Renaissance Man - Part 1

Scene 29 _ After the Game (Key Event)

Scene 29 Rev A

Scene 29 “After the Game”

Torey Campbell – Protagonist
Addo Okoro – Torey’s best friend
Viviana Tessaro – Torey’s girlfriend
Willem Dreyer – Rutherford High School soccer coach, coach of the Flywheel feeder team
Lars Claussen – Team sponsor, CEO of Flywheel Machining
Other players by name
Mentioned: Kumi Okoro – Addo’s father
Mentioned: Brodey Campbell – Torey’s father

         It was approaching noon; the sun was high and hot. Torey was proud of his performance and excited about being accepted as a team member. Past embarrassments faded as his teammates congratulated him for the game-winning goal.
         “Way to go, Addo, Torey,” said Suman Anand, “One game down, nine more to go,” as he sprinted past them toward the sideline.
         “You played good, my friend,” Addo said to Torey, meant as a sincere compliment.
         “Thanks, Addo. You made it all possible,” Torey replied as they reached the sideline.
         Addo had set his bag off to the side and went straight to it. Torey’s bag was somewhere in the pile. He began to search. All the bags looked alike; of course, they were all Flywheel team bags.
         “Glad this is a fall sport,” Monte Kimberly said, wiping his face with his towel, “wish fall would come soon.”
         As if on cue, the players suddenly realized how sweaty and thirsty they were, grabbing their bags, pulling out water bottles, and guzzling long drinks.
         The park was emptying for lunch. Morning games were over; afternoon games were about an hour away. The Flywheel players assembled in front of the bleachers to hear from Coach Dreyer.
         Where's my bag? How do you tell these bags apart? thought Torey, now confused, still rummaging.
         Most bags had luggage tags attached to the handle. A few had the player’s name stenciled or painted on the outside by an overzealous parent.
         “I've got to tag this bag someway,” Torey mumbled to himself.
         “Everyone gather ‘round!” Dreyer said, surveying the exhausted players.
         Torey rummaged among the dwindling number of unclaimed bags, unzipping and looking, finally identifying his bag by the snack his mother packed for him. He pulled out his water bottle, took a long drink, then took his place on the grass beside Addo.
         Dreyer was pleased. “You played well for your first game. We still have a lot to learn, but that's why we're here.”
         Addo nudged Torey and whispered loudly, “Torey, Viviana is walking this way!”
         Torey looked toward the bleachers. “Oh, crap! What is she doing?”
         Viviana walked from the bleachers to the circle of players and pushed her way in to stand beside Torey. Everyone, including Coach Dreyer, looked at her wide-eyed. Torey blushed.
         “Hi, Torey.”
         Addo and Torey were the only ones who knew Viviana. To everyone else, she was a stranger who had just barged into their team meeting.
         “Who are you?” Emiliano Vizza asked, twisting to look at her.
         “I'm Viviana Tessaro. This guy, who won the game, is my boyfriend.”
         I'm her boyfriend? When did that happen? thought a startled Torey Campbell.
         Torey and Addo looked at Vivi, their faces displaying the shock they felt. Several players mumbled their dissatisfaction but were not willing to speak up without some signal from the coach.
         Dreyer tried to ignore Viviana. “All right, there’s a couple things I want to cover before we break up.”
         “No one player wins the game; we are a team,” said Tony Shurr, unable to let her remark go unchallenged.
         Viviana snapped back. “Torey scored the goal that won the game.”
         Addo interrupted, trying to keep his voice down. “Vivi, you don't belong here.”
         “Says who, Addo. Are you the boss?” Vivi barked, trying to take command.
         Viviana glared at Addo, then smirked, sat down on the grass, and snuggled up to Torey, disregarding the heat and the fact that Torey was drenched with sweat; everyone stared.
         Dreyer replied to Viviana, his voice and eyes showing anger. “Says me. I'm the boss. This is a team meeting, and Addo's right, you don't belong here. Please go sit on the bleachers until I dismiss the team.”
