I got em out there and Coach started grabbing guys one by one. “You,” he said, pulling Brian and then Elvis out of the pack
and pushing them onto the sideline, “and you, line up over there.” He kept grabbing guys. “You, and you, and you, over there.”
Finally fifteen guys were separated from the rest, and I think pretty much everybody’d figured out that he had picked all
the ones who’d been in the brawl. He turned his back to the others and said to those fifteen, “I do not believe that fighting
makes you tough.” They looked down.
Then Coach spun and pointed at the rest of the team. “But I know, I
know
that standing on the sidelines watching makes you a coward. Now the rest of y’all don’t know what it means to be a team,
and I don’t want to see you on my field again. You go on and go home. Go on!”
It was like the air went out of everybody, me included. Abel, who had watched from the sideline when Yash raced onto the field,
said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Coach turned his back on him.
I could hardly believe it myself, but I knew one thing: Buster Sawyer never said anything just for effect. He had just fired
thirty-three guys off his football team. That just left Brian Schuler, Sherman Naters, Yash Upshaw, Snoot Nino, Elvis Jackson,
and ten other guys who, as Coach said, knew what it meant to be a team. Well they’d really be finding out now.
Coach stepped in front of Elvis. “You fumble my ball one more time, and I will not give you a second chance.” He paused. “See
y’all Monday.”
• • •
I spent every spare minute at the hospital, but now they were telling me Bev was intentionally being kept in a coma. The hospital
wasn’t saying much—covering their own tails if you ask me—but this was sounding more serious than I feared.
I sat outside Bev’s room most of the day Sunday and finally went to church that night. After the service, where we prayed
for Bev, Coach told me, “Got to face the music in the most public place we can.”
“We?”
“You’re not still with me?”
“Course, but I got enough enemies in this town. Former employees, for instance.”
“So, I’m on my own.”
“What are you asking me to do?” I said.
“Sit with me at breakfast at Tee’s before school.”
“That’s pretty public, all right.”
“That’s the idea.”
“At least Tee’s boy is still on the team.”
Back at the hospital that night, I told Rachel. “I’ll be there too then,” she said.
“Rachel …”
“I
will
. Anybody with a brain knows Coach did the right thing.”
“Cept the kids who got booted and their parents.”
“They’re wrong, that’s all.”
“Yeah, but the man kicked kids off the team for
not
fighting, Rachel.”
“That’s why I’ll be with him and you tomorrow morning, Daddy.”
I called Coach and told him.
“Well,” he said, “she won’t be the only teenager at our table. My nephew will be there too.”
• • •
Next morning, Tee’s was packed and people were waiting for tables. But like she’d known we were coming, Tee left one open,
and Elvis pointed us to it when we walked in the door. The place went quiet, but Coach, cool as a poker player, ordered as
soon as he sat down across from Brian.
Just over my left shoulder at the next table sat Abel Gordon, his dad, Andy, and Josie. Out of the corner of my eye I sensed
Andy’s hateful stare. He didn’t say anything till our food arrived and we had just looked up from praying.
“Schuler’s a danged lunatic,” he said, loud enough for everybody in the place. Several obviously agreed. “You don’t punish
players for not fighting, especially during senior season when college is on the line.”
“Pass the salt,” Buster said quietly.
“And that assistant coach is softer than a Georgia peach with rain rot.”
Now I’m a Christian, but I confess that’s not what I was thinking just then. Rachel’s mouth was thin and tight and her eyes
had narrowed. I kept chewing, trying to be an example. Brian was looking between Coach and me, as if wondering who was gonna
be the one to shut the guy’s mouth.
“No wonder Schuler’s own son—”
Rachel dropped her fork and it clanged so loud everybody jumped, and Big Mouth actually shut up for a second.
“Ain’t it funny,” Rachel said aloud, “how the dumbest people always have the most to say?”
Coach stared at her with admiration, and Brian looked like he was about to burst out laughing. Andy Gordon’s chair scraped
the floor and he stood. “You ought to teach your daughter to keep her mouth shut!”
I swallowed. There’s a limit to what a man will take, and Mr. Gordon had just stepped past mine. I’ve had laid-off workers
and their families call me everything in the book, but you say something about Rachel, you’re gonna answer to me.
