Seasoned Wives: A Novel Inspired by Real Lives of College and Professional Football Coaches’ Wives

By Marilynn H. Rison

It takes an awful lot of perseverance to be married to a football coachjust ask Mallory Lassiter. She signed up for marriage, but she didnt see the fine print, a pigskin invasion. Managing endless weeks with no weekend, the industry expectations for wives, disruptive family relocations for the next coaching job, and politics that bite. Mallory has to make a decision. Will she stick it out and be a coachs wife, or will she end the madness?

Mallory's path meets with that of several women who walk in similar shoes. Her close friend Shelley opts to stay behind with her extended family support when her coach husband Brian makes the next move, but does the distance between them grow beyond geography? Didi stood by her man while raising their five children, but has she cheated herself by enduring his cheating? Ellen the veteran has played the game well at the cost of hiding serious skeletons in the closet.

Tough love vs. tender hearts in this life-like glimpse into these game-changing relationships.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462042029

Marilynn H. Rison

Marilynn H. Rison serves as principal editor for Write For You Now writing and editing services (writeforyounow.com). She is a writer, actor, and choreographer, and was awarded by the International Film and TV Festival of New York for documentary production. She has taught college communication courses, launched and directed praise dance ministries in several states, and serves as executive artist of Praisedust Productions. She also lives a natural healthy lifestyle. Marilynn has been a football coach’s wife for more than 30 years and currently lives in North Carolina with her husband. They have two adult daughters.

Book preview

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

For Dominique and Tara, with love

Live on purpose,

Mom

For my forever sister Wanda Sue and her unconditional love, faith, and support

And my sister Carol, who sings in heaven

To my moms, her spirit of fierce love, compassion, and strength

God bless my mountains, valleys, and lasting friendships…

Thank you, Mother, for everything

Prologue

It all started when some mutual friends helped him plot to walk me home after a night class at Central Michigan University. Long story short, after graduating from college and after his brief stint with playing professional football, we said our vows in a beautiful, outdoor wedding.

The first two years my husband’s work as a high school teacher and coach seemed reasonably compatible to my sense of marriage, family, and dual-career couples. But one day after work, he said he wanted to talk to me about venturing into football coaching on the college level.

Sure, why not? I shrugged.

But understand it requires a lot more of my time, he said.

Well, ok babe, if that’s what you want to do, that’s fine, I said. My 25-year-old, not-a-mom-yet, live-and-let-live mentality did not imagine what was to soon hit the fan.

In the beginning I was so undone, as a matter of fact, that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay married, much less have children with this MIA husband. But a few years later we had two divine daughters that I wouldn’t trade for the universe. I count my blessings, I thank God for each life lesson and opportunity, and I marvel at a unique resilience that can be discovered in marriage… however… patience gets tested and faith refined when he’s never around, the season never ends, and football intrudes into your most personal space.

I faced one very important deliberation more than once. There always seemed to be three forks in the road. The first was to choose long-distance marriage, which at one time for us was bi-coastal. In the long-distance scenario our daughters stayed with me, and we set up two separate residents. This was expensive and stressful, especially with no other family nearby, but it allowed me to pursue my career at its own rhythm and pace. Our marriage was strained, I was exhausted, and I felt resentful about his even greater absence as a father.

The second option was for us to stay together and move according to my husband’s coaching changes, an average of every three years. Despite the frequent moving, this choice actually gave the family more emotional stability, especially when the children were very young. As they became older, however, it was more difficult for them to leave their friends and school life. Obviously I had less control over my career growth this way, and my promotions and new challenges always seemed to conflict with a coaching change.

The third path was possibly the most severe—to just end the marriage out of frustration with either of the other two choices. Number three became a serious contender, and I had taken some determined steps down that road.

But with all things considered, my husband and I chose option two as a rule of thumb… with creative amendments. I did some independent consulting and part-time teaching to help satisfy my professional needs and gain more control and flexibility. I indulged a great passion for the arts community as a writer, choreographer, and actor. And I tried pretty successfully to take a greater interest in football. The impact of the moving was less negative for a while but still disruptive. My career drive dwindled, and I basically put it on deep freeze for a while.

