Twelve Men in the Huddle, page 6
“This is the best shrimp I’ve ever tasted,” said Pete. He was working on a creamy pesto shrimp entrée.
“Was probably caught this morning,” said Harper. “The seafood in this section of the state is outstanding.”
“I was expecting a Tarpon dinner,” said Pete.
“Nah, Tarpon is a sport fish. It tastes horrible. Later in the season I’ll take you and Jamal out fishing. You’ll never forget battling a tarpon.”
“Now, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the coach of the Tulsa Valley Tarpons,” said President Davis at the table head. “He has put together a team ranked number one in all the major pre-season polls, and we know he’ll have them ready to roll in just three weeks. Ladies and gentlemen – Coach Buford B. Hayes!”
A warm round of applause broke out from the crowd as the coach arose from his table. While standing, the man in the seersucker suit patted him on the back. Prior to addressing the congregation, Hayes pulled a napkin away from his top shirt collar and cleared his throat.
“Well thank you so very much President Davis, and thank you for your hospitality. As usual the dinner was excellent, and Mrs. Hayes and I always enjoy visiting your home here on campus.” He paused for effect and took a step away from the table. “Of course you know the football team pays for this place, so you better keep inviting us back, or I’ll put you in the freshman dorm!”
Laughter erupted from the crowd as the veteran coach began to weave a speech together, strewn with comedic material.
“It’s also great to break bread tonight with the president of our Booster Club, Mr. Benson.” The coach smiled at the man in the seersucker suit. “You all know Clint, he has more money than God. He’s so rich, he buys a new boat each time one gets wet.”
Clint Benson broke into a hearty laugh, his bony shoulders jumping up and down on each side of a long neck.
“His speeches are legendary,” whispered Doc Harper to Pete. “He’s going to roast everyone in the room.”
Just then, Coach Hayes eyed the two doctors.
“And there’s old Doc Harper in the corner with another one of his students. Hey Doc, the Tulsa County Coroner just called me with some bad news. He said you’ve operated on every knee in the area. For Christ sakes, the county has run out of knees. Slow up and put the knife away!”
Laughter again filled the room as the speech continued. Pete was impressed by the coach’s gift for public speaking. He occasionally turned up the volume on his southern accent to deliver a stronger punch line. After another ten minutes of satire, he paused his voice and changed to a quiet, almost confidential tone.
“Now everybody knows darn well we got the weapons,” said the coach. “That’s right. No surprise. They’re all waiting for us. All the opposing teams have our name circled on their calendars. But it’s simple. On offense we got Derrick and the Cannonball. On defense we got The Twister -Tyrone Tubbs. Those are three men who are going to be playing on Sunday afternoon for years to come. So let’s see who can stop us. Right?”
Soft applause.
“Down in summer camp, things are going well,” continued Hayes. “The team is strong and focused. I promise to have them ready for opening day. I’ve got a great feeling about this squad, yet I’m going to take it one day at a time. That’s right, one day at a time.”
Another light round of applause followed.
“So I stand here before you tonight, proud to say the State of the Tulsa Valley Football Nation is excellent. We are ready to meet, and exceed, all expectations! We will be tested, but in the end I know, we shall prevail. So please join us for what I hope will be a memorable season. Praise the Lord.”
“And beat Southern State!” shouted Clint Benson.
A standing ovation followed the coach’s speech as he hugged Mrs. Hayes. A dessert tray filled with home baked fruit pies followed, along with some vintage port wine. Once the event ended, Pete found himself being escorted home by Heather.
“I hear you are going back down to the Badlands,” said Heather.
“Wow, word travels fast in these parts. I just told Jamal a few hours ago. By the way, have you seen him?”
“No,” said Heather, while gazing at the doctor. She took Pete on a longer route home, along the campus perimeter. “So, why are you going back? It’s punishing down there.”
“Chloe mostly,” said Pete. “I’m hoping some time in the penitentiary will clear my mind of her. It still kind of hurts.”
“Funny, I almost wish I could join you.”
“Billy Mo?”
