Grow and Change, Change and Grow

By Doak Markley

It is 1969 as fifteen-year-old Derek Moore pedals to his new high school for the first day of summer conditioning. He has no idea what is in store for him. After all, he is the fresh meat rookie on the football team. But when he is befriended by popular upperclassman, Mark Maris, a tiny sliver of hope begins to emerge for Derek.

The teams illustrious leader is Coach Sizemore, a determined motivator who has a staff of passionate assistant coaches under him who have made it their mission to work the boys on the field until they achieve more than they ever believed they could. With a pop song always in his mindset, Derek must learn to navigate through classroom, first love, and social challenges, all while attempting to make a positive impact on the football field. But it is not until the season culminates in an exciting game that Derek finally realizes the true value of being a part of a team intent on achieving great things.

In this coming-of-age novel, a teenage boy growing up during late sixties America must attempt to adjust to a new schooland football teamwhile facing adolescent obstacles

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532039560

Doak Markley

Doak Markley recently retired after teaching and coaching in three states for forty-two years. He has coached football and track, and taught health, physical education, reading, and driver education. Doak and his wife, Kathy, recently moved to Georgia to be closer to their three grandchildren and three adult daughters.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Change is inevitable in life, but how we deal with it determines whether it is positive or negative. Life is not a destination, but a journey.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON

CHAPTER 1

The rustling noise made by a paper hot dog wrapper competed with the dry oak leaves being skittered about on the packed barren earth. The cold November wind swirled and snapped the American flag like a locker room towel flick. Suddenly, his awareness shifted from sound to smell as the aroma of the damp brown earth was overcome by the pungent whiff of an ammonia capsule that Doc had snapped open.

He was harkened back to the present. It’s time out, late 4th quarter. They’re playing their arch rivals, the Ventura Vultures. Coach is yelling We’re up one, 30 seconds to play. We must stop the extra point. Bones, the team trainer, has swept the ammonia capsule under everybody’s nose.

This’ll shake the cobwebs and wake you up! Bones stated in his indomitable reassuring manner.

I don’t know if they are going for 1 to tie or 2 to win. Goal line D if they go for 2, the sweep wide is their favorite play. Don’t suck up at the corners, it could be sweep pass. If they kick, come hard off the edges, but it could be a fake. ranted Coach.

Tweettttttttt ! The ref’s whistle. Back to the sideline coach, time out is over, bellowed the referee.

They huddled- Captain Josh looks into each player’s eyes- Don’t be confused, be aggressive. D ends drive the tight ends down inside. We practiced for this. Rattlers ready!

Hit!!! we shouted in unison with a loud clap as the Vultures broke their huddle and came to the line.

They’re going for one. They’re going for the tie. What a bunch of chicken shits. Wait, maybe it’s a fake- damn, I’m confusing myself, he stumbled through progressions in his mind.

He lined up in a gap, between the center and left guard, thinking, We’ve got to get a great jump on the snap and get thin to penetrate their line. The center positions himself over the ball. He placed his right hand underneath, his left hand on top. As he prepares to snap, sweat dripped off his face onto the ball. He flexed his fingers. There was bedlam on both sides of the field. The individual coaches were all screaming last second tips at the top of their lungs. From our sideline, Get low Don’t jump Watch the fake Block it. No seams, Elephant protection, Boot it through from theirs! It was to no avail, no one on the field could hear them.

The crowds in both stands were on their feet shouting, imploring, praying, shaking pompoms and ringing cow bells. Half the cheerleaders were trying to organize either a block that kick or a one more time cheer. The other half faced the field and was emitting several levels of high pitch screams that had dogs a mile away howling in pain. In unison, the two bands were attempting to out- do each other with booming versions of their borrowed school fight songs, On Wisconsin and Hail to the Victors.

He was coiled; ready to explode. Horse, getup. This is the second time I’ve called you! nagged his Mom from the bottom of the stairs. The big play morphed into the reality of his room with the morning sun beaming through the East window. His name was really Derek, but was nicknamed Horse.