My heart was racing, and as I stood, so did Brian, but Coach stopped him with a gesture and he sat back down. Now all I could
see was Andy Gordon’s sneer. “Maybe you ought to watch your mouth,” I said, and he stood there with his eyes locked on mine,
hands on his hips. I’m afraid what I mighta done to him if he’d made a move.
Coach stood and whispered, “Sit down now, Sawyer. This is not the place for this.”
He gave me an out, and I took it. But he wasn’t finished with Mr. Gordon. “You know, Andy, if your boy had the fight you had
twenty-five years ago, he’d still be on my team.”
“My son belongs on that football team!” Andy’s voice was shaky. “You just cost him his only chance at a scholarship.”
“Oh, now there it is!” Coach said. “The trouble with you people is that you see me, you see this team, as a gate to greener
pastures. But until you succeed right here, you don’t deserve greener pastures. Your boy and I have different definitions
of success. And I see where he got his.”
Mr. Gordon slapped a bill on the table and walked out, Abel rising slowly to follow. He stopped halfway out and came back
to get Josie, who sat there with a red face, tears streaming. As she stood she looked at Rachel. “This is why I hate football,”
she said.
• • •
That afternoon in the fading twilight, Coach and I stood facing the fifteen remaining players. They looked scared. On the
way out, Coach had told me to say something inspirational.
“Inspirational?” I said.
“You teach Sunday school, don’t ya? Give em something from one a your classes, then I’ll take over.”
“Thanks for the time to think about it.”
“More time I give you, Sawyer, the more you worry and look for reasons to get out of it.”
I couldn’t argue that. And now we were standing there, and he was looking at me. “Boys,” I said, “Gideon went to war against
an army of thousands with only three hundred soldiers, because they were the only men with the guts to fight and win.”
As if we’d rehearsed it, Buster took over. “I can go to war with even less than what’s right here in front of me. So if any
of you are afraid of getting hurt, or of losing, you can leave right now.”
They sat still except for Elvis Jackson, who got up off the bench and slipped past Coach and me. He stopped on the field,
jamming on his helmet and fastening the strap.
Coach came alive. “You know, that’s just what I thought! There is not one quitter on this team! Now the last one off this
bench is gonna run laps. Let’s go!”
The rest leaped up and whooped and hollered. They gathered around Coach and he barked assignments. He told Brian, “Outside
linebacker,” and Elvis, “Safety.”
As Coach continued through the group, Brian edged up to Elvis and pressed his facemask against his. “It’s gonna take more
than speed now, boy. You’re gonna have to show some brains.”
“Just call my number,” Elvis said.
Coach finished and noticed Snoot Nino off to the side, sitting on his helmet.
“Snoot,” he yelled. “C’mere boy!”
Snoot trotted over, but Coach reminded him, “Bring your helmet.”
As Snoot was strapping it on, Coach said, “Outside line-backer and wide receiver.”
Snoot shot him a double take. “You saying I’m gonna play? I mean, during the first three downs?”
Buster put a hand on either side of Snoot’s helmet and pulled him close. “It’s time to run with the big dawgs, son.”
“But, Coach, I’m a kicker. I just kick.”
“You line up on the outside, and if someone throws the ball, you catch it. Now, go!”
He turned to the rest of the team, held his hand out, and said, “Get a paw in! On three, Crusaders! One, two, three!” And
I swear I saw more emotion in those fifteen guys than I’d ever seen on a full team anywhere.
• • •
I wished I could’ve told Bev about it. I spent time outside her door again, wanting her to wake up so bad I could taste it.
When I got home Rachel said Elvis had told her at school that none of the guys thought they’d win another game with just fifteen
players.
I nodded. “Probably can’t, but like you said, Coach did the right thing, so all we can do is the best we can.” I thought a
second. “How much are you seeing of Elvis?”
She looked at me funny. “Just around school. You know I’ll tell you if I start seeing anybody serious.”
I nodded.
“Mr. Kennedy called, looking for Coach.”
“He’s probably at the rehab center. What’d Kennedy want?”
She shrugged.
