Renaissance Man - Part 1

Scene 27 _ Fifth Soccer Practice

Scene 27 Rev A

Scene 27 “Fifth Soccer Practice”

Torey Campbell – Protagonist
Addo Okoro – Torey’s best friend
Willem Dreyer – Rutherford High School soccer coach, coach of feeder team
Nessie Campbell – Torey’s mother
Brodey Campbell – Torey’s father
Several players

         Torey rushed home from school. Today’s practice will be different, he thought, I have all my gear now — cleats, uniform, bag, water bottle, and towel. I’m ready! He changed quickly into his new outfit, including his soccer shoes.
         Nessie looked up from her ironing at the sound of Torey clunking down the stairs. “My, don’t you look spiffy,” she said, secretly admiring her son in a uniform for the first time in his life. Torey grinned, filled his new water bottle at the kitchen sink, then out the door for the now-familiar ride to Runestone Park.
         His brow furrowed with concern as he parked his bike. Most of the players were already there, all looking at him, some grinned, some turned away, none were in uniform.
         “Addo, what’s wrong,” he asked as his friend ran up to him.
         “Torey, we don’t wear uniforms to practice,” Addo said, realizing that Torey was about to be embarrassed again.
         “But this is all I have,” Torey replied, his voice cracking, knowing that again today he would be the butt of the cruel jokes that gave such pleasure to teenage boys.
         “It’s okay, Torey,” said Coach Dreyer, instantly grasping the situation. Dreyer put his arm around Torey and walked with him into the crowd. “You look great,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
         Grins disappeared, and heads slumped. No one wanted to make eye contact with the coach. Addo got the picture. His heart filled with a mixture of pity for Torey, admiration for Coach, and a bit of shame for being a teenager. In a fleeting instant, without a word being spoken, he experienced another lesson in leadership.
         Dreyer didn’t linger: he broke the mood. “Let’s get to it,” he shouted, whistling the team onto the field, “today is our last practice before our first game.” Turning to Addo, he barked, “I want ten extra reps in the exercises and two extra laps of running.”
         Addo looked at coach — first in shock, then a big grin, showing brilliant white teeth framed by his ebony skin. His flashing eyes told Dreyer ‘message received.’
         Practice was punishing. By halftime, many players were on their knees, but Addo and Torey stood straight, eager for more. Scrimmage was even worse, with Dreyer abandoning his usual stoic silence, frequently breaking in with sharp criticisms. But Addo excelled, and Torey played with reckless abandon, his raw, untrained talent on display as if his new uniform had transformed him into Superman. Dreyer pushed hard for the entire hour. At the end, everyone was wiped out.
         The ground by the bleachers, littered with exhausted players, empty water bottles, and soaking wet towels, looked like a battlefield, as Dreyer began the debrief. He started with game instructions. “Our game tomorrow is at 11 AM on Field 6. The schedule has us as the home team, so wear the white shirt, like the one Torey is wearing. Be here by 1015.” After a brief pause for effect, he continued.
         “Starting tomorrow, you are a team — officially a team. You wear a uniform with a number and a logo. Your name and number are on a team roster, and the league has a copy of that roster. You are no longer a ragtag bunch of teenagers. With that goes a few rules about appearance and behavior, some from the league, some from me, all equally binding on you. So listen up.” Most of the boys were sitting or lying, so Dreyer’s 6’5”, 240-pound frame towered over them even more than normal as he stood straighter, and his voice grew sterner. Everyone knew this was ‘no-nonsense Dreyer’ talking. Those lying on the ground sat up; those fiddling with something stopped.
         Willem Dreyer resumed, “I expect every one of you to behave like gentlemen at all times, but especially when wearing the uniform. Our sponsor nor I want to hear from an angry citizen about one of you behaving badly or disrespectfully to anyone. Our sponsor has his name out there for all to see. He doesn’t want his reputation smeared by some young hooligan misbehaving. Know for sure that your behavior will reflect on him, me, our team, our league, and our sport.”
         “I never thought about that,” mumbled Torey.
         “Now about appearance,” the coach continued. “Our sponsor has outfitted this team better than any other team in this league and better than any team I have ever coached.
         “I expect you to know that. Show up for every game in team gear. That includes bag, water bottle, and towel. Leave all your other gear at home. I want that company logo seen everywhere. Anyone not properly dressed will not play.”
         That’s easy, thought Torey, I don’t have anything else.
         “Finally, your uniform. All your gear should be clean when you step onto the field. Wash it after every game. Since we are the home team tomorrow, the uniform is the white shirt,” Dreyer said, concluding his lecture.
         “I guess that’s pretty clear,” Addo whispered to Torey.
         “Coach, can you tell us who is playing and what our positions will be tomorrow?” asked Monte Kimberly.