Got it, Mom. Be right down, Derek muttered as he stretched and came to awake status. Before he proceeded with his morning ritual Moxie was standing on his chest, licking his face. Moxie was a big red golden retriever and Derek’s best friend. He turned on his radio and Heard it Through the Grapevine, was playing. Good bass, I heard it through the grapevine, no longer will you be mine’ poured from the tinny speaker. It was going to be a good day.

CHAPTER 2

Can’t be late today. This was the first day of summer conditioning at his new school, Xanadu HS. Derek was a sophomore, just shy of turning sixteen, and had recently moved from his old house in the country. It was an old family farm that they didn’t work. For a small fee the neighbors used most of the acreage and Derek had done work for them. Mom’s mother died last spring and had left them her house in Wyandot. Dad, who wasn’t a farmer like his father had been, sold insurance and the move into town put him one mile from his office. Mom was very happy since she was in town, near the stores, library, and lots of friends.

Horse was not elated about the relocation. Familiarity being huge to a teenager, the 20 mile move had cost him his friends and his old school. Derek’s former school, Middle Creek, although not a modern facility was still immaculate and comfortable. The halls were covered with graduation class pictures plaques that listed the winners of various academic, civics award and denoting athletic achievements. This would have been his first year playing football at Middle Creek. A bout with Osgood’s Slaughter’s had forced him to sit out his freshman year. (Osgood’s is a condition where bones grow too fast for the muscles and connective tissues to keep up. It causes a great deal of pain just below the knee where the rapid bone growth causes the connective tissues to pull away from the bone.) Treatment in 1968 was a full leg cast, ankle to upper thigh. Horse had begun the summer of ’68 at 5'10" and 150 pounds working as manager for the football team and Coach Rector.

Middle Creek’s Coach Rector was a legend. He was a mathematics teacher extraordinaire. His ability to get math concepts across to the most gifted student or to the most numerically challenged pupil was seemingly magical. Derek was not certain how old Coach was, since he never said, but it was common knowledge he had won the Navy Cross and French Legion of Merit for his actions as a Marine in WWI. While raising four sons who played for him had coached and taught at Middle Creek since 1920. The sons had all moved away, his mission became raising generations of Fighting Owl’s who filled the stands every Saturday afternoon.

Middle Creek was a small farm community with a town hall, feed store, general store/grocery, two gas stations, grange hall, barber shop, four churches and various farm related businesses. The high school carried about 100 students per class and had fought the trend to be consolidated into a bigger, but not center of town, school. Pride ran deep.

Coach had run the Single Wing and a 62 defense since the 1920’s. His won/loss record was 75%, and he never had more than one assistant. He had been through three assistants, who had each retired. He studied film and his teams were always totally prepared, but it had become harder every year. None of the teams Middle Creek originally played still existed. They had all consolidated. Every week the Owls played a school with more athletes and resources; but, they managed to hold their own.

As every other boy in Middle Creek, Horse had awaited his opportunity to play for Coach Rector. When the Osgood’s stole his freshman season, he had asked to be a manager so he would be part of the team and learn everything he could.

CHAPTER 3

Attired in brown gym shorts, white Rattlers t-shirt, tube socks and a new pair of high white Chuck Taylor Converse, Horse leapt down the final 4 steps and hit the landing with a loud thud. Moxie raced him to the kitchen.

Settle down! You’ll break something, either in the house or on you! Mom yelled from the kitchen.

Sorry, just excited, he apologized.

His attempt to head straight out the door was stymied by drill Sergeant Mom’s order, You will eat something first.

In what Derek thought was a negotiation, he countered, ‘‘But, I’ll be late and I don’t want anything on my stomach."

The look from Mom settled everything cold and he plopped down at the kitchen table. He did manage to escape with just some cinnamon toast and orange juice. The scent of cinnamon wafted around foretelling of a later delight.

After he deposited his plate and glass in the sink, it was a quick sprint out the back door and across the brick path to the detached one-car garage. Again his progress was impeded by a new task from Mom. Don’t forget Moxie! she barked. Horse headed back to the kitchen, grabbed Moxie by the collar and hooked her to the chain on the clothes line. Moxie was not happy. At the farm she had had the run of the entire place. They planned to fence the back yard so she could regain some freedom.

