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Authors: Franklin White

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BOOK: Team Mom
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3
Coach was exhausted, but in the end, he felt encouraged by the meeting. At least he'd recruited some fans for his team. He stayed until every last person left the overflow room in the basement of the church. The meeting had sparked a reminder to go see an old friend, to call on him for help with the team. He and the team were going to need all the help they could get. On the way out to his car, he stopped when he heard his name being called by a female voice.
“Hey, Coach,” the woman said. She had a wondering smile on her face.
“Hey,” he said back. He actually had to focus to get his bearings. After a beat or two he remembered who she was and said, “Oh, hey. J's mom, right?”
She smiled again and said, “And before I forget, let me thank you for calling Jarques . . . J. He has really taken to his nickname, and it seems to have put a hair or two on his chest.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes, it has,” she said. She looked at him, very curious. She was focused on his police uniform. “I know it's really hectic out in the streets, chasing these crazy criminals and all . . . but what are you doing here? Laying it all down at the altar before you hit the streets or something? Getting that special covering?” She pointed at his police uniform.
He looked down at his uniform. Then he straightened out his tie. He got her point and placed a smile on his face. He chuckled too. “Oh, no. I just finished up with a community meeting. I'm done with the streets. I'm doing public relations for the department nowadays.”
“Oh, what kind of meeting y'all have up in here?” she asked.
“Community meeting, letting everyone know the streets are safe and hearing some concerns they have about protection and all the break-ins that have been occurring.”
There was kind of an awkward silence now. She appeared to be holding back her thoughts on crime in the community and how well the police were doing. She'd just heard on her car radio about a young teenager who was kidnapped from her home.
“But one good thing came out the meeting,” he continued.
She smiled again. She had just swallowed her thoughts about crime. “Yeah? What's that?”
“Recruited some fans for our first game.”
“Fans?”
“Sure did. Right at this meeting. It should be fun,” he said. There was another awkward moment, and he looked into the church, then back at her. “So I guess it's my turn to ask. . . . What're you doing here? Getting ready to ask the Lord to forgive your sins down at the altar?”
He chuckled, and she smiled.
She said, “Good idea, but probably too late for me. I work here.”
“Really?”
Her tone was point-blank and not very happy. “Really.”
“Not the best, huh?”
“It's okay,” she replied, as if trying to make herself believe it. Then she lowered her voice and added, “Actually, this fuckin' place gets on my last nerve.” She looked around again. “But we do what we have to.”
Coach was trying to read the woman, who had just cursed in front of the church, without judging her. All he could do was chuckle at her instincts. “Yeah, you are right about that,” Coach cosigned. He looked back at the church, then nodded to a few people who had been in the meeting with him who were walking past and wished them well.
“So I guess I will see you and J at practice tomorrow.”
“Okay. Yeah, sure,” she agreed.
Coach started to walk away in the direction of his car. He stopped and looked back when she called out his name.
She said, “I got the flyer for volunteer positions on the team. Put me down for team mom.”
He was taken aback, so much so that he even sat his briefcase on the ground. “Team mom?”
She said, “Dang . . . Why so surprised?” Her face displayed amazement. Then she gave him a smile.
Coach was amused at that moment. “Not surprised. Stunned a bit, though.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I usually have to beg someone to take the position.”
“Not me. I can handle it, so put me down as team mom, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks. It's done. I'll introduce you at the next practice.”
“Good. See you then,” she said. She started on her way.
Coach picked up his briefcase and turned around to leave, but then he twirled around and called out to her. “Wait a minute. I forgot your name.”
She smiled. “It's Shonda. My name is Shonda Black.”
4
Luckily for Coach, it was Wednesday, which meant no practice. There was one place he needed to be besides that church to save his soul, and it was front and center at his favorite sportsbar. The plan was to meet his longtime friend Calvin Wilson to talk some shop, get a meal, and drink plenty of ice-cold beer.
“You want me to do what?” Calvin wanted to hear what Coach was asking one more time. This was right after Coach hit him with an unexpected request. Calvin was so surprised at his request that he stood up from his chair at the table, and that was when anyone looking could see he was about five-ten and had an athletic build. Just like a running back.
“Calvin, this is serious. I need you to help me coach my team,” Coach repeated.
Calvin looked at the near-empty pitcher of brew and began pouring it in his glass, then changed his mind. “Fuck it,” he said. And instead he lifted the pitcher to his mouth and gulped the beer straight down without a care. He pointed to himself with the pitcher. “Me coach? Oh, hell no. I'm done with coaching, man.” Even though there was music and televisions on throughout the establishment, Calvin was pretty loud and at that moment could be heard by a few of the early birds filtering in to get their drink on.
Coach said, “Look, Calvin, you have to let that go, man. Just let it go.”
For some reason Calvin hadn't cleared his mind of the situation that had his name rolling in mud in the community. The situation was still playing loudly in his mind, and one thing these two guys agreed on and always wanted to make sure of was that their names stayed out of any kind of scandal while they coached ball. They truly looked at coaching as their community service.
Calvin still had the pitcher in his hand. “What do we have to do to get some more of this?” He looked around. By this time he was a few seconds from going over to the bar himself to ask the bartender for another if their waitress didn't arrive soon enough.
At the moment Coach wasn't too engaged in his efforts to get more brew. He had a huge appetite and was paying more attention to what was on his plate: a baked potato, baked chicken, and a salad.
Calvin looked over at his meal, still holding the empty pitcher, and asked, “After all this time, you still not eatin' red meat?” For Calvin, it was kind of fucking unbelievable. Shit, un-American even.
“Nope,” Coach said.
“How long has it been?”
“About as long as you've quit coaching.”
