Twelve Men in the Huddle, page 4
“Everything is for the team,” said Pete. “The facilities, the trainers, the HPC, the massage session. Even this rehydration juice I’m slugging down. Which by the way is pretty darn good.”
Suddenly, an air raid siren sounded, continuing for about thirty seconds, followed by a stern voice over the intercom. “All players report to their cells immediately. Lock down! I repeat, lock down!”
Over the loud speaker followed the voice of coach Buford B. Hayes.
“Lord, thank you for this day. Thank you for this team. And thank you for Tulsa Valley football,” said the coach. “Please watch over us tonight and guide us through our journey. We thank you for your never-ending compassion. We humbly pray – Amen. Beat Southern State!”
Taps began to play over the outdoor speaker system as the lights were cut to the facility. Absolute darkness engulfed the camp.
“Oh my God,” whispered Jamal. “Get me outta here.”
“Hang in there, Jamal.”
“Pete, what day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
“When are we going home?”
“Friday.”
“What’s that humming sound?”
“Mosquitos.”
“Great. Zika too! We’re screwed.”
Silence penetrated the facility as the fatigued occupants drifted off to sleep. Pete felt the warm breeze from an overhead fan hanging just outside his cell. The foreign call of an animal pierced the stillness of the southern night. His sunburned bodied ached as he felt an insect crawl up his leg. As the young doctor fell asleep, he thought of his family back home – and Chloe. He pictured her face as if she were there, almost hearing her soft voice. While doing so, a painful sorrow took hold of his heart, which lasted throughout the night.
Chapter Four
THE JACKSON GIN HOLE
The two sports fellows made it through the week. Friday night found them back in relative civilization at Tulsa’s favorite drinking establishment – the Jackson Gin Hole. Pete promised Jamal a cold beer during their second night together in the bunkhouse, after a terrific lightning storm added even more terror to the old prison cell.
“My poor girlfriend, she thought I was dead,” lamented Jamal while working on his second draft beer. “I mean she’s texting me one minute, then I fall off the face of the earth for three days. She went hysterical. Who can blame her?”
“How did she figure it out?” asked Pete as he looked around the Gin Hole. It was your typical college tavern, the walls plastered with Tulsa Valley memorabilia. With school out the collegiate crowd was sparse. A large mural of Stonewall Jackson hung above a stone fireplace. The General had a look of concern on his face.
“Late Thursday night she called Dr. Harper’s office and Shannon spoke to her. She explained the situation.”
“Actually, I thought it was kind of interesting down there,” said Pete. “Talk about getting the undivided attention of your team. Those poor kids are completely isolated. No cell phones. No internet. It’s like being in real prison. Plus, Warden Hayes is quite the character.”
“He told me Thursday afternoon it was hotter than a billy goat’s ass in a pepper patch,” laughed Jamal.
“That’s funny,” said Pete. “The same day he told me it was hotter than a whore house on nickel night!”
The two new friends laughed so hard, tears welled up in their eyes.
“Sounds like you’ve been talking to Coach Hayes,” interjected a female voice from behind Pete.
“Heather!” said Pete while turning around. “Great to see you!”
Pete introduced Jamal to the school’s Sports Information Director. A young man with wiry hair and browline glasses stood next to Heather, with an inquisitive look upon his face.
“Doctors, I would like you to meet Hal Green from the Collegiate Sporting News,” said Heather. “Believe it or not he is going to be spending the entire season here in Tulsa, following the team.”
“A pleasure,” said Hal with a quirky shake of his head. “Go Tarps.”
“Hal is from Los Angeles and just got into town this afternoon,” said Heather. “We just had the General Lee special in the dining pit. I’ll be showing him around town.”
“Join us for a beer,” said Pete while pulling up two stools.
“Where about in L.A.?” asked Jamal. “That’s my hometown.”
“Our center city office,” said Hal as he sat down with Heather. The Sports Director took the chair next to Pete. “I live up in the valley, Encino to be exact.”
“Cool,” said Jamal. “I’m from Van Nuys. We’re practically neighbors.”