         Viviana rose, red-faced, and hurried from the field to the bleachers, in a manner that made clear to all that she felt unjustly insulted. She perched on the lowest row of bleachers, away from the parents, waiting for Dreyer to dismiss the team. After a few minutes, she got up and walked briskly toward the park gate.
         “Now, as I saying …” Dreyer pointed out a few failures, congratulated Addo and Torey for the goals they scored, and Gabriel Hruby, the goalie, for his save. He wanted to say more, but Vivi's interruption had unnerved him, so he cut it short by encouraging everyone to work hard, reminding them that this was only the first game.
         Intent on his lesson, Dreyer had his back to the bleachers unaware of the approaching figure until Jimmy Tillis gave him a word and a nod.
         Torey recognized the man approaching. “Addo! That's my dad's boss.”
         “How do you know?” asked Addo, his eyes darting between Torey and the approaching figure.
         “I saw … I just know,” Torey said, not willing to reveal to Addo that he had been reading the society pages of the Sunday paper and saw Claussen’s picture.
         Now alert to the approach of an unidentified adult, Dreyer turned to face the stranger. “Can I help you, sir?”
         “I think so. Are you Willem Dreyer?” the man replied.
         “Yes.”
         “I'm Lars Claussen from Flywheel Machining.”
         Dreyer broke into a broad smile. “Mr. Claussen, I'm so glad to meet you, and thank you for sponsoring our team.”
         “I've never sponsored a team before, so I wanted to come and see what it's all about.”
         Sponsors never showed up unless they were parents. “I'm glad you did. I saw you sitting in the bleachers and wondered who you were,” replied Dreyer.
         “I figured I would watch the game then come down and introduce myself and see if there is anything else you need,” Claussen explained, conscious that everyone was looking at him.
         “I'm glad you did,” said Dreyer, “You have been more than generous. I think we have everything we need plus more than we expected.”
         Torey watched Dreyer and Claussen converse. Two men who had never met before this moment holding a civilized conversation. Very different, yet both comfortable in their own skin and respectful of each other.
         Claussen felt awkward. He had injected himself into a new world he knew nothing about. He had been politely, even warmly, received. Now he felt like the honored guest who everyone wanted to leave so they could start the party. “Well, then I'll be on my way,” he said, starting to walk away.
         Dreyer didn’t want him to go. “No! Wait! Please don't go. We would like you to feel part of this team since you have done so much. Let me introduce you to the players.”
         Claussen turned and rejoined the group. “Sure. I'd like that.”
         Dreyer called the players, “Guys. Come over here and line up. I want you to meet Mr. Claussen, our team sponsor.”
         Willem Dreyer was proud of ‘his boys’ and eager for Lars Claussen to get to know them. He singled out no one, but introduced each player in a complimentary way, mostly with the tone of his voice. Torey and Addo worked their way to the line’s end, somehow sensing that they should be last.
         Dreyer began, “This is Jimmy Tillis. He played goalkeeper in the first half.”
         “Yes, sir. I'm the one who let them score,” Jimmy admitted frankly.
         Claussen smiled and shook Jimmy’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Jimmy. I saw that. He made an exceptional kick. Don't let one goal get you down. You have many games and many years ahead.”
         I like this guy; he pays attention, thought Dreyer, then, “Meet Joey Wilson, Defensive Center today.”
         “Thank you for all the gear, Mr. Claussen,” said Wilson.
         “Pleased to meet you, Joey. I'm glad I could help.”
         Introductions continued.
         “This is Lian Kwan, our Right Forward,” said Dreyer.
         “How do you do, Lian. Where are you from?” asked Claussen, noticing Lian’s oriental features.
         Kwan answered proudly, “I was born here. My parents are from Korea.”
         The introductions continued until only Torey and Addo were left.
         Of course, positions will change,” Dreyer said. “Every player will play every position. Say hello to Torey Campbell. He came up with the team name.”
