Week 11: Preseason Workout
Language Warning
High school sports are somewhat of a religion in the hills of Eastern Kentucky, especially here in Peril County. Historically, basketball was the biggest sport in the region, but for the past thirty years, it is on the gridiron of the football field that folks in the mountains have devoted much of their fervor. At Peril County High School, Coach Simpson has led his football team to twelve district titles, eight region titles and two state championships over the last 20 years. And many students who have played for Simpson and his staff have gone on to receive collage scholarships and better their lives through football. One student, Wayne Johnson, even played three seasons in the NFL.
Starting at a very early age, Mommy’s and Daddy’s can be found out in any flat piece of land working on passing drills and cover 2 defenses. Little tykes not much higher than your knee are taking out tackling dummies and running high step drills, getting ready for their inevitable future as football stars. Unfortunately, many kids falter under this pressure and scrutiny before they even make it to the high school level. But this season, they have something special. Panther Quarterback Graham Carter may have what it takes to bring home another state championship and move on to play at the next level.
Graham, like so many others before him, started out playing flag football in kindergarten. His dad, Eddie, along with a passel of other fathers, led 20 boys and girls (yes, several girls played on the flag football team) through sweeps and dives, counters and sneaks. In reality, it was just a dash to the outside and hope for the best on most plays. But the kids got to play on the big field and, for the most part, it was all in good fun. But even in those early days, Graham’s dad showed signs of…well, issues, that would continue to resurface as he continued to play ball.
There was one particular game of flag football, when Graham was six, that Eddie had to be escorted from the field. Even at this young age, Graham was much faster and more athletic than the other kids in his grade. A fact which Eddie loved to shout from the sidelines. The first few times, other parents thought it was cute how he cheered on his son. But when things weren’t going Graham’s way, another side of Eddie came out. “Get your ass in there and hold on to the ball!” he yelled at his first grade son after he fumbled in the backfield. “You’re embarrassing yeself and you’re embarrassing me out there, boy!”
“Eddie, pal, take it easy, man,” Coach Simpson said. He’d been the Panther’s coach for ten years at this point and was well respected. If anyone could calm down Graham’s dad, it was the coach.
But Eddie just shook his head and spit some tobacco juice onto the turf. “You saw that, Coach. He can’t be fumbling like that.”
“He’s just six, pal. We ain’t suitin’ him up Friday night. This is supposed to be fun.” Coach Simpson slapped Eddie on the back and jogged out onto the field as Eddie watched on.
Graham was on defense now and had been placed as a linebacker. He was a terror, snatching flags and running circles around the other kids. There was one play, however, where Graham was fooled by a counter and a chubby lineman was able to block him, knocking the boy to the ground. “Get up, ya damn pussy!” his dad yelled.
“Hey, woah!” Coach Simpson shouted as he ran toward Eddie. “Listen,” he said, staring right Eddie’s eyes. “I cannot and will not tolerate that kind of language around these kids. They are here to learn and have fun, not be ridiculed. Your son is gonna be a heck of a ball player, but he’s gonna be a whole lot better if you support him and not hold him back. Now, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. But we got a game next Tuesday, and you’re more than welcome to come back then.”
Eddie puffed up his chest, but decided better than to challenge the much larger coach. He turned and stormed off of the field and out into the parking lot. Graham had gotten back to his feet by this point and saw his old man leaving in a huff. He’d heard what Eddie had said as he lay on the ground. The double punch of his father’s cruel words and seeing him escorted from the field left an indelible mark on the young boy.
Now, just over ten years later, Graham found himself doing preseason workouts in preparation for his senior year as the starting quarterback of the Peril County High School Panthers. The after school workouts started this afternoon and Graham was currently seated in the leg press station. “Let’s go 350,” he said to Jake, his center and spotter for this lift. The large teen nodded and slid a few metal plates onto the machine. Graham quickly blasted out 10 reps and Jake went to rack the weights. “Keep it goin’!” Graham yelled over the banging of the machine.
“We’re doin’ sets a ten today, Chief. Lock it up,” Jake said, again trying to rack the weights for his quarterback.
Graham shook his head and waved for Jake to back off. “Gotta push it!” He struggled and strained, blasting out a few more reps on the leg press before exhaustion set in and Jake was forced to step in and secure the weights.
Jake was the same age as Graham and had been his center for most of their lives. His husky frame, scraggly beard and long black hair made him look much older than he actually was. “‘Bout got squashed there, Chief. Lucky for you I’m always here, watchin’ your ass.”
A sly grin spread across Grahams face. “Ready for step-ups?” The two boys continued their strenuous workout for the next hour, lifting weights, jumping boxes, skipping rope and a dozen other exercises, trying to shape their bodies into better football players. Every time Jake would falter, his friend was there to pick him up with words of encouragement. Every time a teammate would question why they were spending so much time in the off-season training, Graham would convince them that it would be worth it in the end. Every time someone stumbled, Graham made sure he was there to help catch them, physically and emotionally.
After the coaches had released the players, Graham and a few of the receivers went out to the field to run some routes. He was stern but understanding when working with his teammates, doing what he could to make everyone the best they could be. Timing is crucial to having a successful passing game in football, and Graham wanted to do all that he could in the winter and spring to prepare for the upcoming season.
Another hour of work on passing done, Graham went back to the training room. He found an old leather jump rope that looked beaten and weathered. His feet were fast and light on the ground as he jumped just off of the floor. Sweat beaded on his brow and ran down his back and arms. The muscles in his shoulders and legs burned from over use. And still, he worked.
Graham closed his eyes and thought of blitz patterns, zone defenses and option reads. He knew that here, exhausted and worn down, was the perfect time to test his mental faculties. If he could focus on what defense Johnson Central was showing him as his ankles ached from jumping, he would have no problem doing it when it was happening in real time.
“The corner strong side is playing up. Gotta watch blitz. Mike linebacker laying back. Zone coverage.” He ran play after play in his head, forcing himself to get better mentally while he punished his body.
Finally, after hours of exertion, Graham collapsed to the floor. His hair was matted to his head from the sweat and the green tank top he wore clung tightly to his body. He lay, face up, breathing rapidly, trying to get his air back. The burning in his calf muscles and shoulders would not subside as he sucked in air.
As he lay there, every barb from his father, every spite-filled comment or passive aggressive remark rang in his head. “If you worked harder, you might make something of yourself.” “Keep playing like that, Simpson gonna sit yer ass down.” “That ain’t bad, but if you was playing when I did, you wouldn’t make the damn roster.” These words and others like them filled his mind, as they always did when it was quiet and Graham was alone. He knew he’d never be good enough; knew he’d always be just a little short of the goal line. But he had to try. Try to do all he could to be the best.
Graham shifted and a horrible cramp formed in his left thigh. He hadn’t been drinking enough water and the lactic acid in his muscles had built to the point that his hamstrings were locking up. He screamed out in pain, but no-one was there to hear it. No one was there to help the quarterback up off of the ground. He reached down and grabbed the toe of his shoe and pulled it towards his hip, bending his knee at an odd angle. The muscle began to stretch and, again, he called out in agony. It felt like his leg was breaking in two as he pulled his toe toward his hip, until finally, the muscle loosened and the pain lessened. He stretched his leg back out, carefully. And there, in the silence of an empty weight room, Graham could hear his father say those words that he’d said so many times over the years:
“Get up, you damn pussy!”