         “Yes,” replied Dreyer, “everyone will play in every game, and here is how we will start tomorrow.” Dreyer moved a sheet of paper from the bottom to the top of the stack of paper on his clipboard and began to read.
         “For Goalkeeper, we’ll start with Jimmy Tillis. We’re going to play with two Forwards — Addo Okoro on the left, and Lian Kwan on the right.
         “For the first game, let’s try four defenders: Tony Shurr - Right Back, Aaron Jones and Chinelo Sesay - Center Backs, and Emiliano Vizza - Left Back.
         “In the midfield, we’ll have four: Torey Campbell - Left Wing, Joey Wilson - Defensive Center, Karel Hlavacek - Attacking Center, and Stanton Cooper - Right Wing.”
         There followed some grumbling, especially from Gabriel Hruby, Monte Kimberly, Kanaka Minhas, and Suman Anand, who were not starting, but Torey and Addo exchanged grins. They wanted to ‘high five’ but thought better of it.
         Some players didn’t like the grumbling. “Coach has to pick the best players if we’re gonna win,” said Stanton Cooper, who had been picked for Right Wing, louder than he intended and loud enough for Coach Dreyer to hear.
         Dreyer decided more had to be said. “None of you are good players. You are all young. You are all beginners. The same as every other team in this age group in this league. You all stink!”
         That stunned everyone.
         Dreyer continued without missing a beat. “But that’s okay. Your job is to learn; my job is to teach. We will keep score, and there will be end of season awards, but I don’t care about that because you still won’t be very good — better but not very good. The measure is not how much you win, but how much you learn.”
         The silence was palpable.
         “Here is my promise,” said Dreyer, “Everyone will get to play in every game, and in the course of this ten-game season, everyone will get to play every position. You will get to taste it all.”
         That made everyone feel a little better, but still, silence persisted. Then Kanaka Minhas took a chance. “Coach, what about our team name?”
         Dreyer threw it open. “Let me hear your ideas.”
         “How about ‘Tigers’?” offered Lian Kwan.
         That was followed by every animal in the zoo, with no agreement.
         “I think ‘Eagles’ would be good,” said Joey Wilson.
         They then went through all the birds in the aviary.
         It was all just blurting out, no thought, getting more ridiculous by the minute.
         ‘Rockets’ and every possible missile and spacecraft, including some non-existent.
         ‘Green Wings’ led to every major league team name from every sport.
         The pace accelerated, becoming a cacophony of yelling and laughing.
         Dreyer watched silently, disappointed that no one considered a name that said thank you to their generous sponsor.
         Suddenly Torey jumped in with ‘Flywheel Force.’
         Addo looked surprised, and everyone stopped.
         Dreyer smiled. Good name, simple, recognizes sponsor, two words with the same first letter, a combination of related physical phenomena – flywheel and force, although the boys probably don’t know what a flywheel is — and a natural rhythm. Well done, Torey.
         “Time to vote,” Dreyer jumped in quickly, “all in favor of Flywheel Force, raise your hands.” All agreed. It was a good name, and Dreyer did not want to continue the nonsense by offering choices. The subject was closed.
         Torey’s ride home was like ET on the bicycle. He was embarrassed about being the only one in uniform but elated that he had been chosen as a starter, and that he had picked the team name. That surprised him because the name came to his mind just an instant before he spoke it.
         At dinner, Torey related his day, mentioning the uniform situation, dwelling on the coach’s speech, bragging that he had been picked to start at Left Wing, and that his suggestion had been chosen for the team name. He concluded by sheepishly asking Nessie to wash his uniform and towel.
         Nessie was glad to share her son’s excitement and happy to do the laundry chore. It was Friday, so Brodey was well into his second or third beer. But there had been nothing to trigger a rage, so he settled for sullen silence.
         Later after a bath, Torey opened his book and picked Michelangelo Buonarroti and Jose Rizal for tonight, but could not concentrate. The magnitude of today and tomorrow in his young inexperienced life kept interrupting. He had never encountered such a mixture of fear and excitement.
         Tomorrow he would face a real opponent. Will I play well enough? Will I measure up to Coach’s expectations and my teammates? Will Viviana show up?
         Excitement offset fear. I will be participating in a legitimate athletic event with two teams in uniform, a referee, scorekeeping, bleachers full of spectators. Maybe Viviana will come; she didn’t say no.
         Forget it; I can’t read this book.
         All this in just the ten days since he had met Addo for the first time at the Fletcher Avenue soccer field.

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Word Count: 1,691
Readability Consensus (based on seven readability formulas):
         Grade Level: 7
         Reading Level: fairly easy to read.
         Reader’s Age: 11-13 years old (Sixth and Seventh graders)