“Funny. Two years?”
Coach moved his head up and down. Then he dived into his salad. He put a tomato on his fork before the lettuce. Then some chicken.
Calvin looked at his plate and watched Coach enjoy his meal, then said, “Damn, that's serious. You still eat pussy?”
Coach didn't answer but stared at him longer than it would have taken him to answer with a yes or no.
Calvin said, “Look, man, how long have we known each other?”
“I'm getting ready to say, ‘Way too long,' but I would guess and say at least eleven, twelve years,” Coach answered.
“Twelve to be exact, and five Georgia Youth championships to show for it,” Calvin said.
“And that's exactly why you should come back.” Coach still loved his beer and drank some of what he had left in his mug. In an imaginary way he was beating his chest because he got a point in over his friend at Calvin's own admission.
Calvin looked into the empty pitcher of beer and thought about the offer again. “I don't know, man. These kids today don't listen worth anything, and the parents are even worse.” He gasped at the site of the empty pitcher and turned it upside down.
“Are you still on that situation, Calvin? Look, that is over with.”
The waitress finally came over, grabbed the pitcher, and let them know she would be back. She looked at Calvin kind of oddly too. When Calvin finished looking at her tight little ass walking away in her jeans, he answered, “You talking about that asshole accusing me of texting his wife?”
Coach chuckled a bit. “Yeah, that's it. But it was a little more than texting he accused you of.” The situation had Calvin tied in knots.
“Man, I had people coming into my shop, asking me about that. There isn't anything more broke down than a preacher gossiping about something that's not true, even though it involves his wife.” He remembered it all too clearly.
“But you handled it. It turned out okay,” Coach said.
“Yes, it did. But a preacher took me to a limit where I was going to knock his ass out. Thinking I wanted to do his wife . . . Now, I've done some things in my life.”
“Of course. We both have,” Coach told him, still eating.
“But that? Me? A preacher's wife? I don't do that, man.”
The waitress returned with another pitcher of beer. She poured them some.
Coach didn't let up. He was on a mission. “So, what do you say, Calvin? I have over fifty kids who have been discarded by the middle school system. Can you believe no gotdamned money for football? How the hell does that happen?”
Calvin poured some beer and took a few gulps. “Hell, I don't know. I ain't on that screwy-ass board that makes all the decisions. If it was up to me, they would be playing in the Georgia Dome instead of the Falcons.”
Coach said, “They want to play some ball, but I can't coach them all by myself. It was cool when they were younger and I had just enough for an offense and defense, but I have numbers now. I'm talking boys that will be in high school soon.”
“Fifty kids, huh?” Calvin sucked down some more beer. Enjoyed it too.
“Or more,” Coach replied.
Calvin raised his mug to his mouth and drained it. “What type of offense you running?”
“Pistol. Lots of motion and some read option,” Coach informed him. “If I can find me a quarterback.”
Calvin poured himself another beer from the pitcher. He smiled. “What the hell, man. You haven't won without me in the last two years, anyway.”
5
The team's personnel was finally in place. As promised, Calvin joined the coaching staff, and Coach was grateful to Shonda Black for filling the post of team mom. After several weeks of practice the team took on a rival neighborhood team in a scrimmage and looked better than anyone could expect on the hot summer evening.
Coach and a few stragglers, along with Calvin, were gathering up equipment after the scrimmage and dumping ice water out of coolers. Calvin noticed a few Gato-rades left in the cooler, reached down through the chilling ice, and tossed one to Coach, then cracked another open for himself.
“We looked good today,” Calvin said.
“Yeah, man, you have that defense on point.”
Without any hesitation, Calvin said, “I'm scratching it. I think I want to go with something else.”
“What do you mean? We beat them twenty-eight to seven.”
“They scored on us, Coach, and that's a problem for me,” Calvin told him.
“Shoot, man, when I asked you to come back, I didn't know you had this much fire left.”
“Can't lie, I missed it. Missed everything about this.”
“Good to see the passion, because you're going to need it tomorrow for the fund-raiser,” Coach said.
“Say what?”
“The fund-raiser. The one we've been talking about the past few weeks. We need to get some extra money for the uniforms, team meals, and trophies for the end of the season for all the players. You know how this works, Calvin.”
Calvin said, “When have you ever known me to participate in a fund-raiser?”
Coach stood still, thinking about it. “I don't remember.”
“Exactly. I don't do fund-raisers. I will put a donation can up at my place of business with a photo of our team and hope someone finds the goodness to leave a little something in the can.” Calvin was the owner of a postage stop shop. “But as far as standing on the corner, begging or washing cars, big daddy ain't with that. If I were you, I'd ask the parents for an extra bump. They would probably rather do that than wash a car or barbecue. What are you doing, anyway?”
“Haven't you been listening at the end of practice?”
“Guess not. Maybe my brain shuts down at the sound of the word
fund-raiser.

“We are doing a barbecue and car wash. The usual. I thought about asking the parents for more money per child, but let's see how this goes.”
“Well, let me know too,” Calvin replied as he dumped the rest of the ice onto the field.
Coach said, “Whatever. So who'd you like at quarterback? J or that kid Boston?”
Calvin looked up. “I like Boston. He's more physical. Mind seems to be a bit tougher. He can take a lick, get back up, and act like it didn't happen. But that kid J runs around back there too much. Trying to avoid that hit. He's the fastest, though. Damn he's fast. Gotta arm on him too.”
“Yes, sir, they both can throw it. So I'm J at this point.”
Calvin said, “Practice should tell you a little more about them. I will pin the D's ears back a little next week. You know, go after them, help you make a decision.”
“Cool,” Coach replied.
BOOK: Team Mom
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