The jilted, uneasy time between coaching jobs is yet another dynamic. The suddenness of it feels a little like you’ve been swimming in the middle of an ocean and all at once you’re standing on an empty beach. It’s anti-climatic at the end of a season. It’s imbalanced if it happens in the middle of a season. And as with most situations, it’s downright nasty when there’s backstabbing involved. The metaphorical impact of it all ranges from a clean exit to a mob lynching. It shifts the whole dynamic in your household and generally means moving again.

One thing I have learned is how to keep rolling with the hope and confidence that everything happens to serve a greater purpose and that there is something better waiting around the corner.

Coaches with expired contracts are trying to sprint around that corner, while the ones fortunate enough to have a payout may be more inclined to take a time out to regroup. Go through to grow through, I once heard a pastor say at Elevation Baptist Church in Raleigh, North Carolina, in a very relevant sermon.

My husband is what they call a people person. It doesn’t matter if he’s flying on an airplane at 40,000 feet or walking through a grocery store checkout lane… he’s bound to enter a conversation with someone who will feel inclined to share with him some personal matter or perhaps even a life story. What a gift. What an opportunity to learn about life and strengthen your own insight and compassion.

During a particular coaching job void his gift was enriched on the home front. I was working. He was not. He therefore was spending extra special time with his own children who were at a very interesting stage… called teens. Two daughters and their dad… he was taking them to cheerleading practice, theater rehearsals, doctor appointments, the movies, the mall, and listening to their complicated, head-spinning, girlish outlooks on life. I know in my heart that this junction was no accident, just God calling a family time out.

And it’s that same gift that mentors the passage of boys to men within the auspices of college football. It’s returning to that point of knowledge that helps me find purpose and patience for this life and tolerate the fact that you can never get too comfortable or trust too completely. Finding that noble hook in professional football may be another story. But I still see the grit and the glory, the heart and the spirit of struggle, loss, and triumph.

The elements in this book are fiction, but the sentiments and circumstances are real. I’m sure the seed was planted in my spirit years ago for my writing this account, although I could not pinpoint the moment. I only know that after more than thirty years of marriage, I felt a tidal rush to pour some of this thought onto paper.

The book paints a colorful scene from the personal journey I have lived, much of it reflection after more than 30 years. It reveals my view of many years of intimate observation of other women and families navigating through the world of football. Names, places, and experiences have been changed, reshaped, and amended, but the book captures a real life picture.

Is it the worst lot in life? No. But know this. For us coaches’ wives the stories we have to tell are deep and wide. For me and I know countless others, this thing… this football coach’s wife thing… can be a real game changer.

Chapter 1

In the Heat of the Game

"Fourth down with 22 seconds left in this game. Ball’s on the 20," the announcer panted. "Coach Nickerson has called a time out, and the Washington Gladiators are deciding whether or not to go for it. A field goal would win the game by one."

Mom I’m hungry. Mallory Lassiter looked unsurprised at her wide-eyed seven-year-old daughter Meredith seated in front of her in the noisy football stadium as she opened her backpack and removed a leather glove to reach for a tuna sandwich. She smiled slightly at her child’s simple statement and obvious expectation of a simple solution.

The announcer’s voice burst in again. "Looks like they’re goin’ for it! Folks it looks like the Gladiators are going for it!"

Lassiter you idiot! yelled a large man decked in the University’s scarlet red from four rows behind them.

Oh please. Mallory sighed dismissively as she helped Meredith unwrap the sandwich and take half.

Yoah an idiot! My daddy’s not an idiot, yoah an idiot!

Mallory instantly noted the soft R’s in the indignant retort of her four-year-old Alexi. Shh, honey, we don’t yell at people when they say nasty things at football games, Mallory leaned in to admonish her little one as she pressed away Alexi’s small pointing finger. Here, want some popcorn? Distracting her child with food was not a habit she wanted to promote, but sometimes—she told herself—you have to use desperate measures, especially when dealing with a feisty four-year-old.

Remember what Mommy said about being offensive coordinator and that Daddy has to plan ways to score when our team has the ball. And sometimes people in the stands may not always agree with his decisions? Mallory said as she pulled out another snack.

