The facts of life
? Chapter SEVEN
The story so far: It is official: the new soccer team has the worst start in the schools sport history. Is there any way this team can get better?
If the story of what happened to our team was in the movies, on television, or a YouTube video, this is the point at which I think things are supposed to look up. You know, the team starts to fight back. Opposing teams wouldn’t score all those points – because of us. Maybe one of us would drop dead from trying so hard, and then the rest of us would vow to win in his honor, and would, crying for joy that our best’s friend’s death was worth a plastic trophy with big ears.
The problem was, our team was not in the movies, television, or that series of romance books called “Vampire Vamps of Victoria Vocational,” which all the girls were reading. This was real.
For example …
Just a few days after the last game, I was lying on my bed reading Love That Dog. I really liked it. Anyway, my father came into my room and sat down on my desk chair. I could tell it was going to be a serious talk by the way he sat. When he wants to tell me I’m going to have to spend Saturday morning helping to clean house, he just sits on the chair, regular. When he straddles the chair, backwards, that means he’s my pal and we’re going to talk man-to-man. And I wasn’t even a man.
This time he straddled my chair and looked around at all the slogans, pictures, and bits and pieces I had picked up and stuck to the wall. I stayed where I was, on my bed.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Okay.” My nose was still in the book.
“Got a minute?”
“Sure.” I lowered the book, not knowing what was coming, except I could tell it was going to be heavy lifting.
He said, “How’s school?”
“Okay.”
“You really like it, don’t you?”
“Most of it.”
“When I went, I hated it.”
“Sorry.”
“Really hated it . . .”
“Well, I like it,” I said. Then I suddenly had this wild notion that we were going to talk about sex! Trying not to show it, I got interested. I mean, we were overdue.
“Ed… ,” he said. “How’s that soccer team you’re on?”
“The what?”
“The soccer team.”
“Okay,” I said, not only feeling disappointed but wondering how he knew about the team. I hadn’t mentioned it.
“I didn’t know you were on it, much less captain of the team. That’s quite an honor. How come you never told us any of this?”
I shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I’m required to play. And Mr. Lester picked me for captain. Not the guys. Just the way he picked me to play goalie. I’m taller than the other guys.”
“Better?”
“Taller. Saltz is better.”
“Beefy.”
“All muscle,” I said loyally.
He looked at me, his eyes gone shifty, so I knew some phony questions were working their way up. Sure enough, he asked, “How’s, uh, the team, you know, coming along?”
“Wonderful,” I said, picking up my book so he knew I had more important things to do.
“Really?”
“If you know the answers, how come you’re asking?”
“You never told me one way or the other.”
“Someone did.”
“Well, that’s … true.” He was silent for a moment. “I … uh … gather you’ve not … won … anything.”
“Nope.”
“Close?”
“Not by light-years, and each light-year is about six trillion miles.”
“Ed …”
“Dad,” I said, “you wouldn’t be asking me this way if you didn’t know the answers. What’s on your mind? I’d like to read this.”
“I just thought … you know … I’m concerned about your team. Not just me, Ed. A bunch of bright guys like you. It’s … your attitude,” he blurted out. “You and the rest of the guys.”
“How do you know?”
“I had a call from Mr. Tillman, the school counselor.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I did. He’s worried about you and the rest of the boys on the team.”
“How come?”
“I just told you, your attitude.”
“Because we get beaten?”
“Because you don’t seem to care.”
“What are we supposed to do? Cry? Sulk? Put our fists through the lockers? Take drugs? Go see Mr. Tillman and tell him we hate our fathers? Dad, we didn’t want to be on a team. We had to be. We stink. So what?”
He shook his head. “That’s being a quitter.”
“How can you accuse me of quitting when I didn’t want to join? If a guy breaks out of a torture chamber, is he a quitter? I mean, I do want to quit. We all do.”
“Ed!”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
After a few moments, he said, “A few of the dads were talking about this at the parents’ meeting last night. We’re going to hold some extra practices. Mr. Lester is all for it.”
I threw my book down in disgust. “You’re kidding!”
“Mean it.”
“When?”
“Saturday mornings.”
“No way.”
“Yes.”
“Saturday I’m supposed to work with Lucy on our project.”
“Who’s Lucy?”
“A friend!” I said fiercely.
He stood up. “Nine-thirty, fella. Havelock Field. You’re team captain. You’ve got to set an example.” He walked out of my room.
I called Saltz. “Guess what?” I said.
He said, “Havelock Field. Nine-thirty. Saturday. I’m strongest. Biggest. I have to set an example.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“No one asked you what you believe.”
“What else did your folks say?”
“That we were a disgrace.”
“Ye gods …”
“You going?” he asked.
“Don’t have much choice.”
“See ya,” he said.
“Right,” and I hung up the phone. I was beginning to feel like a cancer under attack. After a moment, I called Lucy.
“Lucy? This is Ed. I can’t work on our project Saturday morning.”
“Why?”
“Soccer team. I’ve got to practice being a hero.”
“I can understand,” she said, which made it worse. I was hoping she was beyond understanding.
• NEXT WEEK: Learning to believe