Coach, Walt Sautter [ereader for android .TXT] 📗

/> “I’m outta here. I shoulda quit playin’ for these fuckin’ homos right after that night” he whispered back.
I hesitated. Then I replied conclusively
“Me too!”
We both showered and dressed. The room was still silent as the others on the team did likewise.
When we prepared to leave, Ricky gathered his equipment and walked to Coach’s cubbyhole office and knocked. The door opened with Coach standing in the entrance.
Ricky looked Coach straight in the eye and threw the pile of equipment into the office at his feet.
“Done!” he said, turned and walked away.
I myself lacked his courage. I just left my equipment in the locker and never again went back to practice.
Coolness enveloped the entire school the following day. The thermometer read seventy-two but the mood was well below freezing. It was unusually quiet in the hallways. Everyone seemed to be speaking in whispers. They all glanced back and forth as they spoke seeming fearful that they might be over heard.
As Ricky and I walked the halls the small groups became silent and parted widely to allow our passage as if to avoid some lethal contamination. It was obvious that news of the confrontation between Ricky and Howie had spread.
Lunchtime finally arrived and we hurried from the building towards Jack’s so as to be the first to claim possession of the pinball machine. This was the usual drill. Everyone raced at lunch break so as to stake his claim. With speed and some luck one could control the machine for the entire lunch period. Luck was required because in order to continue play after the first game only games that were “racked up” were allowed. A loss without additional games being won required one to relinquish, the machine and allowed the next player in line to deposit his nickel and test his pinball skill.
We entered Jack’s and quickly realized that the race had been lost. Several guys were already crowded around, coins in hand, watching Vincy Lombo successfully nudge the machine in submission. The clack – clack of the machine, indicated accumulation replays being racked up in rapid succession.
As we approached, uneasy stares meet us, followed by very unenthusiastic greetings. Within minutes the crowd dissipated. Vincy finished his game and then he too left with five replays remaining. No one said a word, as they ebbed away, except for Vincy who claimed he had to catch up on some homework before lunch was over and that was why he was leaving the replays. Knowing Vincy to be the proud “anchor man” of the class, I was sure his excuse was a guise to justify his leaving our company as quickly as he could.
We were both sure we knew why we had become the pariahs of Highburg High. There we stood, abandoned, just Ricky and I and the machine with five free games. The games were hardly compensation for ostracism but we played them anyway.
The school day wore on and the chill in the air intensified. It was all about Ricky’s outburst in the locker room. The story had spread throughout the school like the flu. Although, I cowardly had said nothing at the time, when I quit the team with him that day, I tacitly condoned what he had said. I thereby, had become equally guilty and equally shunned as he.
At the end of school, I walked to Kathy’s locker to meet her as usual.
“I can’t see you any more,” said with a dejected voice.
“What do you mean ‘you can’t see me’?” I exclaimed.
She looked downward and spoke.
“Dad said I can’t be with a guy that would lie about Coach like you and your friend, Ricky did. He said he played for Coach and he knows that he would never be any kinda queer like you guys said.
He called both of you ‘lying little fagots’. He said you two are probably the queers, not Coach.”
“Do you really believe that?” I asked.
“No.” she whispered.
“But I still can’t see you any more” she answered tearfully. She then turned and walked away, out of my life.
So far an attempted Mischief Night prank has cost me all of my friends and my girlfriend.
“What else?’ I thought.
Several days passed and the climate was no friendlier than the first. If anything, there was a greater iciness. The rumor had now made its way through all of Highburg itself. I could even feel the distain of adults as evidenced by their cold stares as I passed them on the street. I often thought it would have been so much better if I hadn’t gone with Ricky that night. I really couldn’t blame him for his response to Howie but it sure did cause a shit load of trouble for us both.
Maybe what I could do was just get Ricky to tell everyone that what he had said was just a lie and he only said it in anger. He was only trying to reply to Howie’s taunts and none of it was true. Then I would add that I had only quit the team because Ricky was my friend and I was trying to be loyal.
“Sure! That’s what I’ll do and the whole could be smoothed over.
Why should I give a shit about what Coach and Howie do in their spare time anyway?
Aint really none of my business. If they want to be queers, so be it as long as they aint queerin’ me” I thought.
It was the day before Thanksgiving and school was out for four days. What a relief!
Four days without anxiety or reduced anxiety anyway!
Of course then too, it was four days with nobody to hang around with. Jack’s was out. So was Snookie’s. I was an outcast at both.
I was pretty much condemned to stay at home. It became so monotonous that I actually began to do some schoolwork.
Even my mother asked several times why I wasn’t “going to the library” as usual?
