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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 12/41 (mf soccer)
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Date: Sat,  9 Jul 2005 00:10:04 -0400
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And the adventure continues...

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

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, "PTW12.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)

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




- 12 -


HAZING THE FRESHMEN



A couple of weeks before Labor Day, our school was holding team
tryouts for the fall sports, including football and boy's soccer.
Coach Neville already had several positions filled, from returning
starters and reserves.  Kevin Soranno, Trent Abbott and Mike Evanson
were returning as seniors, and Eric Johnson, Anthony Rogers and I
were returning juniors from the starting lineup of a year ago.  In
addition, Jorge Mendoza, a sophomore, was taking over the starting
keeper duties from John Pennington, who had graduated in the spring,
and there were a number of kids who had either sat on the Varsity
bench, or had played as freshmen or sophomores on the JV team, who
were ready to take the step up to be a starter on the Varsity team.
I could tell that Coach felt really good about the team, starting
out with so many returning players.  Since we had won the conference
title last year, and we were fielding quite a few veterans, we would
be the team to beat this year.  The seven of us were there first
thing, the first day of tryouts, helping take the other hopefuls
through their paces.  We did a lot of running, so that Coach Neville
and his two assistants could evaluate fitness and conditioning, and
we helped run the dribbling and passing tests that they were using.

There were about 50 guys who were trying out for the Junior Varsity
and the Varsity teams, and we would need about 20 players for each
team.  The first cut, after the second day of tryouts, took the
hopefuls down to 40.  Now, Coach had to decide which players would
most benefit the Varsity team, and which would play better on JV.

There was one kid in particular, a freshman named Adam Prince, who
managed to really get on my nerves, in less than a week at tryouts.
He dogged me at every opportunity, during every drill he could.  It
was almost as if he wanted me to blow up at him.  But I kept my cool,
and kept my distance from him whenever I could.

By the end of the week, the rosters for both teams had been set, and
we could start learning each other's strengths and weaknesses on the
field.  The only sour note was that Adam was assigned as the nominal
freshman to the Varsity team.  He was good, perhaps even good enough
to play on the Varsity team, but I didn't like him.

On Saturday, our club team played, and Eric, Jorge and I got another
couple of hours of soccer played.  By Sunday, I had had about 4
straight weeks of soccer, and I was looking forward to a soccer-free
day.  I slept in late, fixed myself pancakes for breakfast, mowed the
lawn, took a nap, washed Michael's car for him (I was building up
favors for when I wanted to borrow it), and Mom fixed an actual sit-
down family dinner, since all of us were home, for a change.  Jake
came over after dinner, and we went out to my driveway and shot
baskets for awhile, before deciding that was way too much like work.
We grabbed some sodas and chips, and flopped down on the floor of the
family room and watched the tube for the rest of the night.

Monday afternoon, the day before school was scheduled to start,
Coach Neville called an early stop to practice.  We all walked off
the field and back to the school, where he led us into an empty
classroom next to the gymnasium.

When we were all seated, he walked up to the chalkboard and quickly
sketched half of a soccer field.

"Okay, boys, listen up here," he called.  "Here are the starting
lineups.  Forward on the left, Trent Abbott.  In the middle, Javier
Perez.  On the right, Jimmy Brooks.  Midfielders will be Eric Johnson
on the left, Robert Anderson in the middle, and Kevin Soranno on the
right.  Sweeper is Mike Evanson, defenders are Anthony Rogers on the
left, Brett Oldman in the stopper position, and Sean Porter will be
on the right.  In goal will be keeper Jorge Mendoza."

"Coach?" came a voice from the back.  Adam Prince stood up.  "Can we
challenge for a position?"

"After the first game, you can challenge for any position, Adam.
We'll set up a two-on-two challenge ladder.  The challenger will
pick a teammate, and the man in the position being contested will
pick a teammate, and they will play a two-on-two game.  The first
team to score five points will acquire the position."

"When can we start planning challenges?"  The kid was persistent.

