Jett
“What do a cigarette and pussy have in common?” Daylen asks the guys in the locker room during halftime of our first playoff game.
“What?” Presley Ladrón, our placekicker, responds.
Daylen smirks. “The closer you get to the butt, the better it tastes.”
The guys all burst into laughter while I look up at the ceiling.
Thank god the man can catch anything within fifteen feet of him or I’d boot his ass from both the locker room and the team.
It’s only our first playoff game of the season.
The most important one so far. Why not tell crude, immature, irrelevant jokes?
“Humblecut,” I grumble with annoyance. “Can I bother you to focus for the next few hours? It’s kind of an important day.”
“Sorry, Coach. Just trying to help everyone relax.”
“Any other words of wisdom for us, Humblecut?” I ask sarcastically, not actually wanting an answer.
He starts to say something else, but I hold up my hand. “Enough,” I bark. “We’re only up a touchdown. You all shouldn’t be so damn relaxed.” I’m certainly not. I’m a ball of nerves.
Yes, we’re favored to win this game, but it’s the playoffs. Anything goes.
I continue, “You all need to fight until the bitter end. Our defense needs to make a few more stands. Our offense can’t continue at this insane pace. You don’t win championships by trading punch for punch.”
Vance threw four touchdowns in the first half. We should be up by more, but injuries and a general lack of personnel have plagued our defense this season. Beau is playing his ass off, but he can’t cover for ten other guys on the field. I know he would if he could. He’s that kind of guy.
“Defense,” I shout at the group of guys sitting on a bench with bottles of water.
“Our tackling is embarrassing. How many second and third chances have we given up in this game? Let me remind you of the basics. Keep your fucking head up and wrap the player. Every damn one of you should be running to gang tackle. I’m not kidding.
I want eleven men tackling on every fucking play.
I’m sick of your lazy asses watching Fudd run around trying to make each one.
Earn your keep. You want to be a champion?
Play like one. If you all had half the heart Fudd has, this game would already be over. ”
I look directly at our starting safeties and grit my teeth. “You all are cheating the coverage. If you can’t keep up, let me know because there are a few very hungry guys on the bench who I know would be willing to do so.”
They cower under my gaze.
I then turn my attention to our defensive coordinator, who likely will be fired at the end of the season due to our defensive woes all season long.
“We need to put more pressure on the quarterback. Every time they line up with trips to the boundary, it’s an inside zone, so let’s bring the safety into the box.
I know that leaves the secondary more exposed, but we need to try something different because what we’re doing isn’t working. ”
He nods. “Yes, Coach. You’re absolutely right. No problem.” He looks at his players. “Guys, you heard him. Get it done.”
As the team begins to head back onto the field, I pull Vance aside.
“Our defense is killing us. We need to keep them off the field. We’re going to have to stick with short passes and running the ball to burn time off the clock.
I know you can do more, and I’ll try to find you some opportunities, but we need to kill time. ”
He nods. “Of course. Whatever it takes to win. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. I trust you completely.”
I smack his shoulder. “I trust you too, son.”
Unfortunately, the second half doesn’t go our way.
Our defense gets exposed for the mediocre players they are.
Vance’s four hundred yards and six touchdowns aren’t enough as we watch the other team easily drive down the field with under a minute left on the clock and kick a field goal with time expiring to win the game.
Our season is over. I’m heartbroken for the guys. This team should have achieved so much more.
We’ve been getting crucified in the media all week over losing a game in which we were favored by eight points.
The Philly fans are relentless. They’re all over sports radio, playing Monday morning quarterback and trashing the team.
It takes everything I have not to call in and defend my guys.
I don’t care if they trash me, but lay off my guys.
The past few days have been filled with countless end-of-season meetings with the team owner and the general manager as to how things could have been managed differently.
The coaching staff is also meeting with each player to discuss this past season and their respective roles on the team moving forward.
Telling a player that his contract isn’t being renewed is my least favorite part of this job.
These guys have spent their lives eating and sleeping football.
Crushing dreams isn’t exciting for me. Helping them achieve their potential is what keeps me coming back year after year.
