Junior Year Box Set

“First we’ll have you run the forty-yard dash. When you’re ready, line up together,” Coach Hightower said.

“Don’t you want us to run them separately?” Wes asked.

“No. This is a head-to-head competition.”

I grinned at Wes’s discomfort. At the start line, Wes stood straight up. He obviously hadn’t worked with anyone on speed training. I dug my cleats in and started with my feet staggered and both hands on the starting line. On the start, I exploded out low and dug to get my speed up as I slowly came up. Once I was running full-out, I remembered to relax and concentrate on picking my feet up and putting them down correctly. I began to laugh after I’d finished and found Wes on the ground about five feet from the finish line.

“What happened to him?” I asked one of the student managers.

“He tried to dive to catch you. I wish that had happened tomorrow when we’d’ve had the video equipment running.”

I noticed Wes had a good case of road rash. Artificial turf was not something you wanted to dive on. The next contest was throwing the football at called-out targets. Like I predicted, Wes did well at this, going ten for ten. When my turn came, I sighed in relief when I matched him. Then we were tasked with hitting moving targets. This time I went first and hit nine out of ten. I’d left the door open for Wes. On the last ball, he got excited and overthrew it, which caused him to tie me. It all came back to my argument that he wasn’t good under pressure or in new situations.

“Looks like David has the edge. Let’s give you one more chance and see how you do on the deep ball,” Coach Hightower said. “Since you’re behind, Wes, you get to pick whether you go first and set the standard, or watch David.

“Okay, I want you to do a five-step drop, and then throw the football as far as you can.”

We were lined up at the 50 yard line. I could throw further than that. Wes dropped back, and his pass sailed to the goal line. One of the student managers put a ball towel down where it landed.

“Beat that! That was fifty-seven yards in the air,” Wes boasted.

“I’ll stick it into the back left corner of the end zone,” I told Coach Hightower.

“Bullshit!” Wes called, which made me smile.

I dropped back, and the ball felt good as it came out of my hand. I started my touchdown dance before the ball was three-quarters of the way there. I didn’t have to look when I heard Wes.

“Aw, shit!”

We both knew that Wes would never hold up his end of the bet. We also both knew that Wes still thought he was better than me.

◊◊◊

When we got back, warm-ups were beginning. They allowed all the recruits on the sideline to see how they ran their practices. Coaches Hightower and Haber found us.

“So, who won?” Coach Haber asked in front of everyone.

“Dawson,” Coach Hightower announced and handed Coach Haber a five-dollar bill.

“What did you win?” Alan asked.

“I’ll tell you later.”

It was one thing to show Wes who the top dog was; what I didn’t need to do was ridicule him in front of everyone. He and I were very much cut from the same cloth in that we were both super-competitive. Despite that, I liked Wes as a person. What had been said earlier was just two top dogs clashing to see who the dominant one was. Now that we knew it was me, I could be generous.

◊◊◊

We had great seats for the game. We were about ten rows up so we could see over the teams, and on the 30 yard line. While we got comfortable, four different reporters wanted an interview. They were from Scouts and Bleacher Report, two national recruiting websites; and Maizenbrew.com, a Michigan-centric site. The last one was from the Detroit Free Press, who represented the print media.

Once the media was gone, I wanted something to eat, so we all went to the concession stands. That was when Alan sprang.

“So, what happened with you and Wes? We heard you yelling at each other, and then you left.”

I wasn’t going to get any peace, or food, until I told him. Of course, everyone else wanted to know too.

“Wes and I needed to settle who the best is. I honestly don’t think what we did settled it, but now we can move on and enjoy the weekend,” I said.

“What did you do, have some kind of throw-down?” Ty asked.

“Kind of the quarterback version,” I said. “It was stupid.”

“He lost,” Jim said.

“Yep. I think David might have to go home with his tail between his legs and let his mommy comfort him,” Wolf teased.

I glared at them and tried to figure out what I wanted to eat.

“Just tell them already,” Alan nagged.

“I kicked his butt,” I said. “It’s lucky for him that his mommy’s here.”

You would think that as a reward for winning, they would buy. Instead, I found a barbecue called Red Rock, and we had pulled pork sandwiches. Alan was a big baby and made me buy everyone ice cream cones afterward. When we were done, we came back to our seats and saw the marching band doing their pregame show.