“Yea, Billy Mo,” said Heather. “I don’t know where we are headed.”
“I feel sorry for him,” said Pete. “And I don’t really even know him.”
“Three years ago we were on top of the world. Then a fumble, graduation, and a strong dose of reality.”
“Give it time,” said Pete.
I hope you’re right Dr. Wagner,” said Heather as they approached his apartment complex. “But I’m afraid of the direction we’re already headed in.”
Suddenly a commotion from the apartment complex caused Pete and Heather to look up. Running towards them was the scantly clad Lexi Starr, with a woman close behind her. There was terror in the cheerleader’s eyes.
“I’ll kick your pretty girl ass!” yelled the woman in pursuit.
“Crazy woman! Out of my way!” screamed Lexi as she ran by.
“Tiana, please,” yelled Jamal from the apartment steps. “I can explain.”
Tiana stopped just a few steps in front of Pete, short of breath.
“Don’t ever come near my man! Or I’ll mess you up!”
Lexi didn’t respond, and disappeared from sight.
“Tiana, please!” cried Jamal. “It was nothing. Come back in here.”
“You hear everybody!” screamed Tiana. “Jamal is my man! You touch him and I’ll be on top of you like a disease! Does everybody down here understand?” She stared at Pete and Heather, daring them to speak. After a moment of silence, she turned around and stormed back into the apartment.
Heather left to pick up Billy Mo, and Pete sat outside the apartment, allowing the situation to calm down. After thirty minutes Jamal poked his head outside the door.
“Hey Pete,” said Jamal.
“Hey Jamal. Company?”
“Yea, yea,” said Jamal in a whisper. “That’s my girl, Tiana from L.A. She flew in just to surprise me. Isn’t that great?”
“You tell me,” said Pete.
“You know Pete I’ve been thinking, a few weeks down in the Badlands may do me good too,” said Jamal. “Mind if I join you?”
Chapter Six
EUGENE
“Here, put this on,” said the assistant trainer to Pete. “Record heat today. You’re going to need it.”
“Thanks,” said Pete, seated on an exam table in the main trainer room. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”
“My name is Piper,” said the trainer as she peeled the back off the skin patch. “Piper Hicks.”
“Thanks Piper.”
“It’s called a Tarpon Patch. Doc Harper invented it.”
“Doctor Harper has quite the mind,” said Pete. “That’s about the third or fourth invention with his name on it.”
“It keeps the player’s electrolytes in order during the summer.”
“I’m very interested in it,” said Pete. “Frankly, I’ve never heard of an electrolyte patch before.”
“He also came up with the juice you’re drinking.” Piper was in her late twenties, yet had the face of someone much younger. She was a grad student at Tulsa Valley, working her way towards a doctorate in physical therapy. She wore her hair in a tight ponytail, above a face that was fair and freckled.
“This power juice, I love it,” said Pete. “Let me guess, it’s called Harper Tonic.”
“Nope. Harper Cider is what we call it. We’ve been using it for about three years now. Along with the patch, there has been a significant decrease in cramps and dehydration.”
“Very nice,” said Pete.
“Push the fluids,” said Piper. “Cramps can lose a game. Coach is always saying that.”
“Piper!” boomed the masculine voice of an approaching Lance Tucker from behind. “Wash those towels. Stat!”
Without saying a word, the assistant trainer vanished.
“So, you two are planning on hanging out in the Badlands?” asked Lance to Pete. “Is that what I’m hearing? If so, that’s a first.”
“Yes it’s true Lance. Jamal and I actually like being here. It’s good for the soul.”
“Don’t get cute with me Doc. We take football matters very seriously down here, especially when it comes to caring for the team. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“I run the show here when Doc Harper isn’t around.”
“No doubt,” said Pete.
“You’re just passing through, but not me. This is my life and I take my job very seriously.”
“Lance, I completely understand. We just appreciate having the opportunity to care for the team. It’s an honor.”
“What I say goes. Got it?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Remember, don’t touch anybody. If someone goes down on the field, I see them first.”