The garage door was already open since Dad had previously left for an early appointment. Derek’s leap onto his bike seat may have occurred with too much haste, as he had forgotten to tighten the seat so it would not tilt back. Derek paused to regain his breath and make certain he still possessed two testicles.

Wobbling down the right concrete tire track, he built speed for the mile ride to Xanadu HS. Proceeding through town, the clock at city hall chimed once for 8:30. On schedule for the 9:00am workout, Magic Carpet Ride filled his subconscious, Get your motor runnin’, head out on the highway, He hoped for some magic at the end of this ride.

Derek’s route turned North out Rte 21. The new HS was located ½ mile outside of Wyandot. It had been built in the center of Troop, Lemming, and Cassel, the other three towns that had consolidated into Xanadu High School. Horse was passed by several cars and pickup trucks, all sporting Xanadu Rattlers bumper stickers and back window decals. As they drove by, whoops, cat calls and a few fresh meat rookie greetings were hurled at him. There was the pungent smell of fresh tar that had recently been used to seal some cracks.

Happily the terrain was fairly flat, as Rte 21 followed Doak’s Creek valley. Rounding the final curve, Xanadu HS came into sight. Typical of new 60’s school construction, it was very cookie cutter in design a one level brick ranch building dominated by the gym in the back. Derek turned at the marquee by the road that still read, School’s out, Be safe, from the previous spring. The school was only four years old and was still crisp with the landscaping bushes just beginning to need trimmed.

Gastric distress began to set in as he neared the locker room at the back of the gym. Derek had only been in town 5 days and had only met one other sophomore football player, Bob Kovaleski, who had been signing up for classes at the same time. Change was many things, right now it was terrifying.

There were a number of bikes parked outside the locker room entrance, so he slipped his among them and attempted to stand tall, look big and confident. Since he did not drive yet he looked the other rides over. A couple of Schwinn’s, some generics and two sweet ten-speeds. It was time to enter the dragon’s lair.

The locker room was a complete shock compared to Middle Creek’s and the other schools he had seen as a manager. His old school’s locker room, the Owl’s Nest, was down 5 steps and under the gym. The lockers around the outside walls were wood and wire. There were no doors and nails served as hooks. The floor and walls- well everything was painted red and there was one simple sign above the exit door which read simply, PRIDE! The ceiling sloped, so player lockers were assigned by height, with the short guys along inside wall and the taller players along the opposite. Several players and assistant coaches were known to have opened cuts on their head during emotional halftimes. The lighting was dim, with no windows and only 6 recessed light bulbs to overcome the dark.

A coach’s office, formerly a closet, stood beside the john and shower room. There was one toilet, a small plywood partition, a sink, and a dark (one light bulb) shower with four shower heads. In the back was the equipment room that doubled as a training room. It held a taping table, beat up refrigerator and a whirlpool. It was clean, but there was the ever present scent of urine and something that simply smelled old.

In contrast, the Rattler Den, as the sign above the entrance door from the outside proclaimed, was bright with a ceiling at least 10 feet high. Rows of florescent light fixtures beamed down from above and artificial light mingled with the sun streaming in from a whole lineup of windows above the outside wall lockers. The lockers were manufactured, huge, with metal mesh fronts and each affixed with a combination lock. They were painted brown and had a strip of athletic tape across the top with a player’s last name neatly printed in Magic Marker. A stool sat in front of each locker. The floor was covered with brown plastic indoor/outdoor carpet and the walls above the lockers were painted bright gold.

The large center space had a huge blackboard on the free wall. Surrounding the room were pre-printed signs that read RATTLER PRIDE, THERE IS NO I IN TEAM, BELIEVE and there were bulletin boards with offensive goals, defensive goals and the current year’s schedule.

Beside the chalk board were the huge windows of the coaching office. The windows provided a complete view of the locker room but had blinds that could be closed for privacy. A large table dominated the middle of the office, and there was a locker for each coach. There were desks against the walls with bulletin boards above them. These boards were covered with charts, lists, plays, family pictures and cartoons. Other items included a couple of ash trays, a brass spittoon and a signed game ball.