Mallory could see Meredith’s little brain churning. Yes, and you told Aunt Shelley, how would the mechanics and surgeons like it if a bunch of people off the street walked into their work and tried to tell them how to do it, huh Mom? Meredith said, nodding. Biting her bottom lip, Mallory looked at her longtime friend Shelley Sutherland seated next to her, who was even less successful in hiding her amusement.

Mallory knew Shelley even before their husbands wound up coaching together in Washington. They had been friends since college. Shelley nudged Mallory and nodded toward Alexi, who stood donned her in a purple sweatshirt and red knit scarf and glared in the loud man’s direction.

The fearless tot then flipped around her twisty braids and said with severe honesty, I don’t like him Mommy, he’s a juck. She then plopped down next to her sister as she accepted the popcorn. Mallory heard a few other snickers nearby.

"Nope, take it back folks, they’re lining up for the field goal," shouted the announcer.

Meredith fixed her large brown eyes on her little sister for a full second. Then she looked up at her mom and shook her head with the wisdom of 47 years instead of seven. She’s a trip, said Meredith.

The kick is good! The crowd erupted as the Glads pulled it out kicking the thirty-yard field goal for a 28-27 victory. The fans cheered as the players leaped at each other on the sidelines before they lined up to offer their palms to the opposing team. The band played a wild, popular music pattern, and people danced and clapped in the stands.

Mallory spotted Claire Nickerson, the wife of Head Coach Manuel Nickerson, and Cynthia Richards, the Defensive Backs Coach Todd Richards’ wife, sitting a few rows down. They waved and climbed up the stands to chat.

Well, we won another tight one, but three in a row is three in a row. Cynthia removed the team-colored baseball cap from her head.

Of course we still have the rest of the season to go, said Claire. Everybody’s slapping us on the back right now… She laughed and let the sentence trail. They all knew exactly what she meant. Mallory very much liked Claire, an intelligent and down-to-earth woman. She and Manuel had been married many years and had raised two sons.

At least Todd will be in a good mood this week, Cynthia said.

Mallory just nodded. Thank goodness Chase had never been one of those coaches who went in the tank for a week after losing a game.

Are you ladies waiting for the guys? Shelley asked. The wives sometimes went down near the fence to greet, meet, and congratulate people after the game.

Claire smiled and crinkled her small nose. Just long enough to hug a few players and say hello to some parents. Then I’m scooting on out of here.

I’m staying. Todd is usually pretty quick to come out, Cynthia said.

Well I know you said you’re staying today Mallory, Shelley said. I need to get Connor to his friend’s birthday party, so I’m going to head out.

Okay. I’ll see you all later then. I’m going to take my time, Mallory said. The other women said their goodbyes and headed for their destinations. Mallory stayed seated with the girls while they finished sipping juice boxes. She wanted to let the stands thin out a little more before moving.

Most stadiums were prohibitive about bringing your own food inside, but Mallory and a few of the other wives with younger kids always packed a few snacks in the bottom of their bags. The people inspecting at the gate usually didn’t dig all the way to the bottom.

She knew it would take Chase awhile. He would talk to players, other coaches, and sometimes the media. Then he would take his shower, which was usually lengthy, and then greet some parents and recruits.

Mallory and the girls still had a twenty-minute wait when they got down to the locker area, but thank goodness for the sunshine with the crisp temperatures of Central Washington. Mallory also gratefully noted the good mood of the girls who were playing some made-up game that involved hopping on one foot and tagging each other.

She noticed Manuel still on the field talking to a reporter. Claire already had left. Hey, Chase Lassiter called out cheerfully as he approached his family.

Daddy! Daddy! The girls ran to him, taking a flying leap almost simultaneously as he managed to scoop them up on each side, for big hugs and kisses from his daughters.

Mallory smiled watching her two not-so-angelic but mostly well-adjusted little girls talking their dad’s ears off. She didn’t doubt that Chase loved his family. But his oblivion sometimes about how football dictated their lives was sometimes frustrating.

Hey beautiful. He leaned to kiss her.

Hey, congratulations. She smiled and kissed him back. Chase, two years older than Mallory, stood just under six feet tall, athletic and stocky, with small piercing brown eyes and a neat mustache that Mallory thought gave him a rugged teddy bear look. Mallory was pretty, average height, smallish but curvy, with honey-auburn hair she wore in a stylish, short and lively cut. People often said they made an attractive couple.

