Page 115 of Tight Ends & Tiaras
BEN
“Rodriguez! Get out there!”Krud yells.
Oh, sure, now he wants me on the field. When we’re down ten points. Pendejo.
This is the second game I’ve started but then barely played.
Winston’s given me a wide berth, and for once in his life, he’s heeding good sense and stopped talking shit about Sienna. I’m surprised he didn’t run to Coach to tattle. But he’s a sneaky fuck. It’s possible he’s mulling over other forms of retribution, so I’m watching my back just in case.
As much as he deserved a full ass-kicking the other night, I’m glad I held back. Something about having Sienna with me steadied me. Reminded me of all I have to lose.
I don’t want to be that guy who always goes off. I have a kid now. I can’t afford to be a loose cannon.
But despite that last altercation not coming to light, I’m no closer to gaining any ground with Krud.
When asked why I’m not playing, Coach tells reporters he’s “trying to mix things up and develop the younger talent.” He has the balls to say “winning isn’t everything,” even though that’s literally the opposite of what he preaches in the locker room.
Ohio has been eating Turner’s lunch today. The guy had great moves during training camp, but now that he’s starting, he’s screwing up left and right. Even Winston’s pissed at him.
On a third down, Turner finds me on the forty-yard line. It feels so good to have the ball in my hands again. I strong-arm a defender, leap over another player diving for my feet, and break away from the pack. The hometown crowd roars when I haul ass to the end zone.
“Showoff,” Olly jokes as he fist-bumps me.
After we get the field goal, I let myself look at the stands until I find Lily and Sienna. She and I haven’t been connecting lately, and it’s one hundred percent because of me. I can’t explain what’s going on exactly, but it feels like my head is being held underwater.
I think I’m bringing home all the frustration I’m experiencing on the team, and that’s not fair to her because she and Lily are the best part of my day. The fight with Winston didn’t help. I tried to tell her none of this is her fault, but I’m not sure she believes me.
At halftime, even though we’re tied, Coach is pissed.
“I’ve been brought here to win, but you guys are dragging yourselves down the field like you can’t be bothered to get a touchdown. Fellas, we have a booster banquet coming up where we need to raise the rest of the money to renovate our stadium. Last year’s championship funded the extended facilities—the meeting areas, the new locker rooms, and weight rooms—but we still need to finish paying for the stadium upgrade. Don’t you want a nice jumbotron? But if we don’t start winning some games, how the hell do you think I’ll be able to do that?”
Hmm. I have a suggestion about what he could do to win, but I’m guessing I’d better not open my mouth right now.
And when he benches me again, I’m speechless. Did we not turn things around on the field when I was out there in the second quarter? Did I not score a touchdown?
We fall behind in the third, and when he finally puts me in during the fourth quarter, the guys are exhausted and Turner gets sacked twice.
All the frustration of the last several weeks has me fuming as I shower and change after the game.
Meyers and I make eye contact, and I can tell he’s just as livid as I am. Meyers might not have the finesse or star quality that Rider had last year, but he’s a steady guy in the game. Why Coach hasn’t started him, used him to get ahead on the scoreboard, and then put in Turner is beyond me.
I wait for Krud outside his office. He’s still talking to reporters in the media room. When Nicholsonwalks by, he winces. “You were great out there today. Don’t let the loss bring you down.”
“I appreciate that, Coach. Listen...” I look around but the hallway is empty. “Can I ask you why Krugman doesn’t play me more?”
Nicholson folds his lips and stares down at his shoes for a moment. “Just keep playing your heart out. He’ll take notice.”
“Am I doing something wrong? I don’t understand why I’m not getting more time.”
Nodding slowly, he pats me on the shoulder. “All I can say is that you’re a hell of a player. Hang in there. Just focus on your role when you’re out on the field. And word of advice, now isn’t a great time to chat with the coach. Wait it out.”
And then he walks away.
Honestly, I’m even more confused than I was a few minutes ago. If my tight end coach thinks I’m great, why the fuck doesn’t our head coach?
Another week only brings another loss. We have a 1-2 record, and that win was narrow. Thank God we have a bye coming up.
I’m on the floor with Lily, playing with her blocks and trying not to fall asleep. “What do you think, peanut? Can the team get it together?”
