Juice (2 page)

Everybody started cheering again and the coach gave me another hug. I had to bite down on the inside of my mouth to keep myself from crying. I didn't want them to see me cry. I was Michael the Moose, football star, not blubbering baby.

“I have one more announcement to make,” Coach said, silencing the crowd. I moved
away, grateful that the attention was off me again.

“I've been coaching football at our school for twenty-seven years.”

“Don't you mean one hundred and twenty-seven years?” somebody yelled out to a round of laughter.

Coach Reeves laughed too. “Sometimes it feels like that long. Twenty-seven years ago, in my first year as coach, our team captured the Division Two championship. I was young and just figured that we'd win every year. Now, twenty-seven years later, it seems fitting that we should win again—in my last year of coaching.”

There was a gasp. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard him say. It couldn't be right.

“I've been thinking about this all year. I didn't want to say anything until after the game because I didn't want to have anything interfere with your focus.” He reached up and brushed away some tears. “I qualify for my pension in June. I've been coaching, and teaching, for a long time. There's probably never a good time to say goodbye.
I've enjoyed every moment of every year, maybe none as much as this year. As most of you graduate this year and move on to college or go out and get a job in the real world, I'll be moving on too. It's just that most of my moving will be back and forth as I sit in a rocking chair on my front porch. I think I've worked hard enough to deserve a break!”

“Way to go, Coach!” somebody yelled out.

“You're the best!” somebody else screamed and everybody started cheering.

“Thank you all, so much. I'm hoping that all of you will come by, knock on the door and share a glass of lemonade with me.”

“How about a beer?” somebody called out.

“Do you mean root beer?” Coach asked. Everybody laughed.

“I guess the big question, especially for those who are returning, is, who will coach you next year?”

“Yeah, who?” asked Caleb, one of our receivers, my best friend and one of the
eleven of us who were returning the next year. He sounded as anxious as I felt.

“You don't have to worry about that. I wasn't leaving you until I found the right replacement. You'll be guided by Coach Kevin Barnes.”

For some reason that name sounded familiar.

“You mean Coach Barnes from Central?” somebody asked.

Coach Reeves nodded. “Yes. Coach Barnes from Central. The coach who has led his school to four Division One championships in the past five years. You're trading up to a newer and better version.”

“Maybe newer but couldn't be better,” Dave, our co-captain, said.

“We're lucky to have him come to our school,” Coach said. “It's very rare for a coach, especially one as successful as him, to move to a smaller program. I guess it means that he's not just a smart coach, but smart enough to realize that he's moving to the best school in the whole country. He's lucky to have you kids to coach—the best kids.”
He stopped and wiped away some more tears with the back of his hand. I was closer to tears then ever.

“Now I want you all to put away those sad faces. This isn't a funeral. This is a celebration. A celebration of the best team I ever coached—the champions!”

Everybody started cheering again, but not me. It wasn't a funeral, but it did feel like I'd lost more than I'd gained.

I hated hearing my name over the school PA system. I liked to just sit at the back of the class and be left alone. I knew I wasn't being called for doing anything bad—especially since I was supposed to go to the gym office and not the main office. Still, I liked being in the background more. That was hard these days. Everywhere I went, kids knew who I was. Heck, everywhere I went in town it
seemed like everybody knew who I was—I was the Moose. In a town like ours, football was everything. If you were a star, then people knew who you were. And suddenly, being the Moose meant I was a star.

Funny, I'd been called Moose since I was in grade one. Some stupid kid, whose name I didn't even remember, had said that my hair stuck up like I had antlers. That, combined with the fact that I was the biggest kid in the class—I was always the biggest kid in the class—got me the nickname Moose. For years I hated it because it wasn't meant as a compliment. It was like being a big, dumb, clumsy moose who tripped over his own feet. Since I'd started playing football, it had become something different. I was The Moose. The big, not-so-clumsy, not-so-dumb kid who could run over the opponents—run over them like a Moose—and get to the quarterback or the running back. The guy who could flatten a fullback like a pancake. And whenever I made one of those plays, everybody on the field, everybody in the stands, would yell “The Moose is on the Loose,”
and the school band would start playing. I wasn't so clumsy anymore, and my hair was as short a buzz cut as you could get without shaving your head.

“Hello, Moose,” a girl said as I passed by.

“Um…hi,” I stammered.

“Great game,” she said and flashed me a big smile.

I didn't know who she was. I think she was in grade nine or ten. Lots of people who knew me, I didn't know. Caleb said that I had to start taking advantage of that. Caleb was always better at talking than me. He was a lot better than me at a whole lot of things—especially things related to school. He just breezed through classes, getting nineties. I had to work like crazy to keep my marks in the seventies.

I turned and watched the girl walk away. I'd be more than willing to have Caleb work something out with her.

I turned the corner. Caleb was standing by the gym office door. There were five other guys, all in our grade, all on the football team. Caleb waved.

“How you doing, Moose?” Caleb asked.

“Not bad. How about you, Squirrel?” Caleb hated that nickname and I only called him that occasionally to bug him.

“Man, how come you get the good nickname?” he asked.

“Don't look at me,” I said. “I didn't hang that name on you.”

Caleb was smaller than me. Actually, everybody was smaller than me. And because we hung around all the time and I was called Moose, somebody started to call him Squirrel. From that cartoon,
Rocky and Bullwinkle
—squirrel and moose.

While we were standing talking, the rest of the returning ball players arrived.

“Anybody know what this is about?” I asked.

“Duh…football.”

“I meant why are we meeting now, today?”

“I just figure anything that gets me out of Spanish has to be good,” Caleb said.

