Message-ID: <51556asstr$1121771404@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Mail-Format-Warning: No previous line for continuation: Wed Aug 14 16:30:23 2002Return-Path: <revcottonmather@hotmail.com> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Message-ID: <BAY20-F314EDE8BF45C657C8D897EA4D50@phx.gbl> X-Originating-Email: [revcottonmather@hotmail.com] From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com> X-OriginalArrivalTime: 18 Jul 2005 21:33:07.0101 (UTC) FILETIME=[497114D0:01C58BE0] X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 18 Jul 2005 16:33:06 -0500 Subject: {ASSM} RP - Playing to Win: Playing the Game II by R.C. Mather 16/41 (mf soccer) Lines: 554 Date: Tue, 19 Jul 2005 07:10:04 -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 X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2005/51556> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, RuiJorge Are we enjoying this retelling? 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, "PTW16.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 - 16 - SUBTLETY AND DEVIOUSNESS Molly was at school the next day, but she looked terrible. No amount of makeup could cover up the big welt by her left temple. It looked like somebody had popped her with something abrasive, and she was walking around school slowly, as if her body hurt, too. At lunchtime, I grabbed Austin, and the two of us went out in search of Josh. We found him outside, sitting under a tree with Andrea and a couple of other kids. "Josh. I need to talk with you, man," I said. He looked up, but made no move to stand. "Sure, Sean. What's up?" "Alone," I said. I knew I was sounding like a bad spy movie, but I didn't have much choice. He made a big production out of packing up the remains of his lunch, standing, and tossing the sack in the general direction of the trash bin. "I'll be right back," he said to his girlfriend, and then he stalked over toward the side of the building, obviously unhappy with the interruption. As we caught up with him, he stopped and turned toward Austin and me. "Okay, we're alone. What's so freaking important?" "Have you seen Molly today?" I asked. His face fell. "Yeah," he admitted. "Looks like she took a hit yesterday." Austin and I told him about what had happened at the barn the previous night. We held nothing back. We didn't want the blow softened at all. In fact, I wanted him mad, as mad as he'd ever been. "Goddamnit. Goddamnit. Goddamnit! Now what?" He started pacing back and forth. He stopped and took two steps back to us. "What can we do about it? Have you got a plan?" "No, I don't," I admitted. "But we don't have much time. It looks like she's the property of Del Toro now, but who knows what'll happen if he gets tired of her, or she pisses him off somehow." "Shit, I know what'll happen to her. The same thing that's happening to Pammy right now," he said disgustedly. "I don't know if we can do anything about Pammy, anyway, even if we can remove Molly from the situation," Austin said. "From what I've heard, she might be there willingly." "Shit," I said. "What kind of a girl would want to get involved with the Bulls willingly?" "Don't go there," warned Josh. "It cuts a little close to home." "Yeah, sorry," I apologized. "I've gotta get her out of this," he said, almost to himself. "But how?" "I don't know, but we're going to need a plan," I said. "And some help," added Austin. "Yeah, you're right," agreed Josh. "You're both right. Man, I just want to kidnap her right now, but I know that's no good," he added. "I would bet she's about ready to try to get herself loose of the Bulls," I said. "Molly's never been the kind of girl who would put up with that kind of shit. They've just got her beaten down right about now." "Still, it's coming up on the weekend. What can we do quickly?" he asked. "I don't know. I've got a game tonight, and you've got a football game tomorrow afternoon. The soonest we're going to be able to plan anything out is probably either tomorrow morning, or Sunday morning." I knew none of us wanted to wait that long, but it didn't look like we had a choice. "And what if Jilly gets tired of her after tonight?" asked Josh sourly. "Does she become community property tomorrow? Fuck!" "Josh, do you think you can talk to her, maybe find out what she's thinking?" Austin was thinking out loud. "If she's a willing conspirator, it might make it easier to get her out." "I don't know. Wait a minute," he said. He looked over to where his girlfriend was sitting. I had noticed that she was glancing over toward us occasionally, and looking very concerned. "Andi, can you come over here for a minute?" he called. "This