Week 30: Football Season Kicks off

High school athletics in Kentucky has a “dead period” in the middle of the summer where no organized practices or events are to take place. This is done to give student-athletes a break from the rigors of constant training and to have a moment to just be kids. It is a great idea, in theory. But for Graham Carter, taking any amount of time off was not something he was interested in. For the past two weeks, Graham has been doing all he could to prepare for today, the official start of his senior season as Panther Quarterback. 

Graham’s center, Jake Watts, was sitting in his wooden locker, stringing a new pair of cleats when Graham walked in. “Take a gander, boys. Ain’t often the Chief is one a’ the last to show up for practice.” 

“My dad had to give me a ‘pep talk’ before he’d let me walk in and he just wouldn’t shut the hell up.” Graham rolled his eyes and threw his bag into the back of his locker before slumping down onto the wooden seat.

Coach Simpson, a large man in his late 40s, walked into the locker room, carrying a clipboard. “Alright, men. I wanna see you on the field in 15. Let’s get this season off on the right foot and we can’t do that if we’re lallygagging up here before we even start.” Graham could feel the coach's eyes on him as he started putting his pads together. “You alright, son?” Simpson asked.

Graham didn’t feel like reliving the talk he had just shared with his father, so he nodded and went back to his practice pants. “Let’s get to it, coach!” he said much more enthusiastically than he’d actually felt. 

There were less than a handful of thin, wispy clouds hanging in the sky as the sun basted down onto Peril County’s practice field. The heat index was at 102, just a few degrees from being over the limits for allowing outdoor activities to even occur. But players and coaches alike were excited to take the field for their first practice of the season. Little Crawdad Jenkins, an undersized freshman, was the first out of the locker room. Crawdad, so named because his rosy complexion and tiny frame reminded some of the boys of the mudbugs found in the creeks and streams of the region, darted through the doors of the locker room and toward the field. Graham, Jake and several of the other boys followed just behind. “How many you think’ll puke today?” Jake asked.

“Hell, I prolly will,” said Gareth Bennington, a girthy junior with greasy black hair and terrible skin. He was almost as wide as he was tall, giving him an almost spherical look. “I ain’t done shit in a month but eat cookies and sit on my ass.”

The other boys laughed. “What about it, Chief? How many gonna puke here first day?” Jake asked Graham. 

He was twirling a beat up pigskin in his hands as he walked down the hill toward the field. “They’ll be a few, for sure. But we killed it this spring. I think most of us are gonna do fine.”

Practice started, as it always did, with a jog around the field and stretching. The forty-odd players stood in four columns, with a team captain at the head of each. Graham and Jake were joined by a rail thin receiver named Braxton Collins and a short, squat running back named Geoff Whitehead. The four of them lead the team through a series of stretches that were all too familiar to the entire team. After fifteen minutes, the squad was warmed up, stretched out and ready to get going. Most of them anyway. 

“I just don’ wanna be the first ‘un to puke,” Gareth said as they broke up into smaller groups. The running backs and receivers jogged down to the far end of the field while the linemen and Graham stayed on the near side. “It’s embarrassing to be first.”

Graham slapped him on his hip. “You been tearin’ up those hand pies down at the Dairy Cheer, ain’t cha?” 

Gareth nodded, guiltily. 

“Well, now’s the time to work ‘em off!” The QB smacked him on both sides of his helmet, encouraging him to keep trying, and ran off toward Coach Simpson. 

The sled was a daunting looking piece of equipment that had become a tradition for Panther Football. Three coaches would stand on the back of the large steel structure while five big and burly lineman would slam their shoulders into the pads at the front of the device and then drive it as far as they could. “Jake, line up your boys!” Simpson said, pointing at the husky center. 

Graham watched as the starting line crouched and, in unison, drove their shoulders into the red pads. Five sets of cleats churned the grass and dust as they shoved the sled down the field. 

“Go! Go! Go!” Simpson called as he rode atop the sled, flanked by two other coaches on either side. After traveling about fifteen yards, the coach blew his whistle, signaling for the boys to rest. “Every time, gentlemen. Just like that, every time,” he said, climbing off the sled. Another coach took his place.

The sounds of shoulders hitting the sled filled the air as Coach Simpson walked with Graham to an open section of the field. “They look strong,” the young QB said, picking up a weathered ball. 

“They’re motivated. Always helps. It’s easy to work hard when you know you’re protecting the best player in the state.” Coach Simpson smacked the back of Graham’s helmet. “I want you to work with Crawdad some today. He’s nowhere near where you were at that age. But I gotta have a quarterback after you graduate. And I think he’s got some potential. Show him some footwork and talk to him about game management. Just don’t overwhelm him.” 

Graham nodded his head. “Yes sir! Whatever you need.”