“Roger on that info.”
The head trainer just smirked at the physician before him. Like all the other ones he thought, young and cocky. While turning away his left biceps twitched in the oppressive morning heat.
For the next several minutes Pete just sat alone in the training room, staring at the patch on his deltoid. He felt a little better already, perhaps a placebo effect. He heard the sound of footsteps heading in his direction. While looking to his right he came eye to eye with Connor Kelly. The Tulsa Valley star nodded his head in acknowledgment. He wore a pair of shower sandals with a white towel around his waist.
“Where’s Tuck?” asked Kelly. Pete immediately noticed his voice to be deep and strong, and unlike many of the other players, his body free of tattoos.
“He just left,” said Pete now standing up to introduce himself. Upon doing so he was immediately struck by the pure physicality of the Scranton product. He frame was six foot two inches tall and appeared to be cut from granite. A thick neck sat above toned deltoids, which were overshadowed by ripped biceps. Powerful legs supported a torso held together by well-cut abdominals. He reminded Pete of the David statue he had seen in Florence, Italy. However, the star’s most striking feature was his boyish face, with blue eyes and dark blonde hair, the only flaw a jagged scar above his right eyebrow.
“You the new fellow?” asked Connor while heading over to the ice machine. “If so, welcome to the Badlands.”
“Yea, I’m Pete Wagner. From Scranton.”
“What! Scranton?” cried the Heisman candidate. “No way! That’s my hometown. Where in Scranton?”
“West side,” said Pete. “Near the ammo factory.”
“I’m from the Hill Section, just up from the University,” said Connor. “Oh my God.” The star walked over and shook Pete’s hand with a wide grin. “What a small world. It’s a pleasure to met you Dr. Pete Wagner.”
“Cannonball, what’s up?” said Lance as he stepped back into the room. “Need some ice? Hop up on the table.”
“What’s up is that Doc is from my hometown. What do you think of that Lance? We are cut from the same cloth.”
“Amazing.”
“The Holy Land,” said Cannonball Kelly.
While Connor Kelly made his way to the exam table, Dr. Harper walked in with the man in the seersucker suit. His suit was a shade bluer than the one worn to the estate dinner.
“There’s my boy!” said Clint Benson with a smile on his face. “How’s the ankle son?”
“Great Mr. Benson,” said Connor. “I’ll be ready for opening day.”
“I can taste the ribs already,” said the head of the booster club. “Got a fancy new grill for the tailgate party.”
“Tape it up after you ice it Lance,” said Harper while approaching the star. “Stay hydrated out there kid. It’s nearly a hundred degrees already.”
“Right Doc. Will do. Hey the fellow is from Scranton. Did you know that?”
“Sure I did,” said Dr. Harper with a smile. “That’s why I picked him.”
Doc Harper continued his route through the training room with Clint Benson in tow. While departing Pete heard Clint say, “Sales are through the roof locally. Just wait until the national spotlight gets hold of it…”
Suddenly, a commotion started from the opposite direction, with loud voices approaching.
“Keep pressure on it!” yelled Piper. “Were you knocked out?”
“Idiot!” yelled the voice of an assistant coach as he turned the corner into the room with a player, bleeding profusely from his face. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“He spit on me coach,” said the player. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Clear the table!” shouted Lance to Pete.
As Pete jumped off the table he immediately recognized the injured player. It was the back up punter he had given a shoulder injection to last week. He instinctively put on a pair of exam gloves as the player was set supine on the table.
“What the hell are you doing?” growled Lance.
“He’s bleeding,” said Pete. “I suggest you put on some gloves.”
“No shit,” said Lance to the doctor. “But I don’t need your help.”
“If his hand is broken you’re in big trouble Eugene,” said the assistant coach. “Coach Hayes will flip out.”
“His hand, what about my face?” yelled the punter. “I hope it is broken. Somebody needs to teach him a lesson.”
A concerned silence set in as Lance removed the bloodied towel from the player’s head, exposing a linear laceration just above his left eyebrow. Pete immediately knew it would require a suture repair. Doc Harper walked back in with Clint.