is about Molly, right?" she asked as she joined us. "Yeah, how did you know?" I asked. She gave me a look, as if I was the dumbest creature she had ever had the misfortune to come across. It was a look I was getting used to seeing, unfortunately. She turned to Josh, holding onto his shirt front for emphasis. "I didn't want to bring it up to you, not until you mentioned it first. But you've got to help her, Josh. She's in bad trouble, hanging around the Bulls, and the longer she stays with them, the worse it's going to get." "Well, it's already started to get worse, according to Sean and Austin," Josh said. We gave her the condensed version of the story. Andrea was a bright girl, and I knew she would be able to fill in the blanks without difficulty. She listened without comment, until we finished. "So what are you planning?" she asked. "That's just it, we don't have a plan," complained Josh. "Sean's got a game tonight, we're at an away game tomorrow. It looks like we really can't get together and work anything out until Sunday." "That's okay," said Andrea. "Let's plan on meeting on Sunday afternoon. That'll give me time to find out what I can, and maybe recruit some help." "Don't be talking up this story," admonished Austin. "We don't want too many people knowing about this. And we really don't want Del Toro and his thugs to hear about it." I was gratified to see that Andrea didn't reserve those 'you are an idiot' looks for just me, as Austin was rewarded with one. "Gee, you think?" she said sarcastically. "Believe it or not, boys, I can be subtle and devious when I want to be." "Of course you can, baby," soothed Josh. "You're a girl, after all." The soccer team had to leave school about an hour early. Our game was at Lincoln Valley High School, over an hour away by bus. We were undefeated so far, and we were determined to stay that way, all the way to the State Championships. About midway through the season, Trent Abbott was the leading scorer in our conference, and Eric Johnson had the most assists. Most of our opponents had opened their offensive sets by testing our right side, mostly to see if it was as strong as rumored. Between Kevin Soranno in the midfield, me as defenseman, and Brett Oldman and Jorge Mendoza minding the net, nobody had yet scored by attacking that side. Even after switching to the left, they still had to contend with Brett and Jorge, along with Mike Evanson plugging up the middle, and a very tenacious Anthony Rogers roaming the defensive turf over there. In six games played so far, we had only had 4 goals scored on us. By contrast, we had never scored less than 5 goals, and our offensive production totaled 38 goals. We were a scoring machine. Even Coach Neville, a history teacher and a man prone to worry, seemed relatively relaxed and confident. According to the scouting reports, Lincoln Valley had a moderately strong team. Study of the film at Thursday's practice had shown us that they had some weakness in the middle, but their defenders seemed capable, and they were especially strong at stopper and keeper, the two key defensive positions. They were strong enough, it seemed, to be able to cancel out the deficiencies of their center midfielders and forwards, as they had only lost one game so far, to perennial powerhouse Rockton Heights. When we got to the field, there was a slight drizzle falling. On the one hand, that would slow down the ball for our quick offense, but on the other hand, we might be able to press their middle harder in slower conditions. We unloaded our gear and hauled it over to the playing field, and got ready to warm up. Eric and I liked to take a couple of quick laps around the perimeter of the playing field before we started, just to limber up a little, and we took off while the rest of the team stretched and finished putting on their shin guards and shoes. On our first circuit, we were just passing the goal where some of the Lincoln Valley players were warming up, taking practice shots on an empty net. I heard one of them say to a teammate, "Look at that. Chocolate and vanilla." His friend answered, "Yeah, all they need now is a freakin' Indian, and they could call themselves the Neapolitans." This comment was apparently hilarious, as several of the players began laughing uproariously. I could sense Eric stiffening beside me, but we kept on jogging around, doing our best to distance ourselves from the other team. On our next time around their net, I noticed that several of their players were clustered together. "I sure hope they don't try to play us too close today," Eric said, just loudly enough to be overheard by the group. "Just in case their stupidity is