Explosions of Grandeur.

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Soapy
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Explosions of Grandeur.

Post by Soapy » 12 Aug 2019, 16:07

“Nah, coach.”

“Really?”

“We just feel like with everything that has happened, it ain’t right.”

“You guys all agree on this?”

“Drake and John been here all summer with us.”

“Damn right.”

“The shit with Jakobi....that’s our brother, man. We can’t trust him like that, not after that.”

“I just visited Jakobi last weekend, I ain’t strapping up with that dude.”

“None of us is.”

....

James let his head hang as he stood over the stool where the ball was resting. A few drops of sweat rolled off his forehead and splashed on the ball. It had been weeks since he threw a football and it showed.

“Ready! Ready! Black 19! Black 19! Set! Hut!”

James groaned as he picked the ball up from the stool and did a five step drop, planting firmly on his final dropstep before bouncing back up, taking a few steps forwards and drilling a pass to the outside.

Damar sped up to catch up to the ball and reel it in. Both of City’s quarterbacks weighed well under 180 pounds and Damar had to get used to James’ ball carrying a bit much weight, figuratively and literally.

“You slinging that thing, boy!” Damar exclaimed as he walked back to the line of scrimmage.

“He’s not,” Marcus spat out, “You’re drifting forward before throwing in. You’re going to get the ball batted down. You’re going to see some tall motherfuckers in league play. Step up,plant, fire.”

James was approaching the tune out portion of Marcus’ workouts. The ‘quick’ throwing session had turned into a full-blown, two-hour practice. James was still not technically on the team and therefore not allowed to practice with any of the coaches. Marcus wasn’t a coach on the Long Beach City College coaching staff but he knew the playbook inside and out from his years with the team at quarterback. Transcript issues also meant that Damar was also, technically, not on the team yet although the San Diego State transfer was likely going to be cleared in time for the opener.

“Give me out and up,” Marcus commanded, “Make it a good one and we’ll take our ass home.”

“You heard him,” Damar smiled as he lined up.

“Ready! Ready! Green 80! Green 80! Set.....Hut!”

James exploded into his drop, staying light on his feet as he pump-faked on Damar’s move to the outside. Damar planted his right foot and then went up the sidelines as the ball went right into his hands.

“Good work,” Marcus finally said something positive to James, “Coach P might make a quarterback out of you.”

“I’m already better than you,” James scoffed as they started walking off the field and back towards the parking lot.

“As a runner,” Damar interjected, “I’m going to go with Jimmy but when it comes to throwing that thing? Marcus might got you, Jimmy.”

“You realize I’m going to be your quarterback, right? You’re not getting the ball for the first six games,” James shook his head.

“You might not play,” Damar shot back, “Someone had to say it. For real though, you’ll start after like the first few games once you get that playbook.”

“I saw the Westchester kid play a few times,” Marcus shrugged, “He’s nothing special. I like Drake, he’s a good kid but him neither, they’re both limited physically.”

They both made their way into the parking lot where coach Peabody was seemingly waiting for them.

“Damar, Marcus, James.”

They all greeted him with Marcus and coach Peabody sharing an embrace.

“I spent an hour with San Diego today,” coach Peabody told Marcus, “We’re almost there, son.”

“About time,” he shook his head, “If I knew taking those courses during the summer was going to cause this much drama, I would have taken my ass home. My boy ready, though?”

“We’ll see,” coach Peabody said flatly, “James, stop by my office when you get a second?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m telling you,” Damar dapped James up as soon as coach Peabody wasn’t within earshot, “He might name you the starter right now. You know his ass was watching us on that field.”

“Keep your head on straight,” Marcus told him as James started following coach Peabody back into the building.

James welcomed the air conditioned hallways as he was a few steps behind coach Peabody. He followed him into his office where he took a seat, bracing himself for the good news.

“I want you to know,” coach Peabody started, “This wasn’t my decision. I took you on, got you to enroll and I do think you could have done some special things on this team, for this team.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to have to cut you from the team, son.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. You’re free to enroll elsewhere.”

....

“Fuck,” James muttered to himself before closing the refridgerator door.

He checked the cupboards but they were bare as well. He finished off the bottle that was in his hand but he was barely buzzed and that wasn’t going to get the job done. He grabbed the keys that hung from the kitchen wall and headed out of the apartment.