Coach sighed.  "After the first game, Adam.  Let's concentrate on
starting the season on a winning note first, okay?"  Coach still had
the chalk in his hand, and now he tapped it against the desk to
drive home the importance of his message.  "This challenge ladder
will not be used to divide this  team, gentlemen.  If I don't think
the challenge has merit, I will not approve it.  Understood, Mr.
Prince?"

Adam sat back down.  He didn't look the least bit admonished.
"Understood, sir," he said.

He dropped the chalk back in the tray, anxious to get the meeting
back on track.  "Everybody will be expected to work hard this week,"
he continued.  "Our first game is this Friday, against Oak Grove.
They will play us hard; in fact, I don't anticipate we will have any
easy games this year, but they still are one of the weaker teams in
the conference, so I'm confident that we will be able to control the
pace of the game.  All of you know how to play soccer, but our
conditioning worries me a little, so we will concentrate more on
strength and wind this week, and less on practicing set plays."
There was a collective groan throughout the room at that news.  It
meant there would be a lot of running laps around the track that
circled the football field.  It was boring, but necessary.

"Quiet, now, please," he admonished.  "The next order of business is
to elect team captains.  Last year," he continued, "we had some
success using two captains, a defensive captain and an offensive
captain.  I think we should use the same configuration this year.
Any comments?"

"Yeah," piped up Eric.  "Kevin can be pretty offensive, I nominate
him for captain."

After the laughter died down, Coach Neville said, "That's not quite
what I had in mind, but I will accept the nomination, just the
same."  He wrote Kevin's name down on the board.  "Any other
nominations?"

Jorge said, "How about Sean for defensive captain?"

Before I had a chance to react, Coach Neville said, "Okay, good,"
and he wrote my name down.

I stood up.  "Coach?  As much as I appreciate Jorge's nomination, I
think that the captains should be chosen from the seniors on the
team.  After all, they will be the real leaders of the team, and this
is their last season.  Because of this, I respectfully request that
my name be withdrawn, and Mike Evanson's name be placed for
nomination, instead."  I sat back down, not looking around.

There was the murmur of whispered comments throughout the room.
Coach considered my statement for a moment before commenting.

"Quiet, please," he called out.  "I have always been of the opinion
that the best man for the job should be considered, despite
questions of age or class ranking.  However, this is a team decision,
and if the rest of you concur with Mr. Porter's suggestion, I would
have no objection.  Shall we have a show of hands?"

And it was done.  Mikey and Kevin were elected team co-captains, by
acclamation.  Coach Neville dismissed us, and as we were shuffling
out of the room, he called, "Mr. Porter?  Mr. Mendoza?  May I see
you both for a moment?"

Jorge and I hung back.  Eric gave me a questioning look, but I just
shrugged.  His guess was as good as mine.

After everybody had filed out of the room, Coach leaned back against
the teacher's desk in the corner of the room.

"Sean, that was a magnanimous gesture you made.  On behalf of the
other members of the team, I thank you."  He removed his glasses,
absent-mindedly polishing them against his shirt.  "However, whether
you like it or not, almost everybody on the team will be looking to
you for leadership.  Your awards from last season alone make you
stand out, Sean, not only here at this school, but throughout the
conference.  You can expect that every team will be focused on your
area of the field, putting their best players on you whenever
possible.  You are not the unknown quantity you were last season,
when you were thrust into a starter's role."  He paused, and put his
glasses back on.  He looked at me, examining me as if trying to see
inside me, trying to see what I was made of.  I wasn't sure I could
stand up under that kind of examination for long.  "Mr. Evanson and
Mr. Soranno have been elected captains, but you must plan on taking
on the role of team leader this season, anyway.  Do you agree?"

I just nodded in compliance.  I would try my best.  How good I would
be as a leader remained to be seen.