contagious." "Hey!" I heard one of the guys yell out to us. I glanced back, and a couple of the players were being held back by their teammates, apparently taking Eric's remark a little too personally. "Way to go, Eric. Get them riled up before we take the field. Good plan," I said sourly. He gave me a big, toothy grin. "You been gettin' it too easy lately, Porter. I'm just tryin' to ratchet up the competition for you, so the press will notice you again. You can thank me later." "Did you notice," I pointed out, "that it wasn't me who was mouthing off to them?" "Mmm...hmmm," he replied. "And don't you think they'll target the one with the big mouth?" "Uh-uh," he said with a smile. "They're gonna think twice about focusing on a poor token colored player like me. They hardly even saw me when we were going past them. Besides, we all look alike to crackers like those guys. But you..." He grinned, and nodded at me with satisfaction. "You, they'll recognize. And focus." "Focus," I repeated disgustedly. "What a pal. Just what I need, a little focus." "You're welcome," he said, even though I didn't remember thanking him. They focused, all right. On their first offensive possession, they attacked our right side, throwing every available player into my sector. Kevin Soranno came back to try to help out when he saw them cluster, and I moved up to meet the ball handler. Two other Lincoln Valley players came up and sandwiched me, trying to take me out of the play as I moved on the ball. Brett stayed home, guarding his turf, but Mikey Evanson slid over to help out, trying to cut off a passing lane. Robert Anderson, from his offensive midfield position, dropped back to cover Mike's area, and Anthony, on the left, was all alone. He slid up to help Brett and Jorge protect the net. As the two forwards converged on me, I put on the brakes, digging my heels in for traction. I stopped, but they didn't, and they ended up colliding with each other, falling over each other to the ground. I dropped and tackled the ball out from beneath the ball handler's foot, right past Mikey, who had the good sense to let it go. The ball scooted over to Robert, who deftly trapped it, and passed it up to Eric. Eric one-touched it over to Javier, our forward in the middle, and he juked the last remaining defender before tapping it over to Trent, who shot a bullet into the back of the net. As everybody was untangling themselves from my corner of the field, I heard one of the Lincoln Valley players say to another, "We'll get him next time." "Yeah," came the reply, "we'll have to work him on an angle next time, so he can't evade." "Work it any way you want to, little boys," I said to them. "It'll still result in a goal against." They spun around to glare at me. I just shrugged at them. "Didn't you see what just happened? Play the ball, not the position. It's not that difficult a concept." "Go fuck yourself, Mr. All-Stater," came the reply. I sighed. "Or try it again, if you think it's such a good plan," I said. They worked hard at ignoring me. At the kickoff, they worked the same play back over to my side. I had seen how they operated, and I didn't have any worries that they would be a threat on goal, so I backpedaled as the same two guys came at me again, one down the sideline and the other from midfield. The ball was in play up by Kevin, and Brett and Mikey covered the passing lanes into the middle, so I kept moving back, until the two chasing me were well beyond where they intended to be. I stopped and waited for them to get closer, and then I sidestepped, quickly shuffling to my left a half-dozen times. By the time the Lincoln Valley duo realized that I wasn't there anymore, they were a little confused. The ball handler, with Kevin harassing him, had two options. He could either do the conservative, and correct, thing by passing back so they could restart their offense, or he could do the foolhardy play by passing forward to the two bozos up by me, getting in each other's way. He chose to advance the ball, no doubt the echoes of his poor coaching ringing in his ears about moving the ball forward at every opportunity. He passed it to Bozo Number One, with Bozo Number Two at his side, and nowhere to go. He was pinned in the corner, with me, Brett and Jorge between him and the net, and nobody from his team anywhere in his range, except, of course, for Bozo Two, who was practically standing next to him. I was crouched in front of him, knees bent and on my toes, ready for him to move. "Take the shot," I said to him. He was jigging the ball back and forth, trying to find an opening. "What?" he said, unsure if he had heard me correctly. "I said, take the