         Claussen’s eyebrows raised. “Oh. What is the team name?”
         “Tell him, Torey,” Dreyer prodded, wanting to recognize Torey.
         “Flywheel Force,” Torey answered.
         “Oh, I like that name,” Claussen said, showing great satisfaction, “good strong name. Yeah, I like it. You scored the second goal, didn't you?”
         “Yes, sir.”
         Claussen hesitated. “Campbell? A common name, but it rings familiar.”
         “Yes, sir. My dad works for you.”
         “Of course, you're Brodey Campbell's son.”
         Dreyer cut it off. “This is Addo Okoro, our team captain. His parents are from Ghana.”
         “Yes. You scored that first goal, right?”
         “Yes sir,” Addo replied, smiling proudly.
         Claussen paused, “Okoro? That name sounds familiar too.”
         Addo acknowledged, “My dad works at the university.”
         Recognition clicked. “Yes. Kumi Okoro. I met him the other day at the luncheon launching the new project for Allerford. He’s quite a guy. Very smart. A lot of good ideas. His project will be great for the city. Glad to meet you, Addo. How about that. I get to sponsor a team with the sons of two men I know. Are you and Addo friends?”
         This guy really pays attention, thought Dreyer, a bit awed.
         “Yes, sir,” Torey replied.
         Addo added, “Soccer and school.”
         Dreyer complimented both boys, “Torey's newest to the game, but Addo has done a good job mentoring him.”
         Seeing the line had ended, Claussen said: “Well Willem, you have a real international team here. You can make this about much more than soccer. That's great. I am so pleased I came today and happy I decided to do this sponsorship thing. Thank you for introducing me. Now I'll know who I'm cheering for.”
         Maybe he’ll come back. Dreyer, genuinely pleased, replied, “Please come again — game or practice — we'll be happy to have you.”
         “Thank you; I will.” Claussen hesitated, then, “Maybe we can think about some kind of party at the end of the season.”
         Claussen’s comment surprised Dreyer. He looked at Claussen quizzically, smiled, then said, “I think the boys would like that.”
         Dreyer ended it. “Okay, everybody, great game. See you Monday.”
         Parents, who had been respectfully waiting for the coach to dismiss the team, descended on the crowd of players. Several of them gathered around Claussen. Introductions, handshaking, and jovial chatter followed. Dreyer could see that Claussen was enjoying himself. That’s good, he thought.
         The midday switchover was well underway with the morning crowd departing, the afternoon crowd arriving, and Flywheel Force dispersing. Coach Dreyer lingered to be sure his team, with all their gear, cleared the field. He counted the practice balls in the big net bag and gathered his clipboard with his notes and league paperwork. Addo lingered too as if waiting for Coach to dismiss him.
         “Gotta go now, Coach,” said Jimmy Tillis, waving as he walked away.
         The trio of Karel Hlavacek, Joey Wilson, and Stanton Cooper joked and trash-talked as they strolled toward the park gate.
         Runestone Park was bustling with crowds, some arriving, some departing, staff, and officials enjoying the midday break between the morning and afternoon sessions. Youngsters took advantage of the empty fields playing pickup games, enjoying the opportunity to run and kick on manicured grass with real goal posts and nets.
         Joey Wilson departed. “Bye, Coach. Thanks for coaching us.”
         Suman Anand and Gabriel Hruby decided they were hungry and walked off toward the crowd gathered at the food truck parked some distance away, doing a booming noontime business.
         Tony Shurr stuffed his towel and water bottle into his bag, paused to shake hands with the coach, then walked toward the street, passing close by Torey.
         Aaron Jones left, “Thanks, coach. See you on Monday.”
         Chinelo Sesay joined his parents, chatting with Claussen. Torey exchanged small talk with Tony Shurr about the game and the upcoming season, but Torey’s mind was elsewhere as he scanned the bleachers and the park vainly searching for Viviana.
