged as I sat down at one of the two empty seats at the table.
"I'm not really dating anyone right now," I said.

"Really?"  Nicholas queried in surprise.  "Sorry, I just thought..."
He let it drop.  I wondered what he had heard over the past three
weeks.

"Don't mind him, Sean," interjected Tasha.  "Nick sometimes lets his
mouth do his thinking for him."  She looked over at Nick
affectionately, and patted his hand to lessen the sting of her
comment.  "But he's a loveable old bear, and he means well," she
added.

So, I thought to myself, Nicholas and Tasha are an item, it seems.
But I didn't say anything.

The waiter took our orders for drinks and appetizers, and when the
drinks arrived, Duane asked for our attention.

"If I may, I would like to propose a toast.  To my friends, here at
table, you have made these weeks fly by effortlessly.  I could never
have run these clinics without your help.  Nicholas, my trusted
assistant, who has been a part of my support staff for so long, and
will be returning with me to Germany; Katrina, the lovely midfielder,
returning to UCLA for her senior year; James, an extraordinary
goalkeeper, who, I am certain, will enjoy a very successful
professional career; Tasha, who is due to return to her duties at
Arizona, I hope you discovered some new talent for your future teams,
my dear; to my brothers, Yuri and Anik, who, even though they are not
here with us tonight, still have been an intregal part of the success
of these past weeks; and, of course, to the newest member of our
staff, the young defensive specialist, Sean, who has so many
wonderful games yet to play over the next several years.  You are,
each and every one, special to me.  Salud!"

We all clinked our glasses together, thanking Duane for his kindness.

"Ah, but I am not through yet, my friends."  He reached into his
jacket pocket and brought out several envelopes.  As he passed them
out to each of us, he continued, "Here is a small token of my
gratitude for the help you have provided.  And, of course, if you are
ever in Bremen," he added with a smile, "My wife Francesca and I
would be honored if you would stay with us."

The conversation around the table broke down into reminiscences
about the clinics they had run, both here and in other locales.  I
sat and listened, mostly, content to sit and enjoy hearing the
stories.  Even though I was, by several years, the youngest person at
the table, and even, in soccer terms, the least experienced person at
the table, I wasn't uncomfortable, since everybody effortlessly
included me in their circle of conversation.  I really felt as if I
were a comrade, a fellow player of the game.




Jake Lehigh had been working out at the YMCA gym a lot, trying to
muscle up for football, and the time he spent with free weights was
making a difference.  He played tackle, on both sides of the ball, so
he felt that he needed to work on his strength conditioning to be a
better player.  He had grown quite a bit over the past couple of
years, and had bulked up from his workouts, and he now was a very big
guy, for a kid who was just past his sophomore year of high school,
nearly six feet tall, and weighing over 200 pounds.  All summer, he
had been bugging me to join him at the gym, and I had been trying to
get him to go running with me, but he hated to run, and I wasn't a
weightlifting kind of guy, so we didn't get together much for a
workout.

We finally made a deal, and decided that I would work out with him
at the gym, so I could work on my upper-body strength, and then we
would go for a run, so we could work on his wind and his stamina.

He showed me how to use the machines in the exercise room, moving
with me from machine to machine.  He figured out a good rotation, and
followed me around, explaining each machine's functions and the
muscle groups they were designed to strengthen.  We did two rotations
around the room, and by the time I was done, my arms were shaking and
sweat was running down my back.  Jake still looked like he had barely
started his workout, even though he usually doubled the amount of
weight when he used the machines.  When we were done with the
machines, we went back into the locker room to change into fresh
socks and running shoes, and then we headed outside to pound the
pavement.  I had mapped out an easy three mile loop, staying on
relatively flat ground, to ease him into it, and we headed out at an
easy jog.

By the time we were back in sight of the YMCA parking lot, Jake was
laboring, his weight shifting side to side and his strides shortened
up, and he was gasping for breath.  I was feeling like my legs were
warmed up and ready for a workout, while my shoulders, chest, and
arms were starting to tighten up from our previous workout.  We
slowed to a walk, using the last couple of blocks to cool down.  We
got to the front door, and headed slowly toward the locker room.
Jake staggered to a bench by our lockers, and sat down heavily, head
bowed, his arms resting on his knees as he caught his breath.  I
opened my locker, and pulled out a towel.  I sat next to him on the
bench, and began unlacing my shoes, the towel draped around my neck.

