Page 50 of The No Try Zone
“Exactly,” I snap and point at him as he completes the thought. “So. Let’s go down there and get started.”
Half an hour later, we’ve read in Ansel as the head captain, Woods as the forwards captain and Carter as the backs captain on the updated strategy, and all three men are ready to help run the plays.
I blow the whistle. “Bring it in!” The men stop stretching and jog toward where we stand on the edge of the pitch. Once they’ve all gathered, their breath misting in the cool morning air while the sun glints on the grass behind them, I finally feel the relief I’ve sought for months. The realization that I’ve been doing it right. That I know this team now. I’ve learned their strengths and their blind spots. I know which players need to change positions, even though it’s going to blow their minds. I know how to win.
“I’ve spent the past two months watching all of you,” I tell them. “And I know I’ve not acted like any coach you’ve had before.”
“You’re not the mean mom, you’re the cool mom!” Lennox hollers from the back.
“Fuck off, Lennox,” I shoot back. I’ve never joked in front of them, but now? After the last twenty-four hours? I’m confident enough to do it. My control is back. My creativity is back. All I had to do is focus. Nearly fucking killed me, but I did it.
“I know how we’re gonna win the championship,” I declare. The men go quiet, and that’s how I know I have their attention. I hold my clipboard up. “Xavier, you’re playing inside center. River, you’re moving to openside flanker. And Ollie? You’re going to scrum-half.”
The pitch explodes into chatter. I let them go for fifteen seconds before I raise the clipboard again. “I didn’t say this was optional, guys. I’d tell you to trust me, but I haven’t done anything to earn that trust yet. So I’m asking you to give me two weeks to prove it. Two weeks to run the new plays. Two weeks to show you that I fucking know what I’m doing.”
“We’re in,” Ansel says, glaring out at the players with a look that seems to beg someone to say one wrong word.
“Hell yeah,” Jake says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s do this!”
I nod to the captains. “Make it happen.” Then I look at the three players whose world I just flipped. Xavier seems pretty good with it, River seems dubious but ready to do what he’s told, and Ollie looks terrified. All three reactions are exactly what I anticipated. I gesture to them.
They crowd around me as Ansel helps Woods and Carter pull the rest onto opposite ends of the pitch. “This is a good change, guys. I promise.” I meet each player’s eyes as I speak. “Xavier, your speed on the pitch is incredible. And we’re not taking advantage of that. Someone as huge as you, with that kind of speed? Come on. You’ve been criminally under-utilized.”
Xavier’s jaw twitches, and I know I’ve hit my mark. That’s exactly the way he’s always felt; I’d bet anything. “Thanks, Coach.”
I nod, then turn to River. “Now, you. You’re a bruiser, tanking anyone who gets in your way. You carry the ball like it’s your goddamn job, but your feet aren’t fast enough to pivot around when you get surrounded. I need you working to protect Ollie and Ansel instead, because when they get the ball, they’re going to fucking explode down the pitch. And you? You’re going to flatten any asshole who so much as looks at them. Got it?”
He nods. “Yes, Coach!”
I grin. Got ’em. But the hardest one is Ollie. His position has been his security blanket. It’s what got him on the team, and it’s almost the only position he’s ever played. “Ollie.”
He flicks his eyes from where they’ve been pinned to the ground. They’re full of doubt.
“Have I ever steered you wrong?”
He hesitates, then shakes his head. “No, Coach.”
“In every play, you shine. But you’re holding back, and I can see it. Ansel sees it. Carter sees it.”
“I see it,” Xavier confirms.
“Same,” River agrees.
I raise an eyebrow in a silentsee?motion. “So what I need you to do is play like you own that pitch. I’m moving you to scrum-half because it’ll allow you to study the pitch, watch what’s about to happen, and react. You’re a fixer, not a front-runner. Not yet. You’re a fly-half in a few years, because I see you analyzing everything as you run. And that analysis has literally slowed you down. Moving you to scrum-half will actually use your analysis for good. Your instincts are incredible. It’s time to leverage them. Okay?”
He swallows hard. The very analysis that I want him to use on the pitch is damn near choking him right now.
“Ollie, get out of your head,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder. I’m not about to coddle him.
The contact seems to jostle him out of it, and he nods. “Got it. Okay.”
“Then get out there and let’s see what you can do.” I wave them off, exhaling a sigh of relief.
This is going to work. I can feel it.
I’mclose to outright giddiness as I finish typing my notes up in my office. Today was a good day. No – it was great. Absolutely great. Best day as Granite’s head coach yet. I’m keeping this job.
A knock sounds at my door, and I glance up, then freeze. “Sam?”