Back a short hallway was the training room, the domain of Doc. The walls looked like a natural science museum, covered with stuffed ducks, quail, a deer head and various fish. The room was clean and bright with an array of three taping/treatment tables, an ice machine, two whirlpools and a bizarre looking pulley contraption. An aroma of antiseptic was present.

The lavatory possessed two commodes, two urinals (each partioned off) and two sinks, with a hot-air hand dryer. Adjacent was a spacious shower room with four stations each having three shower heads.

Derek thought he had entered a country club. There was no locker room smell, at this point.

CHAPTER 4

It was easy to pick out the returning veterans. They were sitting in groups telling tales of yore about previous games, recent dates or the latest gossip from around town. They looked and sounded confident. Several had cut the sleeves off of their t-shirts showing off what Derek thought were enormous biceps.

Likewise, the rookies were simple to spot. They were sitting as far to the opposite side of the Den as the outer walls would permit and were as quiet and unobtrusive as humanly possible. Horse quickly joined the latter group and attempted to blend in. His only variation was a quick nod to Kovalevski since he was his only acquaintance.

Just as Derek squatted to sit, a booming voice resonated across the room, New rookie, what do you think you are doing?

He froze in mid-squat and quickly panned from side to side hoping that someone else was being questioned. Alas, all the other sophomores were staring at him. So Derek slowly stood and stammered, Sitting down.

Get over here, rookie! came the order. As he attempted to move quickly, but dignified to the veterans’ side of the locker room, he tripped over a stool. Derek face-planted on the brown carpet and roars of laughter exploded. Then the comments, nice job, grace’, two left feet, that’s the sorriest rookie I’ve ever seen rained down. Derek’s internal music machine spun Over, Under, Sideways, Down" which defined his current state.

Scrambling to his feet, with his face now as red as the old Owl’s Nest, Horse stood in front of his tribunal. The original voice carried above the din, At ease. As you were! There was silence. Standing up from the middle of the upperclassmen was Mark Maris. Mark said, I remember when all of you were rookies and the vets had to wipe the milk off your mouths. I just wanted to get this new rookie to introduce himself since he’s just moved in. What’s your name?

Derek Moore, he coughed out, trying to not allow any tears of embarrassment to exit his eyes.

Welcome. I’m Mark Maris, Mark stated while extending his hand.

Derek reached out and shook his hand and mumbled, I know who you are.

Damn well better know who he is! came the response from another senior.

Mark Maris was always in the papers; all district, second team all state football, state champion in the discus, plus clubs and academics. Everyone knew Mark Maris.

CHAPTER 5

At precisely that moment, the coaches’ office opened and a shout of, Rattlers! broke the tension.

Everyone in the room jumped to their feet and responded with a loud and practiced, Hissssssssssssss! Derek was standing but got in on the hiss a bit late.

Followed by several assistant coaches, Coach Sizemore stepped into the locker room, Captains, let’s go!

The locker room emptied rapidly, and Derek was swept along with the tide. Outside, the hoard turned right on to the practice field, beside the stadium. At the edge of the field everyone stopped and Maris barked, There is no walking on the practice field. Rows of 10. Seniors, juniors, and sophomores. Ready move!

The four team captains sprinted to mid-field, seniors to the forty, with the next row at the thirty and so forth. Derek took a place on the goal line with 5 other rooks. There were exactly 50 of them.

Quickly they proceeded through a litany of trunk rolls, leg stretches, mountain climbers, arches, sit ups, pushups and finished with Rattler jacks- spelling RattlersXHS while doing jumping jacks.

The next command was from Coach Sizemore Bring it in! and everyone sprinted into a circle around Coach. Take a knee! Everyone dropped to one knee with their eyes focused on Coach Sizemore. Of course Horse was slightly behind on every move. He inhaled the beginnings of sweat odor mixed with some fresh dug earth.

The team was broken down into four groups: backs, receivers and the line into two groups. Each group was sent to an assistant coach who had a set of drills for his group.

