Saint Joseph School

"Alright, what are you clowns laughing at?" barked Coach Waters as he entered the boisterous locker room. As soon as he spoke, thirty sets of eyes shifted in his direction and the normal pre-practice hi-jinks came to an abrupt conclusion. Secretly, the coach was happy to see the team in such good spirits, but he'd never admit it. They'd come very close to throwing away both the game and their season against the Hawks, and he wanted them, no he needed them, to be more focused this week.

"We were just wondering if the Panthers' mascot was going to show this week, coach." The team erupted in laughter again at Biff Hannigan's quip, and a number of players swatted Noah Ryder on the back. For his part, the young defensive back looked a little embarrased. The coach knew Ryder had paid a steep price for his post-game antics, and hoped the memory of that would stick with him through the week.

"Oh, we're sorry, coach," added Kasim. "Is it still too early to look ahead to the Prescott game?" That was in reference to Waters' constant reminders to stay focused on the current week's game, something he'd been doing constantly for the past four weeks. Obviously, with only one game left in the regular season, such reminders were no longer necessary. Kasim basked in the laughter his comment caused, until Mark Campbell cut the legs out from under him.

"Look ahead, Kaz? The only place you're going to be looking is behind when Thriller burns your ass." Campbell was referring to Tom "Syl the Thrill" Sylvester, star receiver for the Prescott Panthers, a team who were once again dominating the league in passing yardage. This week's game was going to be a real test for the battered Flyers' secondary. Lonnie was back in the line-up at least, but not at a hundred percent. Mitchell was still on crutches and wouldn't be dressed.

"To answer your question, Kasim," the coach cut off the snickers, "no, it's not too early. It's too late! Because we're not looking 'ahead' to the Prescott game. That game is NOW! It's already on. Everything you do from this moment until the final whistle blows this Friday night needs to be focused on one thing, and one thing only. Beating the Panthers!"

"YEAH!" shouted some of the players. "Beat the Panthers!"

"I'm glad you lunkheads are getting that, because if it isn't clear enough, we need this game. We lose, and our season is over. We win... and our season still might be over."

"Say what?" Bill asked. "I thought we were in if we won?" A number of other players chorused agreement with the linebacker, but Scott, Stephen, Biff, and the most of the veterans already knew the score. The coach laid it out for the rest.

"Okay, for those who didn't bother to find out, here's what happened. While you creampuffs were out there Friday letting the Hawks nearly steal a game from you, the Georgia Reynolds' Eagles were laying a beating on Mount Pelon." That brought a few raised eyebrows from players who'd come to believe the Paladins were nigh-unbeatable, but there were still some blank stares from others who didn't realize the playoff implications.

"And...?" offered Ty, articulately speaking on behalf of that last group. The coach sighed before going on.

"What that means, Ty, is that the Eagles and the Paladins are both tied with us for second in the division at six and three. That's three teams vying for two playoff spots." There were actually three playoff spaces allotted to their division, but the Panthers had clinched the top seed weeks ago.

"Yeah, but if we win this week, we'll still be second, right?"

"Yes, but if they both win, then we'll still be in a three-way tie," explained Scott.

"Oh. What happens then?" Everyone looked to the coach for the answer.

"The league has a number of formulas for determining playoff seeding, but the first tie-breaker is regular season head-to-head records. Since both the Eagles and the Paladins beat us this season, we lose out to both of them. If we're still tied after this week's games, we'll be seeded fourth, and out of the playoffs."

"That's stupid."

"It may be or it may not be, but that's the way it is and no amount of belly-aching is going to change it." The coach actually thought it was a pretty fair system, but now wasn't the time to sell it to his players. He needed them to start thinking about what they could change, not what they couldn't. "So it's pretty simple. We need to win. We also need at least one of those two teams to lose. We can't control whether they win or lose, but we can certainly do our part by beating the Panthers this week. Is that clear?"

"Yes, coach!" the team called out.

"And don't start thinking that just because they're already in the playoffs that they're going to be mailing it in. They're nine and oh. They're going for an unbeaten season, and they think they've got the team to do it. If anything, they're even better now than they were last season when they took the championship from us. They didn't have to rebuild like we did. So those of you who were here last year, you remember that game. This is your chance to pay them back. For you new kids, now's your chance to show everyone you can run with the best. Are you with me?"

"Yes coach!"

"What are we going to do this week?"

"BEAT THE PANTHERS!"

"Great, now get out there and start running laps..."

Noah had been training hard the last week. Between Coach Water's workouts and the training he had been running through with Mr. Jennings, Noah felt like he was in better shape then he had ever been in.

