Page 50 of Out of Bounds
“Come on in, Pace. Take a seat,” Coach says.
He’s called me in to his office after our Thursday training session and I’m still in my gear, hair slick with sweat.
I sink into the chair opposite Coach Roy’s desk. We’re in the basement, along the corridor from the locker room. The office was Coach’s choice. He prefers to be near the squad rather than up in the gods with a window to the outdoors, where Monte, our GM, sits.
The room might be dingy but it’s a collage of trophies, accolades, signed merch and framed prints of Coach and some of the greatest players of all time. It’s an awe-inspiring place. And Coach Roy personifies that. He’s good people. A solid family man at heart but an absolute machine when it comes to football. If there’s a man who can draw the best out of someone and make you want to be better, it’s Coach.
I don’t believe any other coach in the league would have put my name in the hat for offensive captain alongside Tommy’s three years ago. Understandably. I was arrogant on and off the pitch, I gave him a headache with the League – absorbing fines like carbs on a loading day – and a migraine with Monte, the GM, who was brought in partly to clean up the team’s act. I was a prankster, a drinker, a poor timekeeper andalwayssplashed in the media with another woman.
Glen making me captain forced me to take team life more seriously. Not least because it reminded me that I was a vet with a hell of a lot of playing years and I needed to set an example to my teammates. He also told me in no uncertain terms – justified – that if I didn’t start treating my body better, I wouldn’t make it another year. He was right. Since I hired Aaron, stopped eating and drinking the wrong shit, and vowed not to date during season, I haven’t had any big injuries. I’ve played hurt and sore, but I’m in good shape on game day.
Glen has bought me the thing that takes us all down eventually…time.
“What’s up, Coach?”
“I want you to hear it first because I know you’re big buddies but he’s not ready to talk to the team yet.”
I swallow hard, a sinking feeling in my gut of the most ominous sort.
“Tommy’s out, Pace. He’s not coming back.”
I stare at him, trying and failing to comprehend the message.
“His back is getting stronger all the time but it’s going to be too dangerous for him to play again. The medical team have called it.”
I rub a hand over my beard. “Fuck. I thought he was getting better.”
When we get into this career it’s not like we don’t know that we’re one bad injury from retirement but it stings when it happens to your friends.
“He’s gonna need all y’all, when he’s ready. Right now, he’s taking some time.”
Time.The ultimate gift. Until it’s taken away.
Coach rests his hands on his stomach. “What I’d like from you is your on the field assessment of how you think Lamar is coping and whether I need to look for a quarterback before the trade deadline at the end of next month.”
I sink into the chair, hanging an arm over the back as I puff out my next breath.
“He isn’t winning us games, yet. The defense is working hard and we’re scraping points. The league table doesn’t reflect the reality of our offense.”
He nods thoughtfully.
“I see something in him, Coach, but I wish he’d had a few years under Tommy first to harness his skill set. He’s not ready for the pros. Not yet. And he’s quiet. We could work on his confidence and help him find his voice but he needs to get more vocal if he wants to lead.”
Coach nods again and I shrug, adding, “I believe he’s got some fire in him, too, but we haven’t seen it yet.”
“How’d you mean?”
“I watch him in practice and think he could be a gunslinger. We’re playing him as a pocket passer because that’s what Tommy was but if we give him freedom, his natural talent might be making plays inandout of the pocket.”
“It would be a big call at five and oh in a season to change our offensive tactics.”
I rub my beard. “I hate to admit it because I like the kid but it’s a risk and I don’t think we’ve seen enough of him yet to ask the boys to change tactic.”
Coach stares at me for a while and I can almost hear the cogs whirring in his gridiron-sized football brain. “Thanks, Pace. Show yourself out.”
I do let myself out but in the cold grey corridor, I press my back to the wall and dig my finger and thumb into my eyes.
Was I a dick to Lamar? I’ve got to be honest. I know enough about football to have a useful opinion; that’s why Coach asked me. I can’t deny that looking for an experienced quarterback trade before the deadline would be a wise idea.