A few minutes later Coach called. “Kennedy get hold of you?” I said.
“That’s why I’m calling. School board had a meeting tonight and wanted me there. Glad I was unavailable. They want to meet
after school tomorrow in the gym.”
“No practice?”
“Right. And what does meeting in the gym tell you? Bet everybody’ll be there.”
W
ord got around about the meeting, especially when practice was canceled, and the team wanted to be there. Coach told em absolutely
not. He was sure some of the kicked off players would be there, and he knew a lot of their parents would be. Sherman Naters
told him, “We don’t have to be afraid of them. They’re the ones who don’t fight.”
I was frustrated to where I wanted to burst. Only place I wanted to be was the hospital. Rachel said she’d go. “I thought
I’d have to talk you out of going to the big board meeting,” I said.
“Nah,” she said. “They don’t come to mine, I don’t go to theirs. Remember every detail though, Daddy. Oh, I can’t stay long
at the hospital either because of a project.”
I made the mistake of asking her if the project included Elvis Jackson. She held up a hand and looked me in the face. “Daddy,
you’ve got to stop this. I would not be seeing a boy without you knowing it, and certainly not Elvis. If I tell you I’m running
errands or on a project, then that’s what I’m doing. You used to trust me.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” I said. “I still do. It’s just that I know he’s got to be interested in you unless he’s blind.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Anyway, he’s not our kind of a kid.”
“What does that mean?”
“You said yourself he’s not a Christian.”
“He’s more than not a Christian, Dad. He’s anti-everything about it.”
• • •
I was amazed how different the gym looked for the emergency board meeting from what it had looked like for Rachel’s save-the-school
deal—no posters and no big flag. And Coach was right. There were lots a parents there, and they weren’t happy.
The board sat at a straight table in front of everybody, and the five men and two ladies, plus their attorney—Mr. Callman,
shared four microphones. “We have just one agenda item, Mr. Schuler,” Fred Kennedy said, getting right to it. “We’re directing
you to reinstate the thirty-three football players you suspended Friday night.”
Buster, next to me on the front row, stood. “Is there some reason this directive could not have come to me in private or by
phone?”
“I’ll take responsibility for that, Coach,” Kennedy said, and he was squirming. “I don’t guess I figured you’d obey.”
“And you thought by trying to embarrass me in public in front of the parents of the very boys you say I suspended, you’d get
a different reaction to your directive?”
Kennedy started to answer, but Freda Slater, taking notes at the far end of the table, interrupted him. “Excuse me, Mr. Schuler,”
she said, “but are you implying that you did
not
suspend these players?”
“More than implying, ma’am. I did not suspend them.”
“Then perhaps the reason for this meeting is moot.”
“Perhaps.”
“So they’re back on the team?” Kennedy said. “This was just a temporary disciplinary measure?”
“Would that be acceptable?” Coach said, surprising the life outa me.
Kennedy looked like he could breathe again and started gathering his stuff like he was ready to adjourn and go home. “Absolutely,”
he said. “Everyone agree?”
The board members and the attorney nodded and a few parents even clapped.
“So you’re saying,” Coach said, “that if I suspended em for a coupla days, that’s okay, but if I expelled em from the team,
that’s not okay.”
Kennedy looked up and down the table. “Yes,” he said, but he was kinda tentative, like he was afraid of some kinda trap.
“Well, then,” Coach said, “you might want to deal with the fact that I did
not
suspend these boys. I booted em.”
Kennedy cleared his throat. “You heard our directive.”
“I heard you agree they deserved discipline.”
Kennedy sighed. “It’s wrong to fight, Coach Schuler. And thus it’s wrong to be kicked off a team for
not
fighting.”
“You said yourself the boys who watched were in the wrong.”
“I, we, said nothing of the sort.”
“I thought you just finished telling me that if I suspended em that was okay.”
“Yes, but—”
“So you agree they were wrong and needed discipline.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Mr. Schuler.
I—” “I misunderstood you then, sir?”
“No, I—”
“So we’re just debating the severity of the punishment?”
“Well, yes, I suppose.”
“All due respect, sir, but my contract calls for autonomy in dealing with discipline on my team, even to the point of dismissing
players.”