Chapter Three Cash
Chapter Three
Cash
Aside from LeSean Call’s simmering animosity, my introduction to the Wildcats had gone more smoothly than I anticipated, mostly thanks to Danny Chambers.
What started as Danny and me tossing balls following weight training that first day had grown to Callahan O’Reilly and another transfer player, wide receiver Josh Mitchell, showing up to run routes and catch passes.
With classes starting in a few days, our impromptu post-weight training practices would probably end, but I was feeling good about the rapport I’d been able to create with a few of the offensive players.
As the four of us headed out of the locker room to the practice field, Mick Patterson caught up to me. “Heard a few of you were tossing balls. Mind if I join you?”
“The more the merrier,” I said as I held the door for him.
We spent a few minutes warming up before we started throwing routes.
Without consulting each other, Mick and I stood on the left and right hash marks and took turns calling out plays.
After a few minutes, he figured out Danny and Callahan had given me the calls for the various plays and routes Coach Ellis liked to run, and he grinned.
“Wanna have some fun with these guys?”
“Because we’re not having fun already?” I asked.
I absolutely loved throwing the pigskin—I’d wing passes twenty-four-seven if not for needing little things like food and sleep—so I was more than up for whatever Mick had in mind.
Within a couple of minutes, we were raining footballs over our teammates, running them ragged with trying to catch everything we were throwing.
Callahan caught on first. With the devil in his grin, he started throwing balls back at us.
Then Danny copied him. Josh raced around for another minute, trying to keep up, before he noticed what the other two were doing.
Without consulting each other, we dropped back out of the range of their throws, our laughter almost as loud as the panting breaths of our teammates. He held his fist out, and I bumped it.
“At the risk of overstepping, I noticed you’re a little stiff in the hips when you’re throwing a post. Can I show you a trick?” I asked.
The look in his eye said Mick was intrigued, so I picked up a ball and called out to Danny, “I wanna show Mick something. Could you run another post?”
He jogged over and lined up in the designated spot.
“Watch the progression from my hips through my shoulder as I send this pass,” I said to Mick.
I called the cadence, and Danny took off, running the perfect route as usual.
I almost forgot what I was doing as I watched him do his thing as if he were Jerry Rice or something.
I dropped three steps and flexed my left hip a millisecond ahead of my arm.
The momentum of that lower-body move carried up my torso to my shoulder, giving the ball some snap as I released it, lasering it downfield right into Danny’s waiting hands.
“Did you see what I did there, Mick?”
“Yeah. Mind doing it again?”
“Okay. You’re up, Mitch,” I said to Josh Mitchell, who was still trying to catch his breath. “Run the same route Danny did.”
Once again, the momentum I built from my hips to my shoulder helped me laser the ball directly into Mitchell’s hands.
“All right. I think I got it. ’Han, let’s try this,” Mick said to O’Reilly.
Though his movement wasn’t as smooth as mine, he wasn’t the starter because he couldn’t throw. Seeing what we were up to, Danny hit his mark and called out for Mick to throw again. This time his pass had more snap to it.
“How does that feel?” I asked.
“I see what you mean. No one’s ever pointed out that stiffness before.” Eyeing Mitchell, Mick said, “Run another one. I need to get the hang of this.”
For the next ten minutes, the guys took turns running posts while Mick practiced the move. By the time he took a breather, his passes were snappy, and all three receivers were grinning.
“Damn, Cash. I felt the difference in the way you throw versus the way Patty throws, but I thought it was just a different style,” Callahan said as we gathered errant balls from the field and returned them to the bins. “Seems it’s more technique.”
“Pretty much.”
A weird expression fell over Mick’s face. “Why are you helping me?”
“One hundred percent I want to play on Saturday afternoons this fall.” I shrugged. “But even more, I want to play on a winning team. From what he told me, Ellis’s philosophy is always next man up. I’ll go in during specific points in the action, but we only win if you’re at the top of your game.”
Mick shook his head. “Why in the fuck would Washington not fight to keep you on their team?”
“New head coach.” I cleared my throat. “He came as a package deal with his son, like what happened in Colorado a couple years ago when they brought in Deion Sanders to coach. I may only play a few downs a game here, but that’s way more than I would’ve had a shot at if I’d stayed where I was.”