....

“You go, maybe they won’t card you.”

“Yes, they will. They’re less likely to card a girl than a guy.”

“What kind of dumb logic is that?”

“Smart logic.”

“Wait, I think I know that guy.”

“You do?”

....

“What’s up, man?”

James didn’t bother responding as he headed straight towards the back. He opened the freezer door and stood there for a minute. He knew what he was going to grab but the coolness still felt nice. He plucked the six-pack of Natural Light from the shelf and with his free hand, he walked a few more steps and got a bottle of E&J Brandy.

He headed up to the register.

“Is that all for tonight?”

James looked behind the guy at the counter to see if any of the smaller bottles interested him but he shook his head.

“Hey.”

James turned around and saw a face he never thought he would see in an establishment like this. He didn’t remember seeing her when he walked in or when he was in the store. Maybe the bottle did more than just get him buzzed.

“Hi,” he said as he returned his attention to the register, “Cash.”

“How.....can......do...”

“What do you want?” he turned back around to her frozen face, “Vodka? Whiskey? Beer?”

“Apple Ciroc,” she said meekly.

“Get her an Apple Ciroc,” James instructed the cashier, “That’s it.”

The cashier didn’t bat an eye and grabbed a bottle of Ciroc, apple flavored from behind him. He rung James up, collected the money and handed him a receipt, sending them on their merryway.

“Thanks,” Vanessa said as they walked out of the store. A group of people seemed to be waiting for her down the sidewalk.

“Yup,” James handed her the bottle before starting his trek to his car.

“Wait,” she said, causing him to stop, “That was like really awkward.”

“The one on 58th doesn’t card,” James replied flatly, “This one doesn’t either once you’re a regular. Just get a fake, show up a few times and he’ll stop asking.”

“Thanks,” she twirled her hair. She rarely used to let it down like this. James liked it like this, “How are you? That seems like a really dumb thing to ask but yeah, I don’t know.”

“That’s how everyone is,” he shrugged, “It is what it is.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out.

“For what?”

“I don’t know, things? Life being trash, I guess. I heard, obviously, and....yeah, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I’ll be cool,” he replied.

“Are you still doing the football thing?”

“You know what?” he sighed, “I don’t think so.”

“Hey,” one of the guys from the group that were waiting on her had walked up, “How’s it going? Thanks for getting this for us, by the way. You’re a friend of Van, right?”

“Van?” James looked at the outstretched hand of the guy in front of him before shaking it, “Yes, yes, I am. An old friend, we had a class together.”

“Cool, I’m her boyfriend.”

“Jake,” Vanessa -- or rather Van now -- muttered, “I’ll be there in a second.”

“It’s free before eleven and it’s almost eleven,” he chipped in.

“I’ll let you guys be on your way,” James waved at them.

“James.”

“It was nice seeing you,” he said with a smile, “You take care of yourself, Van.”
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Explosions of Grandeur.

Post by Captain Canada » 12 Aug 2019, 16:46

Damn, finessed from another team. How is the nigga getting blamed for someone else getting murdered?

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Soapy
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Explosions of Grandeur.

Post by Soapy » 12 Aug 2019, 20:08

“These aren’t that much better.”

“They’re a lot better,” Beck corrected, “They’re also a shit-load cheaper and I don’t have to worry about any RAs.”

James carried the two sets of boxes into the bedroom and dropped them on the floor. He scanned the room and even he would admit that they were a bit more spacious than the closet that UC-Irvine handed it out to Beck last season for a room.

He took a breather on the bed, laying down as he could feel every bone in his body sinking into the mattress. He had been up since six, helping Beck pack her million things. Tiffany and her had that in common as well.

They loaded it all up in James’ car and headed off on the road for the hour drive to Beck’s new off-campus apartment. It was a similar vein to James’ current living situation except she had two other roommates.

“We all typically pitch in for the wi-fi thing,” Christina, one of her roommates, popped her head into the room.

“Okay, what wi-fi thing?”

“We get internet with the rent,” she explained, “But like not the Wi-Fi. You only get like the cable connection which isn’t wifi. So what we do is we get like one of those little boxes and we get WiFi.”

