Some of the other players trickled toward the practice field. Jack ignored them. He enjoyed his time to focus and prepare. He wanted it to last a little longer.
In time, there were too many of them. He needed to flip the switch from Lone Ranger to John Wayne. It was part of the gig, even if it made him uncomfortable.
He just wanted to play, but he knew that the position he played made it bigger than that. He needed to nurture relationships. Even if he would have preferred to be alone, he couldn’t win alone. That was enough reason to deal with the interruption to his preferred company: himself.
Jack recognized most of the other players. He consciously smiled. He forced himself to show interest in his teammates. Not that he didn’t care about them as people; it just didn’t come naturally to him to make small talk and ask questions about things he had little interest in.
He spotted the new guy, jogging with a loose air of confidence. His demeanor wasn’t cocky, but it was pretty close.
Jack had done the research. Lonnie Gordon finished high school early. He had enrolled in classes in the spring. Jack wasn’t worried about Gordon. He’d surely redshirt for a year. Jack would be playing pro ball by the time the new guy saw the field.
Other members of the coaching staff gathered the players for calisthenics and stretching. Jack had morphed into “good teammate” mode. He could play the game, in the name of playing the game.
Larry Connors made the slow walk toward his players, whistle dangling on his hoodie as he moved. He scribbled on a notepad with a small pencil.
An air horn sounded. The players moved into position for individual drills. Jack headed for a bag of footballs that had been dumped onto the grass. Five others joined him. He spotted Lonnie Gordon, who was in a downward dog pose.
Jack picked up a ball. He cocked his arm toward Lonnie. “Hey!” Jack called before throwing it. Lonnie stabbed a hand into the space above him and caught the ball.
“Let’s go,” Jack said. “You’re over here with us. Unless you’re already thinking about changing positions.”
Lonnie cradled the ball and jogged toward the other quarterbacks. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just doing some thinking.”
“Save the thinking for the classroom,” Jack said. “And save whatever you were doing for your dorm room.”
“It’s yoga,” he said. “My mom showed it to me. It clears the mind.”
“You just said you were thinking,” Jack said. The others chuckled. Lonnie ignored them.
“I was,” he said. “And I was using yoga to clear those thoughts from my mind.”
“You just got here,” Jack said. “There’s nothing to think about. Just watch and learn.”
Lonnie smiled. “I’ve got plenty of time for that.”
The quarterbacks threw passes to various receivers. Jack kept an eye on Lonnie without making it look obvious. The kid had some pop in his arm. His motion was effortless. His release was fast. The passes were accurate.
Jack was feeling a little relieved that Lonnie Gordon wouldn’t be competing for playing time until Jack was long gone.
* * *
Jack received a shotgun snap. He moved to his left. After several steps, he moved to his right. He looked toward a receiver who was blanketed by a defender. Jack hopped back and forth as the offensive linemen struggled to fend off the men they were supposed to be blocking.
Jack looked to another receiver. He was covered, too. Jack shuffled his feet some more. The rush broke through. He spotted a running back in the short flat, to his left. Jack threw the ball his way as a defender got close to Jack. The ball hit the ground near the running back’s feet, skipping across the grass until it crossed the sideline and spun to a rest.
Larry Connors blew hard into his whistle and hustled toward Jack.
“You OK?” Connors said.
Jack leaned toward the coach. “No one was open.”
“The tailback was. He was your third read. He’s short, but he’s not five inches tall.”
Jack stepped closer and whispered. “You saw the blocking. I didn’t have enough time to make a clean throw.”
“There’s rarely enough time to make a clean throw. Or to do anything else.”
“The rush was on me fast.”
“Yeah,” Connors said, “that happens. At least they can’t hit you in practice.”
“So what was I supposed to do?”
Connors spat a brown glob on the field. “You can start by acting like you’re not trying to kill earthworms. Stand still. Make your reads.”
“I was.”
“Your eyes were on the line,” Connors said. He flexed his knees and jumped, left and right. “You were hopping all over the place.”
“Am I supposed to ignore the rush?”
“You’re supposed to see it without looking at it. Jack, this is basic stuff.”
“I know how to play the position.”
“There’s a difference between second string and starting.”
Jack sighed. “I guess I’m finding that out.”
Connors spat again. “So am I.”
Jack’s eyes slid toward the coach. “What does that mean?”
“Take five and get your bearings. I want to give Gordon a shot.”
“He’s sixth on the depth chart,” Jack said.
Connors wiped his mouth. He smiled. “I’m assuming you don’t want to take his place there.”
Jack ripped his chinstrap away from the side of his helmet. Connors yelled for Lonnie.
Lonnie pointed at his chest. “Me?”
“Unless there’s another Gordon standing over there,” Connors said, “it’s you.”
Lonnie pulled his helmet over his head and jogged toward the field. He glanced at Jack as he ran past him. Jack looked the other way.
At the sideline, backup quarterback Tony Thompson had his hands out and his fingers pointed up. “What the hell was that?”
“He pulled me.”
“Why did he pull you?”
“He wants to give the new guy a shot.”
Thompson looked at Gordon then back at Jack. “I thought I was the backup,” Thompson said.
“And I thought I was the starter,” Jack said.