The pair began walking and naturally linked hands as the girls ran on the turf in front of them across the stadium. You kinda like these close ones, don’t you? Mallory teased.

Man, we sure know how to make it hard on ourselves. Chase rolled his eyes. He paused and leaned his head towards Mallory. Honey… our offensive line stinks, he whispered. Tomorrow when we watch the film, I am laying it on the line. No more diplomacy. We’ve got to raise the bar or we will get demolished down the stretch. If we played this wobbly today against Vienna State, we will get our heads handed to us against Paul City.

Hey Coach, nice win! shouted a long-standing Washington alum waving to Chase.

Thank you! Chase called out, raising a victory fist. It wasn’t pretty, but it was a win! Chase joked and guffawed with the man for a minute.

They had dinner at home that evening. Occasionally Chase took the family out for dinner on Saturday during the season, but most of the time he was just too tired from the grueling work week and was anticipating the next day’s film review. He was averse to playing public relations with people who wanted to grill him more about the game and offer their arm-chair suggestions for the next one.

Manuel had called once during dinner to tell Chase that Monday afternoon they had a meeting with the alumni boosters. Then Head Trainer Shane Bishop called to tell him their starting offensive lineman would be out for the rest of the season with a broken collarbone.

Poor Trey, Mallory said. He was having such a promising start this season. Sophomore Trey Jones held favor with Mallory.

Chase chuckled a little. You like the big bruiser, don’t you?

Mallory tilted her head. Well, you know, he’s been like my big wounded bird.

Trey was 6 feet 6 inches tall weighing 340 pounds. Before he arrived from New Orleans as a freshman, he had lost mom and baby brother in a hurricane, and his dad was a drug-addict and a gambler living in Nevada. When Chase brought Trey to their home later in the summer with a few of the other new faces for dinner and a TV football game, he was polite and good-natured. But Mallory wasn’t the only one who sensed damaged spirit.

Meredith was four-and-a-half, remember? She said, Mommy why is the big guy sad?’

Yeah, I remember, Chase said. Thank God for his grandmother, though. At least she kept him out of trouble and pushed him to get good enough grades. I remember sitting in their living room when we recruited him. They didn’t have much money, but she was tough. His tape was great, and with a strong B-average and good SAT scores he got himself a scholarship.

Since then Trey had earned a starting position, was doing well academically, and had a really nice girlfriend. The broken bird on the football field was referred to as Train instead of Trey.

After putting the girls to bed, Mallory curled up on the sofa next to Chase while he watched the sports news. Afterward they watched a movie together… Mallory loved a good court case drama.

Chapter 2

Flags on the Field

Sunday morning Mallory poured milk on the girls’ cereal.

Why can’t Daddy go to church with us? Meredith demanded.

Because the coaches have to go to work today, sweetie, Mallory said as she placed a spoon by Alexi’s bowl.

Why can’t they work tomorrow? Meredith insisted.

They can wuk tomowwo! mimicked Alexi, rolling her eyes. She raised her palms in the air and then covered her impish grin.

Well, because football coaches have to meet and watch film, and then evaluate it, and then plan everything they’re going to do tomorrow. Mallory touched Alexi’s nose lightly.

But I want Daddy to be with us! Meredith tilted her head forward and screwed her brows into a serious furrow.

Mallory mirrored her daughter’s expression and moved toward her until their foreheads met. And I want youuu to give meeee your belleeee so I can tickle it.

Meredith giggled uncontrollably before Mallory even touched her. Alexi slid from her chair laughing and joined in the tickle party.

After services Mallory greeted several members of their community church congregation in the aisle. As she made her way out of the sanctuary and down the corridor, a few of the people who follow football spoke to her about yesterday’s big win.

Meredith and Alexi were in a nearby room at an activity table with the children’s ministry group. Jeff Spinner, one of the associate ministers known for his love of sports walked by and shook Mallory’s hand. I bet Chase is riding high after that one, said Jeff with a smile.

"Well you know how it is, Jeff, the high only lasts a minute; they have to hit the ground almost