Simpson blew his whistle. “Crawdad! Get down here.” 

The small boy sprinted from his position at the back of the drill with the receivers and backs to stand before Graham and Coach Simpson. “Yes, Coach?” 

“Crawdad, did you play any QB coming up in grade school or middle school?” Coach Simpson asked. 

A look of fear and confusion spread across his young red face. “Um, no sir. I’ve always played wide out.”

The head coach tossed a ball to Crawdad. “How’d you like to work with Graham on being the next Panther QB?” 

Crawdad stood there, awestruck. “Isn’t Braxton backup QB?” he finally got out.

“Braxton is a senior just like Graham. We need to be thinking about the future. You won’t find a better teacher than Graham here to show you how it’s done,” Coach Simpson said, 

Graham hit Crawdad on his shoulder pad. “C’mon pal. Let’s toss a few.” The star QB spent the next few minutes working with his new protégé on the basics of playing the position. Simpson hovered near, but paid more attention to the linemen’s workout to his left and the skill players on his right. Graham noticed him checking in on them every few minutes, but, by and large, Coach left the QB to show Crawdad the ins and outs on his own. 

After a water break, the team came together to run some plays. “Crawdad, hop in there and take a few snaps while I talk to Graham,” Simpson said. He pulled his starting QB to the side. “I’m pretty sure you know these basic running plays we’re going over, so let’s let the kid get a few reps.” 

Graham smiled. “Sounds great to me coach.”

“Awe, what is this horseshit?” a voice shouted from the top of the hill above the field. Graham looked up to see his father, sitting in a camping chair, sucking down something in a brown paper bag. “You done gone and lost ya spot?” 

The star QB let out a defeated breath and took a step toward his father before Coach Simpson placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. “Hang tight, pal.”

Coach jogged up the hill and stood about five feet below Graham’s dad. “Eddie, we talked about this. Practice’s are closed to parents. You can’t be here. Plus, you sure don’t need to be pullin’ on that bottle on school property.”

“You benchin’ my boy?” he rasped. 

Simpson shook his head. “No Eddie. He’s the best damn QB in the state. I’d be a fool to bench him. But he knows this offense inside and out and I’m trying to get some reps for the younger kids. Now, collect your stuff so we can get back to practice.”

Eddie sat there a moment, defiantly. He stared down the coach before twisting the lid back onto whatever was inside his brown bag. “He ain’t gonna get no better just standin’ there, watchin!” He motioned toward Graham.

“Thanks for the insight, Eddie. But you gotta go.”

He stumbled to his feet and folded his chair, clumsily, under his arm. “Tell Graham I’ll see him later, I guess.” He turned and walked up the hill and off school property. 

Below, on the field, Graham and his teammates had stood and watched the entire exchange. Graham knew that his father's antics were nothing new to the guys he’d been playing with all of his life, but it didn’t make it any less embarrassing. “Back to it, boys! Let’s focus on what we’re doin’!” Simpson yelled as he ran back onto the practice field. 

Graham dropped his head and stared at his cleats. “Every time,” he thought. He felt a hand on his back and looked up to see Coach Simpson standing beside him. 

“Braxton, run a drive route. Geoff, you’re on D. If the pass is complete, no conditioning today. If not, we’re doing grass drills for twenty minutes. Geoff, if he catches it, you owe me 50 pushups!” Simpson tossed a ball to Graham. “Pressure’s on, pal.” 

The QB smiled. “Set…Hut!” Braxton and Geoff took off in full sprints down the field while Graham bounced on the balls of his feet, watching them run.

“We need at least forty!” Simpson yelled as his players darted further down the field.

Once Braxton had gotten thirty yards down field, Graham cocked back his arm and loosed the pig skin, sending it spiraling toward his receiver. The ball fell perfectly into Braxton’s hands, just over the outstretched arms of Geoff, who stumbled and fell, allowing the receiver to coast easily into the end zone. 

The entire team exploded in cheers and surrounded Graham, smacking his helmet and screaming his praises. A moment later, Braxton and Geoff joined the dog pile. 

A loud whistle broke through the cheering. The team stopped to look at Coach Simpson. “Alright Geoff. Hit the dirt and give me fifty!” 

“Hey Coach! What if we all do ten, instead?” Graham called over the din of players.

Simpson smiled. “Make it 25 and you got a deal!” 

The entire team flopped onto their bellies and began knocking off pushups as Graham called out each rep. Once they finished, they all jumped to their feet, cheering. “Alright, let’s break it down!” Graham shouted. He raised his hand and the team surrounded him. “Panthers on three. One-Two-Three-Panthers!” they all shouted. 

Graham led his team up the hill toward the locker room, feeling more confident than ever about their chances. “Gonna be a good year,” he said to himself as he pushed open the door the Panther’s Den.