With another disbelieving shake of his head, Mick fell into step beside me as we headed back to the locker room. “While I was trying to figure you out, I didn’t correct you when you called me Mick. But for the record, everyone calls me Patty.” He grinned.
“Yeah, I noticed. I also figured I had to earn the right.” Offering my hand, I added, “Thanks man.”
Spring semester began on a blustery January day when the wind chill hovered somewhere around freezing, and snow had blown in overnight.
My landlord wasn’t big on maintaining the driveway down the side of his house to the mother-in-law suite I was currently renting, so the only way my old Jeep was going to make it through the drift beside the big house was if I shoveled it out first.
Heaving a sigh, I grabbed the snow shovel my landlord had so helpfully leaned against the front of his garage, which happened to sit right beside my rental, and went to work digging out a path to the street.
I’d be better off parking in the street, but my landlord took exception to that.
Said he didn’t want my ride blocking the snowplows, which was bullshit, since almost everyone else living on this street parked in front of their houses.
The lazy bastard wanted me to shovel his drive so he wouldn’t have to do it.
I skidded into the weight room at one minute to six, and of course, the first thing to greet me was Coach Larkin’s scowl.
“You’re late,” he growled as he ticked something off on his clipboard. “Everyone else is already warmed up. What makes you so special you think you can hold up your position group?”
“I promise, Coach, I’m even more warmed up than usual.”
Peering at me, his tone took on the barest hint of concern. “Why are you sweating? You got a fever?”
“Nope. I had to shovel a snow drift the length of my landlord’s house before I could move my Jeep. Trust me, I’m plenty ready to go.”
Frowning, he jerked his head in the direction of the bench where LeSean Call was already counting Patty’s reps.
The glee in LeSean’s voice bordered on obscene. “How many burpees do you think Donovan will enjoy before he goes to class today?” he asked Patty as Patty racked the bar.
“Zilch. I’m not late,” I growled, cutting LeSean off and sliding onto the bench.
“You haven’t warmed up yet,” he snarled back.
“I don’t know. He looks pretty sweaty to me.” Patty wrinkled his nose. “Smells it too,” he added with a grin.
I flipped him the bird then gripped the bar.
He laughed as he started counting my reps.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught LeSean’s frown, but I didn’t have energy to waste on him.
After finishing my first set, I hopped up off the bench and made a big show of inviting him to take my place.
Though he shot daggers at me, he said nothing as he settled under the bar.
It was only when we headed over to the free weights that Patty finally asked the question both of them wanted to know. “How are you getting out of burpees?”
I grabbed a couple of hand weights and stepped over to the incline bench. “Guess Coach thought the half hour I spent digging out my driveway counted as warmups.”
“That’s rough, man,” Patty said as he situated himself on the bench beside me for single-arm presses.
LeSean’s smirk didn’t endear the guy to me.
An hour later I was on the practice field with Patty, Mitch, and Callahan. Danny had an early class, but after having the weekend off, the other guys were eager to throw and catch. The surprise was when Dallas Cousins, our center, sauntered out onto the field to join our fun.
“Heard you were practicing drop-backs. Thought you might appreciate some timing.” He tossed me a cursory nod and grinned at Patty.
“Shoulda guessed you’d want to play too, Dally.” Patty grinned back.
Taking the hint, I stepped over to the far hash and called Mitch over to run some slants and skinny posts. Though us new guys had initiated these impromptu practice sessions, it came as no surprise the starters would want to join in. Between passes I watched Patty’s technique.
When he caught me, he asked, “How am I doing, Coach? Hip less stiff?”
I smiled. “You’re snapping that ball like it did something mean to you.”
Dally faced me. “Wait. You’ve been out here coaching the starter?”
Raising my hands, I said, “What? We all want to win, don’t we?”
Callahan jogged back from where he’d caught his last pass. “Your throws are fucking awesome, Patty. Whatever Cash told you to do, it’s working. Easiest passes I’ve ever caught—except maybe for yours, Cash.”
Dally narrowed his eyes. “Mind if we switch?” he asked Patty.
“I was about to suggest that, actually.” Patty tossed a ball between his hands as he headed over to throw passes to Mitch.
“You know the cadence?” Dally asked.
“Callahan and Danny have been teaching me.”