shot," I repeated. "Shoot it now, or I'll come over there and take the ball away from you." Bozo Two, in the meantime, circled around me, no doubt thinking he would outsmart me by getting between me and the goal, even though I had plenty of goalside help. I moved to the side slightly, staying between the two of them, even though I was pretty sure Bozo Two wouldn't know what to do with the ball even if he was fortunate enough to be able to chase down a pass from Bozo One. Bozo One hesitated just long enough, so I took a step toward him. He did the only thing he could do, which was to take a very weak shot at the corner post. It dribbled right to Jorge, who scooped it up, took four steps, and punted the ball to the midfield stripe, where, to almost nobody's surprise, Robert just happened to be waiting. He leapt up, and headed the ball over to Trent. Trent let the ball hit his chest, and it dropped to his feet. He moved down the left sideline another few meters, and crossed a pass across the face of the goal, about 10 meters out, and Javier knocked it in for our second goal in less than five minutes of play. Bozo One turned to Bozo Two and said in amazement, "How did that happen?" I laughed out loud. They both looked at me as if I had lost my mind, as they started jogging back to their side of the field. "It must have been an accident," I said. "It just couldn't have happened on purpose, could it?" They both stopped and stared at me. "You can't tell us that was a designed play," Bozo One said. I just shook my head at their foolishness. "Are you two yutzes so inept you can't recognize the consequences of your own bad judgment?" I asked. They both got stony looks on their faces. "Okay, Glory Boy," said Bozo One. "We'll see who's laughing last, asshole." "You guys will be so out of breath by the time you get done running at me and getting beaten off the ball, you won't have the energy to laugh," I said. "Now shoo. I've got a soccer game to play. Join in, if you can figure out how to play the game." I thought they might come after me at that, but the referee was looking right at them, waiting for them to get back across the line, and they had no choice but to fall back for the restart. During the delay, their coaches must have sent out instructions for the offense to try attacking our left side instead, for the ball ended up over there on the next play. Bozos One and Two plunged their way up and into the middle, effectively keeping the ball out of harm's way for us. I watched them run around without purpose, and had to wonder at the shallow pool of talent that their hapless coach must have had available to him, to have to start those two. It almost made me feel sorry for them. Late in the first half, the ball got knocked over toward the right side again, and somehow Bozo One managed to trap and hold it. Before he could move, I closed on him and got enough toe on the ball to kick it out of bounds. Bozo Two came up to throw in, and the Poor Coaching Principle reared its ugly head for them once again. His instructions, I was sure, were to throw the ball upfield, no matter what, so that's what he set up to do. The only player upfield for him to throw to was Bozo One, and I was all over him. He threw it anyway, and I stepped in front of Bozo One, trapped the ball, juked around the slow and stupid Bozo Two, and carried the ball all the way up the field. Kevin dropped back to cover my assignments as I dribbled up, and Jimmy Brooks, our right forward, moved over to take the cross, pulling his defender with him. There was no one around me, and nobody challenging me. They probably were so drilled about staying in their positions or on their assignment, that they had no idea about improvisation on the field, which certainly made it very easy for me. A defenseman bringing the ball upfield was completely foreign to them, apparently, and they had no contingency plan for it. I knew my team was covering and supporting me as I took the ball in, just as I could observe that our opponents were moving indecisively in their positions. The defender stayed with Jimmy, and their stopper was forced to come out and challenge me. I head-faked him, moved around his flank, and challenged the keeper. He had to come out of the net to me, so that he could cut down on my shooting angles, but he was dead in the water, and he knew it. I passed the ball off the outside of my left foot over to Trent. The keeper scrambled over to cover Trent, giving him the opportunity to one- touch the ball back to me, leaving the keeper slipping in the damp grass, trying in vain to change direction. Trent put the ball right on my foot, and it was too easy to hit the