“A modem?” James asked.

“Something like that,” Christina nodded, “We all pitch in like ten bucks.”

Beck agreed and out went the redhead. Beck and James shared a look.

“She’s a college student?” James scoffed as he sat up from the bed.

“I know, right?”

“I think we got everything from the car,” James stretched out his back by letting his fingers touch his toes.

“We did,” Beck nodded, “Thanks again for the car and helping me move, appreciated that a lot.”

“No problem. Not too far from campus, shouldn’t be too bad for you.”

“Not at all,” she replied, “I think it’s do-able, we’ll see. My brother is supposed to get a new car and give me his but we’ll see.”

“This feels like the natural spot for a goodbye.”

They stood there for a while, no one dared say anything.

“Maybe join me here?” she said, half-kidding, “We’ll probably go insane living together but I’ll keep you in those books.”

“Don’t think I’d get in,” James laughed, “But nah, I’ll be alright.”

“I can’t believe those coaches,” she shook her head, “That was some really fake shit they did to you.”

“I get it,” James shrugged, “Couldn’t have me on the team with everything that happened.”

“Did the other coaches get back to you yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean, you don’t think? I gave you my old laptop to check your emails and shit, you’re not doing that?”

“I am but I haven’t checked it in the last day or so. The season starts in five days, Beck, ain’t no point.”

“There’s spring,” she persisted, “My brother didn’t go to Nevada until the spring, it’s not like football is done and over with.”

For James, it was. In his mind, at least. A year ago, he was ready to play out his last season of football, watching Jalen make great plays from the sideline. And then his play and some transfers had tricked him into thinking there was football after this. And after the Fresno debacle, he thought he had found a new football life at City. He wasn’t going to get tricked anymore.

“I should get going,” James said once more, fidgeting around the door.

“I guess you should,” she replied, staring into his empty eyes, “Promise you’ll visit.”

“For sure,” he hugged her, “After I beg for my job back from Eric and Carlos, I’ll be sure to have some weekends free and we can hang out.”

“I can’t believe I never said this,” she laughed, “But I love you, you know that?”

James took a deep breath.

“I know,” he smiled, “And I love you too.”

“We just can’t be together.”

“I know.”

....

“White boy Jimmy!”

James had forgotten that nickname but yet here it was being yelled at him for what seemed like the sixth time within the hour.

“Frankie Beverly,” James dapped up the middle-aged black man, “Where’s Jasmine and them?”

“Somewhere down the block,” he cleaned his teeth, “Ain’t seen your face around here in awhile. Your old man tweeking or something?”

“He’s not on that shit anymore,” James shook his head, “Last I seen him, at least.”

“Send him my regards,” Frankie nodded his head, “Fuck you looking for Jasmine for?”

“Get me right.”

“Boy,” Frankie sucked his teeth, “I know you ain’t come around here talking that mess.”

“Come on,” James waved his hand in dismissal, “I’m not a little boy anymore. You don’t have to protect me from this shit.”

“Listen here,” Frankie laughed, “We didn’t keep you from serving because you were an athlete. Now, that’s what we probably told you but the true reason is it's because you suck a selling drugs, son.”

“Fuck out of here,” James scoffed, “What do you mean?”

“You got high,” Frankie held on finger out, “You got high with your friends and would crash on my couch all day. When you saw me coming, you’d dip out the house, try to sell the shit for nickels on the fucking dollar and then try to see if I wouldn’t notice. I did, every single time.”

“That was pee wee shit,” James explained, “I’m not going to be doing that now. You know for a fact I can go out into the Hills and blend in, that’s where the real money is at.”

“What you trying to say?”

“It’s not my fault that racism exists, Frank, but it does. If Jasmine or Bookie or Diamond go up in the Hills at a high school party, they’re going to stand out. Same shit with the college kids at City or even down in LA. You’re limiting yourself to this little area and after a while, you’re running out of customers.”

“You got this all figured out, huh? My brother Eric done made a business man out of you.”

“I wouldn’t say all that.”

“He knows you’re here?”

“Nope,” James shot back, “He’s not going to, either.”

“I missed you, Jimmy, you know that?”

“I missed you too, Frankie. Now what do you say?”

