I’m manifesting good vibes.
And then my head slams into the ceiling of my car in unison with a loud thunk. The car tilts to the left and I pull to the curb and pop open my door to see my front right tire is completely pancaked and steam spills out from beneath the hood.
What a morning.
DEAN
I wokeup before my alarm today, which I don’t really like to do. The only times statistically that I’m awake on my own are if I’m sick or getting sick. Waking a full hour before my alarm this morning has me off a bit, but I’m chalking it up to first game jitters.
Sitting up in bed at the horrendous, god awful, unflinchingly early time ofsixin the morning, I stroke a hand down my chest and let out a yawn. Maybe I do wake early on the day of the first game? You’d think after eighteen years of head coaching that I’d remember that, but at this ungodly hour, who can know anything?
Swinging my feet out from under the warm, heavy, comfortable covers, I stand up and reach to the ceiling in a stretch. After letting out a wall-rattling groan, I move through my house to the kitchen, where I make a pot of coffee before grabbing theBluebell Leaderoff my porch. A few yawns and a few local feel-good stories later, and I’m drinking coffee while lifting weights in my garage.
After a particularly heavy set of delt raises, I flop onto the bench, exhaling the exhaustion from the lift, carelesslysending my cup of hot coffee to the floor. After copious amounts of cursing and Lysol, I finish my workout and head inside for a shower.
My game day polo is pressed, my nice hat is out, and my good jeans are clean. I even went to my friend Jake’s business, Turner Saddlery, and cleaned my boots using all his fancy leather products. I got a haircut yesterday, too. Just a trim, though, because last season my hair was cut a certain length and, well, we were state champs.
Fully dressed and the football game on my mind, I pack myself a nice lunch, slip into my pick up and head for the high school.
Except, once I turn off my street onto the main road, I see a train is there, connecting cars, leaving a half-mile long trail of traffic waiting. I join them, because there’s only one way to the school from here. My leg anxiously bounces beneath the steering wheel.
On game day, I like to show up early and peruse the rally court before the first bell rings. I love seeing the boys in their game-day jerseys, all the students wrapped up in their blue and gold gear, everyone excited and anxious for the game. This may be California, but we love our high school football the same as Texas. And the last few years, Bluebell has really come to adore and support the sport because we’re getting really good. Camaraderie and victory are two strong drugs, and in tandem, they work wonders, I swear it.
Outside of a pulse on morale, I had planned and hoped to get on campus early to check on Tanner. This is his first season as starting quarterback, and to add another level of internal pressure—Tanner is a sophomore on the varsity team.
He grew up playing football with Boone Holt, my quarterback the last two seasons. He’s an excellent player with agood head on his shoulders, too, and no ego. Last year, Tanner’s shoulder had some issues, but this season, we’re locked.
He’s ready to start.
If I can get three good years out of his arm, get him a scholarship to play ball and get through college, I’ll have done my job as coach. After all, Boone Holt is now at a California State University on a full-ride athletic scholarship. He keeps in touch. I’m proud of him.
I’m proud of Tanner, too.
I can’t wait to see what he does on the field in the next few years. I do, however, want to check in on that sore shoulder this morning. I want to see if he did what I told him to do last night, which was ice and heat.
I have a responsibility to these boys, to take them as far as I can, teach them as much as I know, and help them meet as many scouts and coaches as possible. Tanner is one of those that will go far, and wants my help, the same as Boone. And I want what Boone has for Tanner, too.
He deserves it.
This season, I already have some old college buddies coming out to watch Tanner. A couple of them are bringing scouts. Off the record, of course, since they can’t approach until he’s a junior. And scouts are like those seagulls inFinding Nemo. You get one, you get a flock.
Still, I can’t help but bounce my leg and turn up the radio as the clock keeps ticking and every free pre-class minute of this morning is spent in this truck and not on campus.
After one Garth Brooks tune, four commercials, and an update about the saw mill on fourth street, I arrive at school four minutes before the first bell.
I pass the principal, Leah Miller, in the hall, wearing her favorite navy game day suit. “Morning, Coach,” she greets,her yellow pom-pom earrings making an appearance as she tucks her hair behind her ears. “I’m ready,” she cheers, referring to game day. “Are you?”
I adjust my hat on my head and give her a nod. “Stressful morning but glad to be here. I’m ready.”
Football season is pretty much my entire life. So I put the chaotic morning behind me, and greet my players each period as they enter my class. By the time fourth period rolls around, I finally get to check on my QB when Tanner Colt enters.
“How’s it?” I ask, without preamble because, again, it’s game day, damn it. What else is there to talk about, focus on or give energy to during football season but football?
He smiles. “I feel good.”
Finally, I feel good, too.
CHAPTER