Vance asked to meet first so he could head home to visit his family in Montana. There was nothing negative to say to him because he had an All-Pro year. He deserved a better ending. He’s the heart and soul of the organization and will be a Camel for life.
The general manager, Baron DeBurg, wanted to fire our defensive coordinator himself.
I asked if I could please do so. I owe him that much.
He’s been on my staff for four years. I know his wife and kids.
It was heartbreaking, but I agree with DeBurg that it’s necessary.
Our defense killed us this year. We need a fresh start.
I’m pushing DeBurg hard to sign more talent around Beau, but with Vance, Daylen, Beau, and a few other players having big salaries, his hands are a bit tied to remain under the league-imposed salary cap. We’ll need to get creative.
The only good news is that I’m able to move up my date with Fallon.
We’re getting together on Saturday night at an out-of-the-way restaurant of my choosing.
We still haven’t exchanged real names or photos.
I told her I’d be at a booth in the back with a green shirt and a dark blue cowboy hat.
I’m both nervous and excited for this new chapter.
I only hope she doesn’t take one look at me and turn around to leave.
We have a genuine connection and have built a nice friendship. She must realize that.
We’re finishing up our meeting with Beau when I ask the other coaches to give us a minute alone.
Beau came to this team doe-eyed and engaged to his high school sweetheart.
She broke his heart, and he hasn’t had a girlfriend since, but I know he dates a lot.
Women drool for the big guy with a heart of gold, screaming like teens every time he takes the field.
Unlike Daylen, he’s respectful to the women he dates. He never brags or gives sordid details.
The guys on the team are always going to him for dating and dietary advice. He’s a walking, talking textbook. What he tells them always seems on point to me. Who needs Google when you have Beau Fudd?
As the other coaches are leaving, I offer him an apple, but he declines. “You know I’m a passion fruit kind of guy, Coach.”
I nod. “Right. Remind me why that is.”
“It’s got a ton of protein. Believe it or not, I was an undersized kid.
My father pushed me into football. That’s when I started researching nutrition because I knew I needed to bulk up so I wouldn’t get hurt.
I learned that passion fruit is packed with protein.
I swear it’s part of the reason I began my huge growth spurt that never ended. ”
I chuckle. “I can’t believe you were ever undersized.”
“Yes, sir. Very much so.”
With the door finally closed, I lick my lips nervously. “Fudd,” I start, “can I ask you a personal question?”
He seems a bit taken aback. It’s not normal for me to get overly personal in my conversations with my players. “Of course, Coach.”
I’m slightly embarrassed, but I need some help in this department. “I’ve heard you talking to some of the guys about…hygiene.” I widen my eyes, hoping he understands what I’m referring to.
“Hygiene?” he questions, clearly not following my line of thought.
I lean back in my desk chair, feeling flustered about what I’m about to ask.
Sensing my embarrassment, he bows his head. “I’m here for you, Coach. Whatever you need.”
I exhale a long breath. “I have a…date this weekend. I’m very excited about the woman. I want to…look my best.” I widen my eyes again, hoping he follows.
“Oh,” he says, “I can help with finding you something to wear.”
I sigh in resignation as my shoulders fall. I’m going to have to spell it out. “No, not that. I hear you talking to the guys about grooming and other stuff that I didn’t have to consider the last time I had a first date.”
He bites back a smile. I’ve definitely shocked him. “I see. What are you thinking?”
I scratch behind my neck nervously, beyond uncomfortable having this conversation. “You all seem to have hairless backs. I’m not super hairy there, but I’m a grown man with dark hair. I’m not hairless.”
He nods. “You need waxing. How old is your date?”
“Why does that matter?” I ask.
“Women in their twenties like men with smooth chests in addition to backs.”
My chin drops. “Absolutely not. I’d feel too feminine without that. I’ve had chest hair since I was fifteen. I’m not touching that, and of course she’s not in her twenties. I would never date a woman my daughter’s age.” I make a look of disgust.
He holds up his hand in defense. “Okay, okay. Just checking. What about…” He points to his crotch area.
I nearly fall out of my chair as I scream, “What? You wax down there too?”
He shrugs. “I don’t wax that area quite as much anymore, but at a minimum, I manscape.”
“What the hell is manscape?” I ask with equal parts horror and curiosity.