“Go sit in that car I seen you pull up in,” Frankie waved him off, “Jasmine come around in an hour or so, she’ll get with you.”

“An hour?”

“This part of the game,” he laughed, “It ain’t all glitter and gold. You better get used to waiting.”

James shook his head before dapping Frankie up and walking back towards his car. He took a blunt out of his pocket and lit it, taking a seat in his car with the windows rolled down. He spent most of his middle school years on this block and part of his freshman season before coach Butler and coach Collins got him a housing situation that would be better conducive to him staying at Poly. It amazed him how much nothing changed except for a new faces that would patrol the streets, all of them giving him a wandering eye.

James’ phone ring in his lap. He looked at it and it was an unknown member so he put it back down. A few minutes later, it rang again. Maybe this was Jasmine calling him after all.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this James Jackson?”

James had several outstanding bills so he hung up the phone. The phone rang again and again. After the fourth try, he decided to answer.

“Listen, I ain’t got it right now so...”

“Sorry, this is head coach John Beam from Laney College. I was given this number by a....Beck Birnbach. I’m looking for James, James Jackson.”
Last edited by Soapy on 13 Aug 2019, 16:47, edited 1 time in total.

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Explosions of Grandeur.

Post by Soapy » 12 Aug 2019, 20:09

Captain Canada wrote:
12 Aug 2019, 16:46
Damn, finessed from another team. How is the nigga getting blamed for someone else getting murdered?
to be fair, he was plugging his teammate's girlfriend which is what caused this lmfaoo
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Explosions of Grandeur.

Post by Captain Canada » 12 Aug 2019, 21:35

Soapy wrote:
12 Aug 2019, 20:09
Captain Canada wrote:
12 Aug 2019, 16:46
Damn, finessed from another team. How is the nigga getting blamed for someone else getting murdered?
to be fair, he was plugging his teammate's girlfriend which is what caused this lmfaoo
Still, they picking a man who murdered his ex (despite what she did) over him? That's foul.

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Soapy
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Explosions of Grandeur.

Post by Soapy » 12 Aug 2019, 22:55

Captain Canada wrote:
12 Aug 2019, 21:35
Soapy wrote:
12 Aug 2019, 20:09
Captain Canada wrote:
12 Aug 2019, 16:46
Damn, finessed from another team. How is the nigga getting blamed for someone else getting murdered?
to be fair, he was plugging his teammate's girlfriend which is what caused this lmfaoo
Still, they picking a man who murdered his ex (despite what she did) over him? That's foul.
football players aren't that smart.

cte.

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Explosions of Grandeur.

Post by Soapy » 14 Aug 2019, 17:22

“I need to write something down here or else the rest won’t populate.”

“I don’t know, maybe...”

“Aren’t you a bounce-back?”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re the Fresno kid, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What was your major at Fresno?”

“I never got there.”

“No shit, you’re here. What was it going to be?”

“Oh....Communications.”

“Of course,” the man snickered as he tapped away on his keyboard, never looking away from the computer screen, “Here you go.”

The man got up, walked over to the printer and handed James the sheet of paper that was freshly printed and still hot. It had been a while since he looked at a schedule but the length of the classes quickly jumped out at him.

“You’re probably late to something.”

“Excuse me?” James asked Dr. Polanski, who had his name plastered all over the darkly lit room in the form of several diplomas and certifications.

“I don’t have fifteen slapdicks in my office right now,” he sighed, “Which typically means they either have practice or some sort of team meeting. “

....

“I just ask you guys to be on time.”

James kept his head low as he sat down at the nearest seat he could find. It was a decent sized classroom and there were ‘students’ in almost every seat, many of them far too big for the small chairs that they were squeezing into. It took James awhile to find his way across campus to the meeting room and even longer to find somewhere to sit. His plan and strategy to just stay low-key upon his arrival at Laney College quickly went to shit.

“Gentlemen,” coach Beam cleared his throat, “James Jackson from Long Beach is going to be joining our team as a part of the scout team. Why don’t y’all welcome him to the team?”

James was greeted with scattered applause with a few sarcastic cheers thrown in there as well for good measure.

“Stick around after,” coach Beam told James as they shared a headnod, “Nate will get with you.”