The team was in high spirits, and they needed to keep it. Confidence going into the game could be a great advantage. Noah tried his best to push himself during practice. He tried to run harder, hit harder, and play harder. His hope was that pushing himself would push the rest of the team as well, just like they had often pushed him. When great sports superstars play each other, the game often gets taken to a whole new level. Thats what Noah wanted to see from this team on Friday, and even during the practice. He wanted to see them play the game at a new level, something the other team couldn't keep up with.

Everytime someone on the team pushed themselves, everyone else pushed back. Motivating and driving one another. They would need every bit of drive and motivation to reach their goal.

Miguel watched Noah working hard and firing up the defense every moment of practice, and when he had the chance he did the same with the offensive players as well. "Hell ya Noah", he thought "let's do this!"

"Hey Noah," Miguel yelled from the huddle over to the defense. "I'll make you a deal everytime you let those guys score this week you owe me ten bucks... and everytime you set us up with a three and out and we don't score I owe you ten bucks! The rest of you guys make the same deal with another guy... unless your balless..", Miguel caught Sam's glare from the side line where she was practicing kicks... "unless your... um... SPINELESS ya, spineless cowards!"

The same butterfiles she felt the very first time she tried out for the team were back. Granted, being on the team last year gave her an advantage, she'd proven she could play, but still, the first day of tryouts was always nerve wracking.

Sam sat alone in the girl's locker room and carefully tied her cleats, taking painstaking steps to make sure the laces were even. She looked down at the shoes, the same red and white Addidas she'd used her last season in soccer. The boots were still in good condition, the right worn a bit more than the left, of course, so they had at least one more season in them, she mused. She stood up to grab her practice jersey from her locker, and traced the number "7" with a smile before pulling it over her head.

She could hear the guys messing around in the locker room next door and smiled again, rolling her eyes. She pictured the snapping towels and helmet bashing Bryan had mentioned once or twice and laughed. New season, there'd be a ton of new faces, but the antics were probably the same.

Stepping out of the lockers and into the field with her helmet in hand, she blinked in the bright sunlight and inhaled the scent of the freshly cut grass. Football season. Their season.

Flyers Football! Taking State in 08!

*click clack* Oby rocked back and forth on his feet, listening to the familiar clack of his cleats, and smiled. He'd missed the sound when he was in Europe with his folks. He'd missed American football and was glad to be back. Coach Waters held him aside when he came back, and said he wanted it to be a surprise when they took the field for practice again.

Oby ran out of the tunnel, in the number 24 jersey, and saw some of the team on the field, and his grin widened. Another year, and a whole new group of nicknames to pass out...

Ty grinned to himself as he slipped on his number 85 jersey, the same number as his idol Chad Johnson. He thought back to last year, his first year to play football for SJS. He could have done some things better, put more heart into some plays. That year is over, and a new year begins. He felt he had to step up this year, get the team and the crowd pumped for every game. He felt he had to entertain. He felt /they/ needed to win games, as a team.

He tightened the laces on his black and white Under Armor cleats, holding his helmet by the face mask. Making sure his reciever gloves were on nice and tight, he walked onto the field. He nodded to Sam as he stood next to her, ready for the football season to begin.

Luke stumbled out of the locker room, sloppily throwing on some Under Armor clothing and some new, white football pads over them. He knew he shouldn't of drank so much last night. He grabbed the helmet he got previously and eyed the positions chart as he exited the room.

#88 - Wide Receiver OPEN

Your ass is mine.

He got out on the field, adjusting his clothing and pads as he jogged. He threw a wave to Sam and knelt to tighten his shoes. This was goin' to be easy.

Seeing Delta come out of the locker room, Bryan tapped the new kid on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, you're wearing my jersey," he informed the boy with a grin.

Oliver sat in the lockeroom strapping on his pads. He hoped they were on right, no need to make this any harder. He had never played football, he had just watched it on TV growing up. He wasn't really sure what to expect. On the other hand, hurting people came easy enough for him, so maybe there was hope.

Unlike most the other kids, Oliver didn't even have a position in mind. Hard to set your mind to something when you've never tried it. He was just going to try a little of everything and see if he totally sucked, or if he had some natural talent afterall.

He grabbed his helmet and triple checked all his gear before heading out to the field. He saw Sam and Luke out there already. At least a few familiar faces would make this a little easier.

Besides...who hasn't wanted to hit Luke before?

"Uh, sorry kid."

Luke gave the boy the number and resumed tieing his shoes. Keep the position til I take it, boy.

He gave an apathetic nod to Ollie as he scoped out his competion. Bryan Baxter, to Luke, seemed like the kind of nerd who thought it was "cool" to watch old reruns of Star Trek. However the hell he got on the team in the first place, he's not going to be on it for long. Luke's in town.

The "kid" comment brought a good-natured chuckle to Bryan's voice.

"Thanks. You must be Luke?" he replied. "Bryan Baxter. Nice to meet you."

