November 5th, 2008
Still Toby
It’s Wednesday with five minutes of practice left, and I’m terrified. It took me a good week and a half to get everything lined up. In the meantime, we won a game. I’ve talked with Milo’s mom on the phone, but never in person. A woman and man walk into the gym with long, quick strides and stand next to Milo. His mom’s not as tall or lean as Milo, but she has athletic grace, dark skin, and muscular arms, likely from working two waitressing jobs. Like his son, Milo’s dad is thin, lean, and very tall, but unlike Milo his hair is blond, and his eyes are sunken and blue as he stands, hunched, behind his wife.
They walk up to me, and I reach out my hand. “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Tucker, it’s nice to meet you in person.”
She shakes my hand. Her grip is weak, hesitant, but not as hesitant as Mr. Tucker’s, whose handshake is limp. His eyes don’t meet mine.
Practice ends, and the girls hang back, curious as JerryAnn’s dad crosses the court toward us. Getting him on board was as easy as a phone call. It was Rose’s rewriting of the contract that slowed things. Rose exits her classroom, puts a hand on one hip and a binder on the other, and shouts, “Girls, practice is over. Go home.” The girls leave, and Rose’s heels click toward us.
I make introductions. “Mr. and Mrs. Tucker, this is James Rice. He was a starting linebacker in college, a linebacker in the NFL, and UNM’s head football coach until he retired last year. Currently, he is his daughter JerryAnn’s agent.”
Mr. Tucker rests his hand on the small of Mrs. Tucker’s back as she nods.
I gesture to Rose. “This is Miss Rose. She teaches family consumer sciences and is a notary public. She’ll make our document official.”
Mr. Tucker swallows hard. “Can I look it over again?”
I sent them a digital copy. I hand him the paperwork.
Mrs. Tucker whispers, “I read through it, but could you explain what all of this means?”
“Sure, this is a contract stating that James Rice will mentor and help your son get the help needed to be a successful basketball player throughout high school. This will include summer clinics, basketball shoes, personal training, and possibly soliciting sponsorship as your son prepares for college. This mentorship is contingent upon Milo’s ability to maintain a 3.0 GPA throughout junior high and a 2.5 GPA throughout high school. If he uses drugs or alcohol at any time, this contract is no longer valid. If Milo is arrested for any reason or charged with any crime other than a traffic ticket, Mr. Rice will no longer have any obligation to help Milo.”
She nods her head, but I can tell she has a question she’s afraid to ask. “You can ask anything, Mrs. Tucker. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
It’s Mr. Tucker who addresses Coach Rice. They’re about the same height, but Mr. Tucker is half as wide. “Where’s the catch? What’s in it for you?”
Coach Rice shrugs, and Mr. and Mrs. Tucker’s expressions hold skepticism as they hold their breath, waiting for the fine print.
I flip to the last page. “Right here.” I point to a paragraph. “If Milo becomes a professional athlete, Coach Rice will have the first chance at taking him on as a client.”
Mrs. Tucker reads the paragraph, her lips moving with the words.
I move in close and whisper. “This is a good thing. This would be very good for Milo.”
Her shoulders shake, and tears fall on the contract. “I know.” She sniffs, her husband rubbing her back, and then she plows into Coach Rice, sobbing, arms wrapped around him in a hug.
James stands, as affectionate as a statue. Mr. Tucker, whose eyes are also wet, pulls his wife from James, holds her in a hug, clears his throat, and says, “Thank you.”
Milo cusses, steps in front of his parents, and says, “You’re embarrassing me.” Milo’s all smiles, not embarrassed.
“Oh hush, you.” His mom places a hand on each of Milo’s shoulders. “Son, you can do this, but will you work hard, keep up your grades, stay off drugs and alcohol, and be the good boy I know you are?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Milo smiles so big, his gums show on top and bottom.
Mrs. Tucker gently pushes Milo out of the way. “Where do I sign?”
Mr. Tucker laughs. I walk them through the paperwork, and Rose does her notarizing and makes copies. The Tuckers leave with Coach Rice, and I let out a big breath.
When I turn, Rose is staring at me. She pats me on the cheek with her cute little fingers. “I’m proud of you.”
I pick her up and swing her around.