James struggled to stay awake for the rest of the team meeting. He had gotten the call from coach Beam on Saturday, applied online that same night and spent all of Sunday packing and driving to Oakland. He was running on just a few hours of sleep here and there.

The meeting came to a close after coach Beam gave them further instructions on how he wanted them to approach their first opponent, Modesto Junior College. The game was in five days and James hadn’t been in pads in nearly nine months. The last thing on his mind was Modesto.

“We’ll figure out a more permanent rooming situation but for now, you’ll be staying at one of the coaches dorm. Don’t get excited, it’s the same style of room, you just won’t have any roommates and you’ll be literally right down the hall from the coach's office. Needless to say, don’t do any dumb shit. Coach told you the rules, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” coach Nate said as he handed James a set of keys, “Send all mail to the main office, all that shit with the address and all of that will be in your room. I’ll say it again, we smell weed, you’re off the team. You miss curfew, you get a point. You get caught skipping class, you get a point. You get in trouble in school, I don’t care if it’s for sleeping or being late, you get a point. After ten points, you’re off the team. Having a girl over is a point.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said flatly, “Blame your teammates, they can’t control themselves. We don’t need fucking reporters asking questions about how we discipline certain behavior. So we discipline all bad behavior the same. Any questions?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let me see your schedule.”

James handed the average-sized man his folded up schedule from his back pocket. Coach Nate, the recruiting director and director of player development, combed through it with his index finger leading the way before giving it back to James.

“You’ve got positional meeting in about three minutes. Get going.”

....
“You’re late,” coach Rob shook his head, “There, right there is when the ball needs to be out. You get the ball to him here and he can cut up and we have a 50-yard touchdown. You’re late and it’s a two-yard completion.”

Coach Rob looked behind and at the large clock that hung in the back of the classroom. They had spent the better half of the last hour looking at practice tape from last week with coach Rob breaking down the play of the three quarterbacks, mainly Jordon.

Jordon was a second-year guy and was a solid 200-plus pounder at 6-foot-2. Freshman Ryan Mackey also looked the part, standing toe-to-toe with James height-wise around six-foot-four and was well built as well. Junior Diala was smaller but had good wheels on him based on the film that they were watching. He was also a sophomore and the designated number two quarterback on the roster.

This wasn’t City College. There was plenty of talent to go around in the quarterback room.

“We’re on the field in fifteen,” coach Rob told the group, “James, walk with me to get your gear.”

The three others each gave James a look, Jordon was courteous enough to give him a nod as well.

“You’re staying in the coaches dorm, right?”

“Yes,” James nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“At least it’s clean,” coach Rob shrugged as they started walking towards the locker room in unison, “I stayed there my first two years here before I moved out into the city. You’ve been to Oakland before?”

“Not really,” James replied, “I haven’t been that much out of Long Beach to be honest. Outside of a few college visits.”

“It grows on you,” coach Rob explained, “I’d suggest you stick to the five-mile radius around campus, coach Beam runs a tight ship and unlike those other JUCOs in the middle-of-nowhere, USA, there’s plenty of things to get into around here that’ll get your ass cut.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Coach Beam probably gave you the rundown,” coach Beam opened the door into the locker room and took a right to enter the equipment room, “But I’m going to tell you how I see it and how I want to run my room.. We got Jordon towards the end of last year, you’ve seen him; big kid, good arm, surprise you with his speed. We were lucky to get him from Santa Rosa and he won the job pretty quickly here. He’s the starter. We’ll get Junior out there here and there but right now, my top two guys are solidified. What I need from you is to push Ryan. I’d love it if come recruiting season, I don’t have to hit the trails to find two quarterbacks to fill this roster. The way I see it, I have my two guys this season in Jordon and Junior and my two guys for next year in Ryan and you. Don’t tank on me now because you aren’t going to be playing.”

“Not a problem,” James nodded. He wasn’t the prototypical D-1 ‘reject’. He spent the majority of his high school career backing someone up, this was nothing new to him.

“Pops,” coach Rob shouted into the room, “We need a number. What are you, medium?”

“Large,” James cleared his throat.

“I need a large, contact jersey.”

Out from the room came a man that appeared to be in his mid 60s, a far cry from what James expected the equipment manager to look like.