He glanced over at me tiredly and said, "You do that all the time?
That's harder than I thought."

I shrugged.  I could sympathize, since even shrugging was painful
for me after the workout with the weights.  "It's all in what you're
used to doing," I said.

He just grunted.  Talking hurt when you were that tired.

We stumbled to the showers and let the stinging spray do what it
could to revive us.  Wrapping towels around our waists, we shuffled
back to our lockers to get dressed.

"Hey, Sean, remember that picnic in the field behind my house last
year?"

Did I ever.  Jake's little sister Kayla and I, hiding in the
basement during the scavenger hunt, and the way the dim light played
on her skin, creating alluring shadows in interesting places.  I
remembered.  "Sure," I said.

"They're gonna do it again," he said.  "Next weekend.  You want to
come over?"

Kayla.  Basement.  Dark.

"Sure," I said.

Damn, something to look forward to.  I couldn't remember the last
time I had that experience, that wasn't connected to soccer.  Even if
Kayla had a boyfriend, a guy can dream, can't he?

"How's Jaimie?" I asked.

He was pulling on a fresh t-shirt.  "She's okay.  We have to do a
lot of sneaking around to get together, though.  It's kind of tough
on her, going around her folks the way we have.  And her sister's
still irritating her."

"Oh, yeah," I said.  "I remember last year, Tara had a bug up her
butt about something."

"That bug is still there.  Jaimie thinks she might know about us,
and she's afraid Tara is going to start blackmailing her or
something.  There's a lot of sibling rivalry shit going on there, I
guess.  Anyway, it creates some tension between Jaimie and me, on top
of it all."

"I can see how it would," I commiserated.

"Almost makes you wonder if this boy-girl thing is worth it
sometimes."  He hesitated, and then confessed, "But then she kisses
me, and we're hanging out together, and..."

"Kinda makes it all worthwhile, huh?" I asked with a grin.

He smiled sheepishly.  "Yup.  A whole lotta worthwhile."  He laughed
out loud.

We walked out to the parking lot, toward Jake's car, when we saw
Josh O'Toole pulling into the lot.  He parked a few spots away from
Jake's car, and was just getting out of the car and reaching back in
for his gym bag when we came up to him.

"Hey, Josh," said Jake.  "You going in for a workout?"

He backed out of his car and slammed the door.

"Yeah, I gotta work off some of this bullshit I've been
accumulating," he said.  He looked disgusted and upset about
something.

"Why?  What's going on?" I asked.

He gave me a sour look.

"Ah, it's nothing, Sean.  Nothing that should concern you, anyway."
He turned his head and spat at his front tire.  "It's my delinquent
sister and her hophead boyfriend.  He gives me the jitters.  I just
don't like him, and I don't like the direction Molly's going, and I
don't know if I can do anything about it."

"What are they doing?" asked Jake.  He knew all about my last
episode with Molly, including the pregnancy scare, but I didn't know
how much Josh knew.  And I certainly wasn't going to tell him.

"Ah, it's nothing specific, you know?  It's just that she's getting
home later and later, and a lot of the time she's a little wasted by
the time she gets home.  She's not real interested in spending any
time with her own friends, she just hangs out with Joey's pals."  He
sighed.  "You know, I really don't want my twin sister to be a Bulls
bitch, but I'm afraid that's where she's headed.  Only she can't see
it."

Molly a Bulls bitch?  That would be a stretch.  We had all heard
stories about the girls who liked to hang around Richie Del Toro and
the Bulls.  I'm sure most of the stories were gross exaggerations,
but even so, some of the tamer rumors included things like slapping
them around to keep them in line, strange initiations, certain
tattoos indicating ownership, and even passing the girls around to
all the guys in the gang after their boyfriends got tired of them.  I
couldn't see Molly O'Toole putting up with any of that from anybody,
much less from a social load like Joey Amonte.

Besides, we all thought the Bulls were kind of directionless, since
Richie, their founder and Fearless Leader, was still in the pokey.

Jake and I walked over to Jake's car, and tossed our gym bags into
the back seat.  Josh was trudging toward the front door as we pulled
out of the lot.  We were both quiet, thinking our own ugly thoughts
about Joey Amonte and his friends.

Maybe we were wrong about the Bulls.  I hoped not, but we had been
wrong about them before.



(Continued in Chapter 11)
<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+