Coach Waters blew his whistle and called for the offensive team and first timers to line up and start with calisthenics as he worked with the defense. Bryan waved to the guys as he made his way onto the field. He smiled wide and waved as he passed Sam.

"Glad you could make it Wrongway!" Scott Sanders kidded Bryan as he got in line, the older players laughed along.

Bryan shouted back with a grin, "They called me back to make Reed look good, when you get hurt playing ping pong again this year." Stephen laughed sarcastically at the joke.

"I was playing tennis," Scott replied. The team that played last year shared a laugh as the group began doing squat thrusts.

Oliver grabbed a quick cup of water. They had just run like, a bazillion laps and they got a water break before the next zillion.

"Fox! On the ball!" Coach Waters shouted

Oliver ran to the ball, stood there a minute, then turned to the coach, "Coach...what am I doing again?"

New Kids the Coach thought with a sigh, "On Two, hike the ball and hit the receiver"

"Oh...okay...that sounds easy enough" Oliver said.

A receiver lined up on the side. Oliver could feel himself starting to sweat with everyone watching. He was new to football and he felt like he was under the microscope.

"Hut...Hut!" Oliver yelled, his nervous voice cracking a bit

The reciever sprinted down the field. Oliver was panicing a bit, there was so much going on around him. He threw the ball which only went about 20 feet in front of him. He could hear some of the guys chuckling as the coach blew the whistle.

"Fox!" Coach said as we walked up closer to Ollie, "I know theres a lot going on, you just have to slow it all down in your head. Hike the Ball, Fall back 3 steps, step forward and throw. Okay? Try it again"

Oliver hiked the ball again. He looked so mechanical you could almost hear him counting the steps in his head. The guys laughed a little again. Then he took one step forward, and fired the ball like a cannon.

The ball soared in a tight spiral over the reciever's head downfield. The coach just stood watching for a minute.

"Sorry Coach" Oliver said, "I wasn't even close the receiver...I totally suck"

"That...was a good throw" Coach Waters said, "You got some potential kid, we'll work with you and see what we can do. I'm sure some of the guys can help you out too. Now...Everyone Line Up!! Time for Laps!!"

"Oh no..not more laps" Oliver thought in his head

Will fumbled with his helmet, trying to get it back on secure as everyone got back into position back on the field.

"C'mon McCarty, don't want to wait on you here."

His usual good mood was just starting to slip. He was wearing a ton of gear, sweating like hell, he was tired, and he felt really heavy. All of which felt completely alien to him. Combined with the coach's yelling, it was getting hard to stay uplifted.

He straightened his jersey, unwrinkling the giant "54" printed on it. Taking the ball, he got into position, waiting for the signal from Fox to snap it back.

Whilst running laps, Luke grinned. Those years of running Track and Field were finally paying off. Although he barely broke a sweat running laps, what really got him tired was the constant rotation of drills. When he finally got into the swing of things while doing push-ups, the coach ordered for them to switch to another obscure movement. This went on for what seemed like hours, and with each change Luke got sweatier and sweatier. When the conditioning was finally done, Luke was sweating all-over and his upper body ached.

"Bartel! Get your ass over here for some passing practice!"

Luke snapped back to reality and ran over to the rest of the pack.

He finished tying his shoes, no small task in the bulky equipment that limited his movements.

Probably shoulda put the pads on AFTER tying your shoes...retard...

Diyar couldn't help but grin at himself. Here he was, doing the unthinkable, a crossover the likes of which that, had any of his running buddies from Seacliff or even back in Boston found out, they'd disown him and swear he was forced to the deed against his free will, that he had been brainwashed.

He picked up the helmet, the wear and tear of being dug into the ground and thrown against lockers showing on the chipped paint and scratched logo.

He ran out of the locker room and straight to Coach Waters, who blew his whistle at the other guys (and Sam) before turning and staring.

"Delavar! You're late!"

Diyar did his best to look embarrased and not smile. "Sorry, Coach...never had to wear pads before...took me an hour before I realized they were on bac-"

"No excuses. You wanna play here, you get here on time. Start running laps, and don't stop till I tell you to, got it?"

Diyar straightened up, taken aback. "Uh...yes, sir."

Waters narrowed his eyes at Diyar before shouting, "What was that?"

"YES, SIR." Diyar took off toward the track, putting his helmet on awkwardly amid the sneers and jeers of the jocks.

"DELAVAR! GET BACK HERE!"

Diyar stopped and had to jump out of the way of a gaggle of more football hopefuls who were running laps before running back to the Coach.

"Delavar, what position you going for?"

"Uh...well...I don't know sir...I've never really played football befo-"

"You like to run?"

"Well, yes, sir, I guess, I mean-"

"Good. Now get back to laps." Waters turned around and jotted something down on his clipboard as Diyar took off again.

Oh jeeze, Jacob...what the hell did I get myself into...