“What number you want son?” the man asked as he shook James’ hand.

“7,” James quickly said.

“Nope,” Pops shook his head, “46 is the lowest number I got, mayne.”

“Just get him a jersey,” coach Rob instructed as he left the two man by themselves and headed into the coaches office.

....

James closed the door behind him and took a deep breath as he stared into the partially lit room. There was a bathroom to his left, a small desk next to a twin bed and a dresser next to the door. Calling it an apartment dorm would be blatant false advertising.

He couldn’t help but think back to how the rooms in Fresno State look. Shit, even City College had better student housing than this.

James didn’t bother unloading the rest of his stuff out of his car. Truth be told, they weren’t that many as he left many of his things back in the apartment that he vacated in Long Beach. He was a month behind in rent and the least he could do was gift them some free things -- including a partially built nursery crib -- upon his departure.

Nevertheless, James’ body told him to leave the heavy lifting for tomorrow morning. Defensive coordinator Josh Ramos wanted to give his defense a live look with the opener right around the corner and having a quarterback they could hit -- enter James -- was welcomed news for the defense.

Carlos had changed his body, made him leaner which worked against James as he served as a tackle dummy. He was never one to shy from contact but at twenty pounds lighter since he last played football, James’ bones felt every bit of impact.

He took a seat on the bed and looked out the window, getting lost in the fleet of cars that sped down the highway. It just dawned on him that he hadn’t eaten all day outside of a gas station pizza on the drive over here.

He laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. This was his new reality.
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Explosions of Grandeur.

Post by Captain Canada » 14 Aug 2019, 20:09

Gas station pizza? Goddamn, brother.

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Explosions of Grandeur.

Post by Soapy » 14 Aug 2019, 22:23

“They ain’t put you on game!”

James looked up from his plate of chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes to see someone taking a seat across from him.

“What?” James asked, sounding a bit annoyed from his tone when in reality, he just hadn’t spoken to another human being in hours.

“You ain’t supposed to be eating that shit,” he scoffed, “This like motherfucker alien food, jit. You gonna take off in the middle of practice when them bubble guts come for your ass. Who you rooming with?”

“No one,” James answered, not listening to his advice and taking a bite of his last nugget.

The face was familiar but he couldn’t quite place him. His appearance suggested he was on the football team, tall and lanky with tattoos covering both arms and most of his neck. But unlike the rest of the players that seemed to be covered in team gear from head to toe, he was wearing a green Adidas tracksuit with a Cuban link around his neck and a gold ring on his pinky finger.

“They got you in that coaches dorm, right? I tried to get it,” he shook his head, “I’m Ricky Ricardo, you can call me...”

“His bitch ass name is Richard,” came another man from behind Ricky, slapping him on the head.

“And this midget here is Popeye,” Ricky fixed his dreads, “Motherfuckers be playing too much.”

James took another spoonful of mashed potatoes before he saw the two men that had joined him at the table all glare at him. Soon, came another disapproving look as a tall, well-built teammate sat down.

“You ain’t supposed to be eating that,” laughed the last man, getting an applause from Ricky.

“Thank you,” Ricky said, “I’m going to get him hip.”

“Christian,” the tall guy extended his hand out, “I think you sit next to me in the locker room, right?”

“Yup,” James nodded shaking his hand before turning his attention to the smaller of the three, “I’m James.”

“Levon,” he replied in between bites of his chicken wing.

“His name Popeye,” Ricky corrected him. Levon -- or rather Popeye -- was too busy eating his wings to refute him this time.

“Where did you guys get that?” James asked as he looked at their paper plates of spaghetti and chicken wings.

“The coaches get food,” Ricky explained, “Every fucking day during the season. They get them delivered around like eleven from this corner store so if you can leave class at 10:45 and get there before the coaches get there to eat, you can take a few plates, hide it in your room or some shit and then get it for lunch. This an exclusive club but we allowing you in it.”

“Christian ass already be eating all the food,” Popeye said with no sense of irony as he gulped down his second set of wings, “You gonna get us caught adding another nigga to this shit.”

“First of all,” Ricky pointed a chicken at Popeye, “This here is my shit, I put all y’all niggas on so y’all foo-foo ass niggas better respect my motherfucking establishment and the rules that I govern over this here enterprise.”

