Date: August 18, 1989.
Event: The "Purple vs. White" Scrimmage.
Stakes: The Starting Job.
The stands weren't empty.
In Medford, a Friday scrimmage was a town event. But today, the tension was different.
I looked up at the bleachers.
Sitting front and center was Mr. Stevens. He was the President of the Booster Club. He owned the biggest car dealership in town. And he was currently wearing a "Go Wolves" hat, watching his son, Kyle Stevens, warm up.
Next to him were three other Boosters, arms crossed.
"They're watching you, Dad," I whispered as I walked past George Sr.
"I know," George grunted, chewing his gum aggressively. "Mr. Stevens donated the new scoreboard. He expects his boy to be under center."
"Even though his boy can't throw?"
"Politics, Georgie," George Sr. sighed. "It's all politics. Now go warm up."
This was the trap. If George Sr. started me, the town would scream "Nepotism." They would say he benched the Booster President's son just to play his own kid.
Unless I left them no choice.
***
The Safe Choice vs. The Right Choice
"Alright!" George yelled. "First String (Purple) with Stevens. Second String (White) with Cooper. Two quarters. Live tackling."
Kyle Stevens trotted out with the starters. He gave a thumbs up to his dad in the stands. Mr. Stevens clapped loudly.
The First Quarter was painful to watch.
Stevens played "political football." He took zero risks.
*Handoff.*
*Handoff.*
*Short pass to the flat.*
He didn't turn the ball over, but the offense stalled at the 30-yard line. They kicked a field goal.
Score: Purple 3, White 0.
"Good job, Kyle! Smart plays!" Mr. Stevens yelled from the stands.
I put my helmet on.
"White team! Huddle up!"
I looked at my offensive line. It was Tiny (a freshman) and four sophomores. Across from us was the Varsity First Team Defense. Bullard (the mullet monster) was drooling.
"They think we're a joke," I told the huddle. "Let's punch them in the mouth. No huddle. Spread formation."
We broke the huddle.
"Green 19! Hut!"
I took the snap.
Bullard bulldozed Tiny instantly. The pocket collapsed.
From the stands, I could hear the Boosters chuckling. *See? The freshman can't handle the speed.*
I didn't panic.
[Skill Activated: Pocket Presence]
I stepped up *into* the chaos. I felt Bullard's hand swipe my jersey.
I didn't look at the rush. I looked downfield.
I saw Perkins (a sophomore receiver) running a seam route. The safety had cheated up, expecting a run.
I flicked my wrist.
The ball exploded out of my hand. It wasn't a "safe" throw. It was a laser beam that traveled 35 yards on a rope.
Perkins caught it in stride.
TOUCHDOWN.
The whistle blew.
The clapping in the stands stopped. Mr. Stevens lowered his soda.
I jogged to the endzone. I didn't celebrate. I walked back to the line.
"Run it again," I said.
***
The Hit
The next drive, the Varsity Defense was pissed. They were being embarrassed by the B-Team.
"Blitz!" the defensive coordinator screamed. "Send the house!"
"3rd and 10," George Sr. called out.
I dropped back.
The safety—a 180lb senior—came untouched off the edge. A blindside blitz.
I saw him.
A normal freshman would curl up. A normal freshman would take the sack to save his body.
But I needed to send a message to the Boosters.
I stood tall. I held the ball until the last millisecond to let the receiver clear the linebacker.
*WHAM.*
The safety speared me in the ribs.
The sound of the collision echoed through the stadium. My head bounced off the turf. The air left my lungs.
[Damage Report]
* Ribs: Bruised.
* Iron Chin: ACTIVATED.
The crowd gasped. I saw Mary (who had snuck in the back) cover her eyes.
But as I hit the ground, I saw the ball.
It was floating perfectly over the middle. The tight end caught it. First Down.
I lay on the ground, wheezing.
"Georgie!" Tiny yelled.
I rolled over. The pain was sharp, hot.
*Get up,* I told myself. *Michael would have stayed down. Georgie gets up.*
I pushed myself off the turf. I stood up, swayed for a second, and then adjusted my shoulder pads.
I looked at the safety. "Is that all you got?"
I looked at the stands. Mr. Stevens looked pale. His son, Kyle, looked down at his clipboard.
They knew.
***
The Verdict
Practice ended. We gathered at the 50-yard line.
The sun was setting. The air was heavy.
George Sr. looked at the team. Then he looked at the stands where Mr. Stevens was waiting, arms crossed, expecting his son to be named starter.
George took a deep breath. He was about to start a war.
"At Quarterback," George said.
The silence was deafening.
"Cooper," George said. "You're the starter."
A murmur went through the team. Kyle Stevens flinched.
"Stevens," George said quickly. "You're the backup. You're a smart player, and we need you ready."
George turned to face the stands, almost challenging them.
"We play to win," George said loudly. "Cooper moves the ball. Cooper takes a hit and stands back up. That's who leads this team."
He blew the whistle. "Shower up."
***
The Fallout
The car ride home was tense.
I was icing my ribs. George was driving with a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.
"Mr. Stevens is gonna pull his donation," I said quietly.
"Probably," George said. "He's gonna tell everyone at the Elks Lodge that I'm playing favorites. That I'm risking the season on my kid."
"And Mom?"
George winced. "Kyle Stevens' mom is the head of the Church Bake Sale committee. Your mom sits next to her in the choir."
"Ah," I said. "So we ruined her social life."
"Pretty much."
We pulled into the driveway.
We walked into the kitchen. Mary was chopping carrots. She was chopping them very, very hard.
"Hey, Mare," George said tentatively.
"Brenda Stevens called," Mary said without turning around. "She was crying. Said Kyle came home devastated. Said he's humiliated."
She turned around. She wasn't yelling, which was worse. She looked disappointed.
"George, that boy has been working for three years for this. He's a good Christian boy. He helps with the hymnals."
"Mary, he can't throw," George argued. "He throws ducks."
"It's high school!" Mary said. "It's supposed to be about character! And you..." She looked at me, pointing at the ice pack on my ribs. "You got hit by a truck out there! You're fourteen! You want to end up like..."
She stopped. She was going to say *'like your father.'* Broken down and tired.
"I can handle it, Mom," I said softly.
"I know you can," Mary sniffled. "That's what scares me."
She went back to chopping carrots. *Chop. Chop. Chop.*
George Sr. looked at me. He whispered.
"Get ready, son. Friday Night is gonna be a war. The Boosters want us to lose so they can say 'I told you so.'"
"Then we better win," I said.
[Quest Complete: Win the Starting Job]
* Reward: Varsity Starter Title.
* Debuff: "Booster Hate" (Town Skepticism High).
* Debuff: "Church Gossip" (Mary is stressed).
***
Author's Note
This chapter sets the stage for the political conflict of Volume 2.
1. The Boosters: They aren't mad Georgie is good; they are mad because of Politics. Mr. Stevens (Head Booster) wants his son to play. They view Georgie as a "Nepotism Hire" until he proves them wrong in a real game.
2. Mary: She is mad because the Stevens family are her friends/church peers, and she hates the violence.
Stats Check:
* Role: QB1.
* Health: Bruised Ribs.
* Town Reputation: "The Coach's Son" (Negative connotation).