Almost on cue I heard Coach's door open and I spun around. It wasn't Coach. It was
a man dressed in a fancy suit, his hair all slicked back.

“Please come in,” he said as he motioned for us to enter the office. We shuffled in through the open door. I expected Coach to be inside. He wasn't there either.

“Please sit,” the man said and we all took seats.

“I'm sorry to take you out of classes, but I needed a chance to introduce myself. I'm Coach Barnes, your new coach.”

I was hoping we'd meet him, but I figured it wouldn't happen until school started in the fall. With that suit and hair he didn't look like a coach—well maybe a coach in the NBA. He walked over until he was standing directly in front of one of the guys.

“I'm pleased to meet you,” he said as he stuck out his hand to shake.

“I'm pleased to meet you. My name is—”

“Your name is Robert Erickson, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Yeah, that's me,” Robbie said. “How did you know?”

“I know lots of things. I know you're a cornerback. You started half the games this season but you had problems with a knee injury. I know you're fast and hard to beat on fly patterns. I know you had an eighty-seven in math but almost failed English. I know you live with both parents and you have seven older sisters.” He shook his head. “You poor boy. With that many girls in the house, do you ever get to see the inside of a bathroom?”

Everybody laughed.

“I know lots about everybody.” He walked down the line, introducing himself to each player, saying who they were, what position they played, something about their family and their school marks. Finally he stood in front of me.

“You're Michael Monroe. The Moose. You play tackle. You came from being a second stringer on the junior team last year to lead the team in sacks and tackles. You were the MVP for the season. You live with your mother and you have no brothers or sisters. You do well in school with a consistent average in the mid-seventies. So how am I doing?”

“Good. I mean right …about me and everybody else.”

“That's good to hear. As coach, it is my responsibility to be right about everything all the time. I even know something about you that you don't know,” he said, pointing at me.

“You do?”

“Yes. I know you're going to be the hub of our entire defense. I also know that I'm standing here talking to one of the team's captains.”

“Me? You want me to be one of the captains?” I gasped. The rest of the guys started clapping.

“I see they agree with my choice. You look surprised, Moose.”

“Well…”

“After the way you played this year, there was no other choice. Didn't you think this might be a possibility?”

“I was sort of hoping, but whoever you named would be okay.”

“That's the sort of attitude that your old coach told me about when he recommended
you for the spot. He said you were a leader both on and off the field. He said that there was nobody who was willing to work harder, to sacrifice to get the job done.”

I felt like I was going to start to blush. I looked down at my feet.

“And when the offense is on the field, there will be two other captains on the field.” He turned to face Caleb. “The Squirrel is going to be one of the other captains.”

“Wow, cool, great!” Caleb exclaimed, and everybody, including me, clapped and cheered.

“Obviously two popular choices. My third captain isn't even in this school yet. He's a transfer student who will be starting in the fall.”

“Somebody new is moving to town?” Robert asked.

“Expect a couple of transfers. He might even be living with me,” Coach Barnes explained.

“You have a son?”

“I have two sons. One in grade two and the other in grade four. The older one has a heck
of an arm, but I think he's still a little young to be on the team. Sometimes my wife and I take in players with potential but a troubled home life. It's my way of giving back. But right now it's time for a tour of the school.”

“Sure, we can show you around,” Caleb said.

“No, I'm going to show you around,” Coach Barnes said.

“But we already know our way around here,” Caleb said, voicing the confusion that the rest of us were feeling.

“I'm sure you know everything that is here. I'm going to show you what is going to be here. Come.”

We followed Coach Barnes out of the office and into the change room. He stopped and we all gathered around.

“This is your change room. Your old change room. By the time you return in the fall, this will be completely redone. It will be repainted. The lockers will be replaced with bigger ones. Ones that lock. Up there, one in each corner, there will be speakers to go with our new sound system. It will be
incredible. Music helps to create mood, a winning mood.”

He walked over and opened up the door to the equipment room. The stink of stale air, sweat and mold came flowing out.

“This will be redone. There will be a massage table in that corner. I've arranged for a therapist to come out twice a week to treat your strains and injuries.” He turned to Caleb. “You know that hamstring injury that kept you out of three games this year? With the proper treatment you could have been back in one.”

“That would have been great,” Caleb replied. “I didn't know massage could make that big a difference.”

“It can when you combine it with whirlpool treatments. That's what's going to be in the other corner—a new whirlpool tub.”

“Wow.”

“Unbelievable,” I muttered to myself.

“A winning team starts in the dressing room. Come.”

We followed him into the girls' change room. That felt strange, but he had to know
what he was doing. “This is being converted to an equipment and conference room.”

“Where will the girls get changed?” I asked.

“I don't really know,” he said. “That's not my worry. Oh, by the way, all of the football equipment, from sweaters to pads to cleats to jocks, will be brand-new. I arranged for us to be sponsored by a major manufacturing company that will remain nameless for now. In the back corner will be the conference area. Computer and projection system so that we can look at game film, do analysis and simulate plays. You're going to be impressed with the software that's available.”

I couldn't help but think about Coach Reeves using a blackboard and a piece of chalk.

“This wall will have a gigantic refrigerator that will hold ice and cold drinks. Water, power drinks, protein drinks. You name it and it'll be there. It will be fully stocked all the time. Not just for games, but always, for any member of the team.”

“That's amazing,” Caleb said.

“But who's going to pay for all of this?” another one of the players asked.

“All taken care of. I have contacts, people who are willing to provide sponsorship in exchange for being involved with a winning program. But wait, the best is yet to come.”

Caleb and I exchanged surprised looks. What could be better than all of this?