back of the net. The goal put us up 5-0, and it wasn't even halftime yet. By the end of the game, Coach Neville had pulled Anthony, Jimmy, Mikey and me, preferring to save us for another time. Since Trent was the conference-leading scorer, Coach left him in to score at will, which he did. He also let Eric continue playing, since he was very proficient at feeding Trent. At the final whistle, the score was 11-0, and Lincoln Valley was demoralized. After we had lined up to shake hands with our opponents, I heard Bozo One and Bozo Two talking as they passed me, heading back toward their bench. "Could you believe that guy?" said One. "What did he score? Six goals?" "Un-fucking-believable," said Two. "Shit, I'm the second-leading scorer on our team, and I've only gotten 6 goals all season." I laughed, causing them to stop and turn to look at me. "Six goals all season, and you're the second-leading scorer for your team? Hell, I play defense, and I've scored four goals this season." I pointed to Trent. "See that guy? He had 24 goals, coming into this game. You want me to find you a calculator so you can figure out his current total?" "Ah, fuck you, and the monkey you rode in on," said Two, but there really wasn't any heat in it. He was too tired and too dispirited to work up any real anger. As I was walking back to our bench with Mikey and Eric, I saw the Lincoln Valley coaching staff trotting over toward us. Coach Neville saw it, too, and came out to intercept, thinking that perhaps they were upset over the trash talk during and after the game. "Sean Porter?" inquired Lincoln Valley's head coach. I nodded. He held out his hand. "My name is John Caruthers, Sean, and I'm the interim head coach here." Coach Neville came up. "May I help you, Coach?" he asked, trying to head off any potential trouble. "No, Coach," replied Mr. Caruthers. "I just wanted to bring my staff over to meet your star player. Sean, I had heard about you, of course, but your reputation has not been exaggerated. I just wanted to tell you that I was very impressed with your play out there against us." "Well, thank you, Coach," I answered as I shook his hand. "I gather you were doing a little teaching out there," he said with a smile. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean," I said uncertainly. "My left offensive team," he said. "They're a little thick-headed about taking instruction from me or my staff, I'm afraid. Think they know it all, seen it all, you know the type. They've been successful, in spite of themselves, so far this season. Anyway, I wanted to thank you for helping me, by showing them the error of their ways." "I did that? What did I do?" I asked. "Well," he said with a rueful chuckle, "aside from shutting down their movement of the ball, providing secondary assists to the first three goals your team scored, intercepting our throw-in and taking the ball all the way down the field unimpeded to score another goal, essentially plugging up your side of the field from the net to practically the midfield stripe, plus actually telling Bruce and Jack what to do to improve their play, you didn't do much." He paused, turned to Coach Neville, and said, "I don't suppose you'd consider a two-for-one trade, would you? My left mid and left forward for your right defender?" I assumed that Bruce and Jack were probably the Bozo Brothers, and I was a little insulted that Coach Caruthers would think that I might be worth those two. However, both coaches burst out laughing. Personally, I thought they were a little off their rockers, but maybe it was a coaching thing. Or an adult thing, of which I was just as oblivious. Eric and Mikey and I continued on toward the sidelines, leaving the coaches to their odd sense of amusement. On the bus ride back to school, we were all in high spirits from our win. A bunch of us were in the back of the bus, laughing and swapping tall tales about our heroics on the field. As we pulled into the school parking lot, Eric said, "Hey, Sean, I hate to bring up what might be a sore subject, but who you taking to Homecoming next week?" I sat back in my seat, a little shocked. Homecoming was already only a week away? And me, with no girlfriend, no date, and no prospects. Becky hated me, and Kristina's father hated me. Oh, great. "Thanks for reminding me that I'm going solo," I muttered. Eric was just barely hiding his smirk, and Trent was elbowing him in amusement over my predicament. Practical jokers. You gotta love 'em, I thought to myself. If you don't, you're liable to kill 'em. (Continued in Chapter 17) <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}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+