“Free food enterprise,” Christian joked.

“Second of all,” Ricky continued, “I need this motherfucker to get me the fucking rock so I need this bitch well nourished and shit.”

“Appreciate the vote of confidence,” James scoffed, “But I don’t think that’s going to be happening.”

“He got the same number as me pretty much,” Christian agreed, “No offense.”

“None taken,” James shrugged, “You don’t like playing with Jordon?”

“Jordon a whole bitch,” Ricky sucked his teeth, “He don’t be stepping into none of his throws, he be fucking scary out there.”

“He is,” Popeye put his third chicken wing down, “He can sling that bitch, though.”

“I seen this nigga done take about six hits,” Ricky redirected his chicken pointer to James, “Step up in the motherfucking pocket and throw the ball. He was playing with bums too. With me out there? That’s six. These Cali niggas be soft as fuck, bro.”

“I’m from California,” James teased, “What? I’m just saying. You can’t be out here slandering my state like that.”

“You from like Compton though, right?”

“Long Beach,” James corrected.

“Close enough,” Ricky waved his hands off.

“Ain’t that where Snoop from?” Christian asked.

“Something like that,” James nodded.

“Exactly,” Ricky got up, not even bothering to finish his plate, “You a white boy but you like white bread, the kind niggas fuck with.”

....

James was about done with the different methods of an argumentative essay. The ladies of Long Beach might have considered him a wordsmith but compared to Ms. Houston’s hour-long diatribe on the matter of convincing someone through your words, James was a novice.

He had given up interest, despite his best efforts, about halfway through. He wandered off into his minds, mainly thinking about how boring Saturday was.

He had forgotten what it felt like to be on the bench. Not only was he not playing, he wasn’t even dressed. His documentation wasn’t finalized so he watched from the bleachers, dressed in generic Laney gear, as they put a 31-17 beating on Modesto Junior College.

Jordon didn’t sparkle but threw two touchdowns in the first twenty minutes of play with running back John McDonald ending the game with two touchdowns in the fourth. Even Junior got a chance to play, playing three snaps and amassing a grand total of nine yards.

James didn’t mind sitting behind the likes of Brandon and Jalen who were superior talent. Jordon on the other hand? He was nothing special.

The sound of students packing up their bags awoken James out of his slumber. He sluggishly started putting his things away, as few as they were.

“Great note-taking technique,” said a voice from behind him.

By the time James turned around, the voice had already made its way in front of him. He turned around to face the mocha skinned girl in front of him. She had curly hair that rested almost perfectly on her shoulders.

“We were taking bets on baseball or football,” she pushed her pencil up against her lower lip.

“Whose we?” James turned around to see a guy and a girl that were still sitting from where she came from.

“You still haven’t answered,” she snapped her fingers.

“I don’t play sports,” James shook his head.

“Bullshit,” she replied.

“Nope,” the guy stood up, “I need to collect, I told you guys he ain’t on the team. I know everybody on the team.”

“You really ain’t on the team?” said the other girl, “I was so happy that we finally got one of y’all.”

“Why?” James was now surrounded by the three of them three.

“It’s a proven fact that teachers grade easier when one of y’all on the team,” the original girl explained, “I’m Mya.”

“Ethan.”

“Ji....James.”

“Jackie, like the president.”

“She wasn’t president,” Ethan scoffed, “You’re going to make us look so dumb in front of the new hot guy.”

James simply laughed off the compliment, “Thank you but you don’t have to worry about that, I’m not that smart either.”

“Did you just kind of call me dumb?” Jackie took a step back, “Oh no, girl, he’s all yours. I ain’t fighting over his trifling ass.”

They all shared a laugh before Ethan and Jackie excused themselves.

“Are you really not on the team?” Mya asked before leaving.

“Football,” he said with a smirk, “I don’t like being type-casted.”

“That’s okay,” she shrugged, “Just don’t lie to me anymore and we should be good.”

“Good for what?” James pushed his luck.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said with a chuckle before disappearing into the hallway.

Topic author
Soapy
Posts: 7018
Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42

Explosions of Grandeur.

Post by Soapy » 14 Aug 2019, 23:57

“Nike! Nike!”