“I’m a long time reader of the CSN,” said Pete. “I love their articles.”
“And where are you from?” asked the reporter.
“Scranton, Pennsylvania. Coal country.”
“It must be quite a change for both of you down here?” said Hal. “How are you handling the transition?”
“Well, we’ve only been down here for a total of five days,” said Jamal with a smile. “But I do strongly recommend you visit the team’s summer camp just south of here. The accommodations are to die for.”
“I agree,” said Pete with a grin. “Just remember to take your bug spray.”
The two fellows clanked their glasses together in celebration as the reporter broke a half smile. Looking sideways to Heather, she explained the inside joke and the Badlands in more detail, while promising the reporter a visit to the famed facility. Jamal followed up with a description of his girlfriend’s dread after he abruptly vanished from social media.
“Oh my god, I can only imagine her fear,” said Heather, who wore a snug light pink halter-top and faded jeans. “What about you Dr. Wagner? Did your significant other flip out too?”
“Ah, well,” mumbled Pete. “I’m actually kind of not attached at the very moment.”
“Oops… awkward,” said the reporter in geek-like fashion while pushing his glasses up on his nose.
“Now, how is that possible?” asked Heather with a lean towards the fellow. She stared into his blue eyes, holding the look a bit longer than usual.
“Long story,” said Pete. “Maybe not the best time to discuss it. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“So what are you going to write about for a whole season?” asked Jamal with a quick change of the subject. “Isn’t that kind of odd for a national reporter to set up camp in a collegiate town?”
“The team that everyone is talking about,” answered Green enthusiastically. “A number one ranking, a colorful coach and a Heisman Trophy front runner with the nickname ‘Cannonball.’ It has all the makings of a great series.”
“This is definitely our year,” said Heather, her shoulder now in contact with Pete’s. “I can feel it now.”
“You almost had it three years ago,” said Jamal with a refill in his hand. “If it wasn’t for that fumble. I remember watching the game out on the coast. Everyone in the room screamed. You have to cover up the ball in the final minutes. Talk about a scapegoat. That guy must have left campus pretty quick?”
An awkward silence befell the group.
“How does a team go from the bottom of the conference to the absolute top in a matter of five or six years?” asked Hal Green. “That’s one of the questions my editor wants answered. I mean the Tarps were the proverbial doormat a decade ago, always on the schedule for the opponent’s homecoming game.”
“If it wasn’t for the fumble,” mumbled Heather. “Everything would be so very different.” She stared down into her mug of beer.
“I mean, it’s the same head coach and staff,” said Hal. “Was it a change in team philosophy?”
“So in essence you’re looking for the team’s twelfth man?” replied Pete. “A variable that helps make them great?”
“Yes,” said Green. “Very good. I like that analogy. I’m searching for the twelfth man. Is it the crowd, the stadium or perhaps the hot weather? What gives Tulsa Valley the edge? Who is Tulsa Valley’s twelfth man?”
“How about the kid from Scranton?” asked Pete. “Have you seen him play yet? He may be the X-factor.”
“No. But I can’t wait. I hear he is a real stud.”
“We tried to get near him in camp,” said Jamal. “But couldn’t. He always had a posse of trainers and coaches around him.”
“He even slept in a different building with the quarterback and a few other offensive skill players,” added Pete. “They’re obviously trying to protect the kid.”
“I see. Tell me more about the Badlands, if you don’t mind?” asked the reporter. “It’s tough to find any info or photos of the place. I’m very interested in it.”
Over the next thirty minutes the two new fellows filled in the reporter on their recent stay down south. Like any good journalist he followed their answers with more questions. During the discussion Heather stared at the available surgeon next to her, occasionally making slight bodily contact. It was when Jamal went to the bathroom and Hal walked outside to make a phone call, that she spoke.
“Thanks for not mentioning Billy Mo. It’s been three years and I still have trouble talking about it.”
“It never ceases to amaze me how much emphasis is placed on sports,” replied Pete in a tone of comfort. “It’s unfair to the collegiate athlete, who can’t even get a free meal while the school rakes in millions each year. If you ask me, it’s way too much pressure for young kids to handle. But, that’s entertainment, and the nation watches every Saturday afternoon. Right?”