I simply replied with a wise crack.
“They ran out of books. I read them all” I answered that ended her questioning. I certainly wasn’t about to explain the real reason.
As we left school that day, Ricky and I met in the hallway and walked towards the front door.
“What’s ya doin’ tomorrow?” he asked.
“Probably nothin’” I replied.
“How about we go to the game?” he said.
“Are you nuts?” I quickly blurted.
“No! I wanna see if Howie breaks the record. I sure hope he don’t.
We’ll stand by the far end zone and watch. Hardly nobody ever watches from there. If somebody sees us, so what? All we’re gonna be doin’ is watchin’ the game. No law against that!” explained Ricky.
I hesitated.
“Well, I guess. I’d like to see if he does too.
You hitch a ride over to town tomorrow and I’ll meet ya at about nine o’clock by Snookie’s and we’ll walk down to the field. Game starts at ten.”
“Yeah” he replied, “I think my father might even drive me over. I’ll see ya tomorrow at nine” and with that we left the school.
“Ah, tomorrow will be the perfect opportunity to talk with him about my idea of his retraction. I’ll try to get him to say it was just a lie in the heat of anger,” I thought to myself as I walked home alone.

Chapter 4
I met Ricky at the coffee shop as planned and together we walked towards the football field. It was a long walk, about a mile and a half, but we had plenty of time. The game didn’t start until ten and it was only nine fifteen when we set out.
“Hey, Rick”, I began, in the most tactful tone that I could muster.
“What do ya think about takin’ back what ya said to Howie?”
“Why do we care what Coach and Howie do? It really aint none of our fuckin’ business ya know.
So they wanna queer each other. So what!” I said as convincingly as I could.
There was a brief silence. Ricky stopped walking, as did I. He turned and looked at me.
“Are you shittin’ me, Beamy. You know what we saw. You know how Howie got all over me, callin’ me a nigger and shittin’ on me in front of the whole team. You really think I should just suck all that down without sayin’ a word?
Especially, knowin’ what I know about him and Coach and you know it too!” he responded excitedly.
I looked back at him for a moment, feverishly trying to compose persuasive reply.
“You’re right! I know you’re right and you know you’re right but nobody else thinks you’re right.
This whole thing aint doin’ either of us any good. We got no more friends. They’re all afraid to be seen with us. Even the old people in town hate us.
Everybody!
I was standing outside of Jack’s the other day by myself and Moose came ridin’ by. His foot’s all healed up I guess cause he was drivin’ okay.
He just went right by pretending that he didn’t even see me. I know he did cause I could see him givin’ like a sideway look but he just kept on pretendin’.
Even Flash don’t stopped anymore.
Nobody, man nobody gonna hang with us anymore.
We gotta get this over with and you sayin’ that the whole thing was just a somethin’ you said when you were mad is the only way that’s gonna happen!”
I waited nervously, looking at Ricky, waiting to see how convincing I had been.
He looked down at the ground as he spoke.
“Well, maybe you’re right” he muttered and we continued to walk.
After a quarter mile or so his answer came.
“Yeah, you’re probably right” he repeated.
“I’ll do it. I’ll just kinda tell a few people that what I said wasn’t true and I’m sure that will get around quick and maybe everything will get smoothed over after a while.
I really don’t wanna do it but like you said, I guess I gotta. I’ll do it Monday in school.”
“Thanks” I replied and we continued to the field.
It was a great game, great for Highburg and Howie. The score was forty-two to zero at the half and Coach kept Howie and the first team in for the entire game and ran up the score. At the end, the final score was sixty-two to seven and forty of those points were Howie’s. He not only broke the state scoring record, he demolished it. After the game both he and Coach were rushed by reporters from both local and state wide newspapers. Even several radio stations sent reporters with portable tape recorders. Flash bulbs popped like fireworks as Howie and Coach spoke. It was an end of a season like Highburg had never seen. The entire town was in a state of euphoria, enraptured by the gridiron accomplishments of Highburg High and its star halfback.
After a half an hour or so, the crowd at the center of the field began to dissipate and the jubilant spectators left the stands. The team led by Coach then headed to the field house. Ricky and I too left our end zone spot and began a slow walk back to the center of town.
We had walked for a half hour or so, stopping frequently to skim stones across the nearby pond on the way.
Suddenly, the sound of a roaring car engine approached from the road behind us. A red and white Ford flew passed. It then came to a screeching halt thirty yards ahead of us. Five guys piled out of the car each wearing the Highburg red and black football jackets. They walked towards us, led by Howie with eyes flashing.
“What are you two punks doin’ here?” he