“Hold on,” coach Haag commanded, “Let me see Jackson in there at Q.”

“But coach,” coach Rob interjected, “I ran over the stuff this morning with Junior, he should be good to go.”

“Is the Jackson kid cleared?” coach Haag, the offensive coordinator and play caller, asked.

“Yeah but....”

“Give me the Jackson kid,” he said flatly, “When Jordon can run for more than 3 yards a carry, I’ll put his ass back in this package.”

....

“Green 19! Green 19! Go!”

James clapped his hands and soon thereafter, the ball was shot out of the center’s ass and into his hands. He tucked the ball into John’s -- the running back -- belly before pulling it away. He followed his 350-pound pulling guard and found a crease in between the defensive end and defensive tackle. He lowered his shoulder and bounced off the first tackler before he was wrapped up.

He quickly got back to his feet and ran to the huddle.

“Rep it! Rep it!” coach Haag yelled to the rest of the offense as James got closer to him, “Coach Butler told me you got 4.6 speed, son.”

“4.5 during my sophomore year,” James replied.

“Show me,” coach Haag muttered.

James nodded his head and went back into the huddle, relaying the simple play call to the rest of the first team offense. He was a bit winded, having ran the last four plays and keeping it himself for small chunks.

“Green 19! Green 19! Go!”

James fake-clapped and then clapped for real, catching the defensive end offside. Nevertheless, he tucked the ball into John’s belly and pulled it out. This time, with the defensive end already out of the play due to his false jump, James bounced the run to the outside. He stiff-armed a lunging linebacker, drawing oohs-and-aahs from the crowd. Ricky’s defender got away from him but James was able to cut it to the outside once more and sprinted down the sidelines.

“That’s how you run QB fucking power,” coach Haag chewed on his dip before spitting a bit out onto the grass as he stared down Jordon, “Tired of this fucking three-yards shit.”

....

“I’m just worried about the flow of the game or how it will affect Jordon.”

“If it’s Junior or the Jackson kid, why the fuck does it matter? He’s still coming out of the game,” coach Haag explained to coach Beam.

“I don’t....I don’t think it’s fair to the kids that have been here all season that this kid comes in and gets PT, what, twelve days after showing up?” coach Rob stuck to his guns.

“I brought him in for a reason,” coach Beam interjected between his two assistants. The debate had carried on all week and with less than three hours before the game, a decision had to be made.

“For next season,” coach Rob added.

“Ain’t no next season in this profession,” coach Haag scoffed.

“Get him a fucking jersey,” coach Beam laughed, “I’m tired of seeing that damn 46 outrun our secondary, makes us look like shit.”

“We’re out,” coach Rob quipped.

“Fuck it,” coach Beam shrugged, “He can make American look dumb.”

....

“Nike! Nike!”

James strapped his helmet on as he started balancing himself from one leg to the next, letting his body weight fall on entirely one leg and then shifting it to the other.

“Spread right switch QB power.”

James nodded as coach Haag whispered the playcall into his ear, using his laminated play sheet to block the movement of his lips.

....

“Third and eight here from the American 31-yard line and we’re going to have a....who is that? Number 46 is in at quarterback, empty look in the backfield. Number 46 is....James Ja....the ball is snapped and Jackson takes it himself to the right, gets a block and bounce it to the outside and he’s got the first down and some!”

“Risky play call going for it on the ground on third and long but Laney probably trying to stay within field-goal range on their first drive with a run and end up getting the first anyway”

....

“Brookshire hands it off to McDonalds and he’s going to break free for the touchdown!”

....

“Jackson keeps it in and he picks up three yards.”

....

“Jackson gets to the outside, makes a defender miss, cuts back inside, stiff arm, rolls forward and he’s down after a gain of fourteen on that play.”

“He’s bringing a different dynamic when he’s in the game.”

....

James’ night ended quietly. Jordon bounced back from two first-half interceptions and finished the game with 258 yards passing, scoring all but one of the team’s touchdowns in the 41-14 drubbing of American River.

Junior and Ryan both got in the game, with Junior completing four passes and Ryan going a perfect three-for-three for a lofty seven yards.

James did not attempt a single pass in his three snaps.
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