         “She left, Torey — really mad,” Shurr said, observing Torey’s discontent.
         Emiliano Vizza was in the process of leaving, having changed from soccer cleats to street shoes.
         “Bye Coach, Addo, Torey,” Lian Kwan said, with a wave and a grin.
         There were many parents in attendance. For most, it was their first soccer game and the first opportunity to watch their sons perform under the tutelage of Willem Dreyer. They were happy with the victory, of course. Torey felt an ache of loneliness that his mother was not present to share the success.
         The day was over. For Torey, it had been a day to remember, marred only by Viviana’s performance and his parent’s absence. He closed his bag, making a mental note that he had to mark it someway, then stood up his bike and prepared to depart. He noticed Addo and Coach engaged in conversation but looking at him and smiling.
         “Torey, don't leave yet,” Dreyer said, motioning Torey to approach.
         Torey extended the kickstand on his bicycle and walked to where Addo and the coach were standing, looking at him.
         “What's up?”
         “We've got something for you,” answered Dreyer with a fatherly smile. He unzipped his bag and extracted a worn athletic bag, dark red with white lettering worn and flaking to be almost unreadable, and a pair of black soccer shorts.
         Addo joined in, “We're tired of you looking like a street kid at practice,” flashing his mischievous grin as he pulled a soccer jersey and towel from his bag.
         “This shirt is from my collection — it’s the shirt for the Argentina national team,” Addo said, proudly offering the shirt to Torey.
         The shirt was striped with alternating broad vertical white and sky-blue stripes.
         “Addo, I can’t take a shirt from your collection.”
         “It’s a duplicate — actually one of three. I’d rather see you wear it than have it stuffed in my dresser drawer.”
         Torey choked up, “Geez. You guys keep doing stuff for me. I don't deserve it.”
         Dreyer knew he had to relax Torey. “Let's call it payment for services to be rendered.”
         “I got you involved in this game. I can't have you representing me like a bum,” Addo joked.
         Dreyer turned serious. “Torey, you have talent; you can be an excellent soccer player. Addo spotted that the first day at the pickup game on Fletcher Avenue. But that talent is inexperienced and undisciplined. It needs training and practice. I can help you with that, but only if you’re willing to put in the work.”
         Torey knew he was being given a unique opportunity and was about to make the most significant commitment of his life. Eager and ready, he knew this would lead to a position as part of the high school team and the unknown to follow. He grabbed it. “I am Coach. I love this game. I know I must get better; I know I can get better; I know you can make me better. I want to play for you and make you proud.”
         Torey looked up, surprised. The bleachers had filled with new faces during their conversation. Two teams had taken their places at the sideline and were politely trying to nudge the trio out of the way. The afternoon games were about to start.
         Torey stuffed his ‘new’ old shirt, old shorts, old towel, and old bag into his Flywheel team bag. Addo and Dreyer smiled; Torey grinned back, but his eyes were filled with tears as he picked up his bike, pumped the pedal, jumped on, and started for home. As he rode, he reflected on the two men who had just taken center stage in his life.
         Lars Claussen had more wealth. He was better dressed; he owned a manufacturing business, and Torey had seen him in the society pages of the Sunday newspaper. He put up big bucks to sponsor a boys’ soccer team. Why did he do this? Was it just for the advertisement?
         Willem Dreyer was different. He was a teacher. Torey had heard many stories about how underpaid teachers were. Yet Willem Dreyer was devoting many hours to taking teenagers off the street and building them into a team. For sure, this team gave him a bigger pool of qualified players for his high school team, but so what? A winning team or a losing team didn’t change his paycheck one penny.
         These two men were different. Different from each other in circumstances, and unlike his father, Brodey Campbell. Torey wanted to be like them, not like his father. How could he do that?

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Word Count: 2,753
Readability Consensus (based on seven readability formulas):
         Grade Level: 5
         Reading Level: easy to read.
         Reader’s Age: 8-9 years old (Fourth and Fifth graders)