“How can you not be attached to someone?” asked Heather, now approaching the legal limit for drunkenness in the state. “I mean how is that possible?” She brought her face near to his. “She must be one stupid girl.”
“Where’s Billy tonight?”
“Ah, at work,” said Heather, still staying in close. Pete noticed her fingernails to be color coordinated with her blouse. “He works weekends.”
“Who works weekends?” asked Jamal as he bounced back into his chair, signaling the waitress for another drink.
“Heather’s boyfriend,” said Pete.
“Oh yea? Where does he work?”
“Oh, a local internship,” said Heather. “He graduated from Tulsa Valley a few years ago. Working with a major oil company in the area. He really likes it.”
“Oh yea, what’s his title? What does he do?” asked Jamal while pushing the chair out for the returning reporter.
“His official title is a ‘Petroleum Dispenser Technician’,” said Heather. “I’m really not sure what he does.”
“It’s hotter than the hinges of hell outside,” said the reporter while wiping some sweat from his brow. “Does it ever cool down here?”
“Hey, where did you learn that line?” asked Jamal. “Not out west?”
“My grandmother. It was one of her favorites.”
“Hey Heather!” said a perky, young voice from behind the two surgeons.
“Hi Lexi,” said Heather. “Back on campus already?” As she spoke, she moved even closer to Pete, their torsos now in contact.
Pete turned to his left to stare directly into the splendiferous torso of Tulsa Valley’s head cheerleader, Alexandra Starr. Her hair was dyed bright blonde and ironed straight to shoulder length. A cute nose sat above a set of perfectly aligned, pearly white teeth, flashing a broad smile. Lexi’s height was five foot four inches, but her main attraction was a titillating anterior to posterior dimension both above and below the waistline, barely covered by a tank top. Across the front of her shirt sat the single word ‘Pretty.” The letters were distorted by the curves beneath.
“Yea, just got back today,” said Lexi, while still smiling. “The whole squad will be in by tomorrow for practice.”
“Hi, I’m Jamal Lewis,” said Pete’s roommate as he quickly stood up, dismissing his girlfriend’s recent concern for his well-being. “I’m one of the new sport fellows caring for the team this year.”
“A pleasure,” said Lexi while scoping out the two physicians. Energy exuded from her tight frame. She looked as if she was going to do a cartwheel.
“Lexi is our sixth year cheer captain,” said Heather with a touch of sarcasm. “Lexi, this is Pete Wagner, the other physician caring for the team. Pete and I flew into town together just a few days ago.”
“Oh…really?” said Lexi. “Flew into town together? Are you two dating or something?”
“No, no,” said Pete with a smile. “We just happened to meet on the plane.”
“I didn’t think so,” said Lexi with attitude. “I mean Heather’s been seeing Billy “Mo” Morris for some time now. Isn’t that right Heather?”
“That’s his name!” shouted Jamal. “The guy who fumbled the ball. Billy Mo. I’ll never forget it now.”
Heather stood up and lightly grasped the cheerleader’s hand. “Lexi, can we talk? In private that is.”
“Sure,” said the head cheerleader while being led away from the table, her body gyrating atop high heels.
“Listen Lexi,” said Heather sharply as they entered the women’s bathroom. “I know we have some history together, but stay away from Dr. Wagner. He and I have something going on here.”
“History? Oh please! I was dating Billy Mo for a year when you started to shake your ass in front of his face. Remember, when he was the Heisman candidate? Well you’ve got Billy now, so don’t tell me what to do!” She reapplied some torrid red lipstick to her face while talking. “Actually they’re both really cute. Doctors too? Quite frankly I’m getting tired of the jocks. You know Heather, we’re both getting a bit old for the college scene. I need a man with a future, not a bum knee.”
“Lexi, it’s your last year here,” said Heather while fussing with her own hair in the mirror. “At least I think it is. So let’s make it a good one. Perhaps a truce between us?”