"Now, Mr. Mendoza," Coach continued, turning to Jorge, "as our
starting goalkeeper, you will be in charge of our defense during the
game.  It will be up to you to recognize and evaluate the dangers as
teams test our defense, right from the start.  You must have the
respect of your fellow teammates, or they will not react in a timely
fashion.  This responsibility supercedes the captaincy bestowed upon
Mr. Evanson, do you understand?"

Jorge also nodded.

"You, too, because of your position on the field, will be looked
upon as a leader of this team.  It's a lot of responsibility for a
sophomore to carry, but I know you are more than capable."

He glanced back at me.  "Sean, I expect you to lead by example in
this manner.  Many of our players, particularly the younger ones,
will be emulating you as much as they can on the field.  Conversely,
some of the upperclassmen might chafe at taking direction from a
sophomore, no matter his position or ability.  I will leave it to
you, along with Mike and Kevin, to make sure any insecurities within
the team will be properly addressed."  Coach stood suddenly, and
thrust out his hand to Jorge, who shook  it.  Coach then held his
hand out to me to shake.

"Good.  It's done, then.  Good luck, gentlemen.  Lead your team
well, and I will help all I can."



The next day, we had our first day of school.  Actually, it was only
a half day, each class shortened to about 20 minutes long, just
enough time for the teachers to pass out books, and let us know what
we were to expect during the coming school year.  It was also a day
we could harass the incoming  freshmen, when they got lost and
couldn't find their classrooms.

I hated it.  It's not that I necessarily hated school, but when
classes started before Labor Day, it meant, in essence, the end of
summer.  The weather was still warm, the leaves were still green -
hell, it was still August, for God's sake! - but our independence was
a thing of the past once again.

And, of course, there were some teachers who couldn't resist the
temptation to assign homework, even on the first, abbreviated day of
school, so by the time I got home after soccer practice, I had to
hit the books.

And the telephone lines began humming all around town, right after
the dinner hour.  Kids were calling each other, comparing class
schedules, catching up on summer gossip, and reconnecting with pals.
Josh, Eric, and Jorge called me, and I called Becky, Trent, and Jake,
and got their schedules, and we were ready for a brand new year of
school.

By the end of the week, most of us were bored with misdirecting the
freshmen, and we fell back into the routines that would carry us
through the year.  Most of my friends were in one or another of my
classes.  Molly was in my math class, and she had probably changed
the most, of all the kids I knew.  She had put a garish yellow
blonde streak in one side of her reddish hair, and she looked pale
and thin and unhappy.  Curiously, she either skipped out on the math
class, or maybe she had called in sick for the entire day, for two
out of the four days of that first week.  It was completely unlike
her.

On the other hand, I found a bunch of friends in my study hall,
including both Kayla and Jaimie, new freshmen this year, along with
Eric and Tiny, and the five of us managed to commandeer a corner,
circling our desks as if they were Conestoga wagons under an Indian
attack.

Our game on Friday was an easy win for us.  My summer spent running
was paying big dividends.  I was strong and energetic all game, and
felt like I could have played another 90 minutes by the final
whistle.  Coach Neville left me in for the whole game, and we walked
away with a 6-1 victory.  The stands were more than half full, a
huge turnout for a sport that was perceived to be boring to watch, a
show of support from our school for a team that had aspirations of a
good showing in the playoffs in a couple of months.

Because of our success the previous year, our local newspaper was
covering every soccer game, and writing up an article every week.
Their reporter was a thin, nerdy looking guy with thick glasses,
several pens sticking out of his shirt pocket, and baggy cotton
slacks.  I couldn't help thinking that they could have chosen a more
athletically inclined reporter to cover local sports, but he was who
they sent, so he was who I talked to, after the game.  His name was
Matthew Hartigan, and he was earnest and serious in the presence of
a high-school team riding high on their first win of the season.  It
almost wasn't fair, and I almost felt sorry for him.  Almost.

Still, I answered his questions, introduced him to our co-captains,
and left him with Coach Neville before rejoining my comrades in
celebrating our victory.  It was the beginning of our long holiday
weekend, and I was looking forward to it.




(Continued in Chapter 13)
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