“What happened?” asked Harper. “Helmet hit?”
“Nah, cheap shot from Tyrone,” said the punter. “I’m all right, but hopefully he shattered his hand.”
“What!” yelled Clint. “The Twister shattered his hand! Sweet Jesus, no!”
Doctor Harper looked down into the wound, and shook his head. “Suture it up Dr. Wagner.” He hustled out with Clint Benson in tow, to check on their star defensive end.
“Help him out Piper,” said Lance, as he too followed Harper out of the room.
“I’ll need some Marcaine to numb him up,” said Pete. “I already know he doesn’t have any allergies.”
“Marcaine with epinephrine in it?”
“Sure Piper. Do you remember the saying on what body parts to never use epinephrine on?”
“No,” said the trainer as she opened a medicine cabinet on the wall.
“Never use Marcaine with epinephrine on the fingers, toes, nose and hose,” said Pete with a smile. “Epinephrine stops the bleeding by vasoconstriction, but it can cause immediate necrosis on any appendage, especially those body parts.”
“What’s necrosis?” asked the punter.
“Tissue death, immediate with regards to epinephrine. The tissue can turn black and ultimately fall off.”
“Does hose mean your…”
“Yes it does Eugene,” said Pete. “Yes it does.”
“Ouch,” said Connor Kelly, who was taking in the entire scene on the adjacent table, his ankle wrapped in ice.
“Try not to visualize that Connor,” said Pete as he expertly drew up some numbing medicine into the syringe. “I’ve seen it, and it isn’t pretty.”
Over the next thirty minutes Dr. Wagner and Piper Hicks numbed, cleansed and suture closed the laceration on Eugene Blatt. Despite his face being covered by a sterile drape, the back up punter was quite vocal throughout the procedure.
“He spit on me so I kicked him in the balls,” said the Tampa Bay product with a laugh. “Never let a punter kick you in the balls.”
“So the Twister’s main problem may not be his hand?” asked Pete.
“Nah,” said Eugene. “His life is centered around booze, reefer and women. So he’s definitely more worried about his Johnson.”
“If he’s hurt in the groin doc, give him a shot,” said Connor.
“Yea, right in the hose!” said Eugene with vengeance. “Instant death.”
“That my friends would be a career ender,” said Pete while tying the final stitch. Piper was assisting and dabbed the wound with a gauze pad. “My career that is.”
“Nice job doctor,” said Piper as she cut the final stitch.
“How’s it look Doc?” asked the patient as Pete lifted the drape from his face.”
“An improvement,” said Pete with a smile. “It adds a certain ruggedness to your baby face.”
“I agree,” said Piper.
Suddenly, Coach Hayes burst into the room, his face beet red and right cheek full of tobacco. “What the hell is your problem boy?” screamed the coach. His voice echoed through the old barracks. “Are you crazy?”
“He spit on me coach. Right in the eye!”
“Son, that’s Tyrone Tubbs out there icing his crotch. He’s all messed up like a kite in a hailstorm.”
“Not my fault,” said the punter as Piper applied some antibiotic ointment to his forehead.
“If his hand is broken it will be your fault! So help me God…, ah…ah…”
“Eugene. His name is Eugene Blatt,” said Connor. “He’s from Tampa Bay.”
“Yea, yea. I knew that Cannonball. So help me God, Eugene Blatt from Tampa Bay. I’ll run you till the cows come home. Do you hear me?”
“Yes sir,” said Eugene as he placed a bag of ice on his head. “Loud and clear.”
“Boy’s dumb as cabbage,” mumbled the coach as he stormed out of the room.
“I’ve been here three years and the old geezer doesn’t even know my name,” said Eugene. “He told my mother on a recruiting trip he’d be like the father I never had. What a joke.”
“I think this may be his last season,” said Connor while taking the ice off his ankle. “He’s starting to lose it. I think he’s more interested in Ole Whitey and that vegetable garden he has behind the main holding cell. I think he plans on retiring here.”