“Maybe,” said the collegian while pulling her shirt down tight. “Let’s just see which one takes a shine to me,” said the captain while slapping her rear end. “Say hi to Billy Mo. I just got some gum off him, free of charge.”
By the time the two girls emerged from their pow-wow, they spotted Jamal Lewis atop a bull ride in the corner of the barroom. A goofy cowboy hat was on top of his head. He had just hastily signed a waiver releasing the Jackson Gin Hole from any liability from bodily damage, including paralysis and or death.
“Go Jamal!” cheered Lexi with a professional pump of her fists in the air. “J-A-M-A-L!”
Over the next thirty minutes old Lucifer, the mechanical bull, repeatedly tossed Jamal and Hal Green in grand fashion across the padded landing zone. Just behind a safety bar cheered Lexi, offering comfort to the fallen physician whenever he limped back into the line.
“What gives?” asked Pete to Heather as they watched the show. “You’ve gone quiet since Lexi walked in.”
“She and Billy Mo were the ‘chosen ones’ back in the day,” said Heather. “Then I stepped in, maybe a bit over the line. Things got nasty, and here we are.”
“You with Billy and she with… who?”
“Oh, about fifteen or twenty men since,” said Heather. “She’s laid waste to every good looking guy on campus. Even rumored to be an item with Connor Kelly, if you can believe that.”
“I can,” said Pete. “She packs quite the visual. Has all the bells and whistles to fascinate any male on a hot summer night.”
“You’re pretty funny Wagner,” said Heather. “Now about that story. Tell me about her? What happened?”
“I tell you what,” said Pete with a grin. “You get on that bull first, and then I’ll tell you about her.”
“Who?”
“Chloe,” said Pete. “How’s that for a start. Her name is Chloe Brown.”
“From Scranton?”
“The bull Jackson. Let’s see if that body is athletic as it looks.”
“You’re on Wagner,” said Heather with a gulp of beer. She stood up and hoisted her tight jeans above her waist, winking at Pete as she departed. Lexi put on a frown as she approached the bull.
Pete stumbled his way back to the main bar while keeping an eye on Heather’s progress.
“You’re in for a treat,” said the bartender. “She owns Lucifer.”
“Excuse me?” said Pete. “Are you talking about Heather?”
“Yes,” said the graduate student behind the bar. “Everyone knows her in these parts. Academic All-American in field hockey, smart, attractive and easy going. She and Billy Mo were the dream team for years.”
“Wait, let me guess. Until the fumble.”
“Yep. Billy Mo’s been on the outside looking in since that drop. He’s a pariah. They won’t even let him back down on the sidelines. The coach thinks he is a curse on the team.”
“A curse? You’re kidding me? He was a three time All-American. Still holds most of the rushing records. Should have been drafted in the first round.”
“People ask why he still hangs around… but it’s because of her,” said the barkeep as he slid a fresh beer towards Pete. “Everyone wonders why she still hangs on to him. Goodness gracious, she is smokin’ hot.”
Pete looked back to see Heather Jackson mount the beast. She wrapped a rope tightly around her left hand and tensed her body. With a nod of her head she gave consent to the switchman, and the machine came to life, first slowly, then more violently. As Lucifer moved, so did Heather, in an up and down rhythmic fashion, her spine arching backwards followed by the slap of her rump on the leather saddle. The crowd began to clap as the cowgirl gave out a wild yell, her hair flying in every direction. Quickly, the beast became angry, gyrating in a horrid fashion, puffs of mechanical steam now coming out of its nostrils. Despite a frenetic series of circular moves defying the laws of gravity, Heather hung on, with a grin of satisfaction. After another crazed minute it was over, the animal spent, and the crowd roaring in appreciation. She had tamed the mighty beast.
“Mercy me,” said the bartender. “Miss Heather Jackson. If I had a swing like that I’d be riding it every night.” He took a shot of whiskey to his mouth.
“Where does everyone down here come up with these lines?” said Pete in disbelief to the bartender. “I mean I’ve never heard of these sayings. Does the school offer a course in Southern one liners?”