Derek’s first station was with Coach Baker, an imposing man, 6'3" at least 230 pounds. He had been a great high school player at Cassel HS, then played in the Big Ten as a scholarship player, and even lasted two years in the AFL. Although his deep bass voice could be heard all across the field it was somewhat garbled by a huge wad of Mail Pouch chewing tobacco. His mesh coaching hat sat atop his head with thick sideburns running down. In his hat was a 3x5 card with the day’s drills and schedule on it. Do to profuse sweating the schedule was seldom legible after 15 minutes.

Coach Baker formed the Rattlers into lines of three by hollering, Pair up in threes, Ladies! Horse’s bewilderment grew. They were 5 yards behind the group ahead thus began one of Coach’s favorites-grass drills. This consisted of running in place until the whistle blew, then flopping, on the ground to one’s chest and popping back up as fast as possible. It seemed that as fast as possible was never fast enough for Coach Baker.

My grandmother’s faster than that and she’s 90. Do you want me to get you a wheel chair, you must be injured? Are you looking for fishing bait or what down there? bellowed Coach Baker, as a stream of brown tobacco juice hit the ground.

Next were monkey rolls (also known as three-man weaves) which consisted of three players chopping their feet and then the middle man rolling one way, the man he rolls towards jumps over him, landing on his chest and he rolls to the next man who jumps over him. At this point the first roller was back on his feet and the process repeats. If you’re confused by this description, you should have seen Derek trying to execute the drill to Coach Baker’s standard. It was ugly, especially since he was paired with two other rookies.

All the while, Derek had the Rolling Stones song, Honky Tonk Women playing in his head to provide tempo, She took me upstairs for a ride.

As his partners and Derek untangled their bodies from each other, Coach muttered rookies and then commanded bear crawl! In his cursory look at the practice field, Horse had failed to notice a twenty foot high pile of packed dirt just off the practice field. The veterans sprinted to the bottom and immediately dropped to all-fours and began crawling furiously up the mound. By the time the lead bear reached the top Coach Baker was standing at the apex. He implored, More speed and threatened, Go through me. This change in conditioning methods was rapidly doing Derek in; but, Horse could testify that if one was not the lead bear, the scenery did not change!

Suddenly the bears in front of him were disappearing and he realized that a whistle had blown and his group was sprinting to the next incarnation of Dante’s, Inferno.

His mouth was coated with saliva so thick that he couldn’t spit it out; it merely clung to his tongue and lapped down to his chin. Derek was not afforded the opportunity to feel sorry about his cotton mouth, since even though he had caught up to the other rookies (also known as pukes,) they were holding up progress. The rest of the group was already circled around Coach Peterson with their feet chopping. Once the pukes joined the circle dance, Coach P barked, Who are we? to which the vets responded RATTLERS. Coach followed with What do we have? PRIDE, was the immediate answer. The conclusion was Where does it come from? HEART, resonated across the field.

Coach Peterson was late 20’s, medium build, with a mustache, which Derek hadn’t seen on a coach before. He had played at Lemming H.S. His drill involved a series of blocking dummies spaced in a row on the ground. Derek’s group was aligned single file, side to the bags, facing coach. The first man chopped his feet and Coach P shouted, Shuffle. Fig Newton, the first player in line, side-stepped over the bags. P admonished Fig to keep his head up and his butt down. As the middle of the bags was reached, the next in line was sent. When everyone reached the far end, the drill was repeated in reverse. The second time through, Coach P started the player and part of the way down the line he ordered, Back and pointed in the opposite direction. Following several changes of direction, Fig was allowed to finish and the next man went happily. The interval between turns permitted Derek to recover some semblance of normalcy. Proud Mary now provided his sound track, Took a good job in the city, workin’ for the man every night and day, (John Fogarty slurs a lot).

They proceeded to hop over bags, serpentine through them and even had some races from the mid-point to the end. Then they sprinted past the coach. Derek won all of his races.

Tweet! He heard the whistle this time and was off like a flash to the next drill. The short recovery time and some adrenaline from winning his races aided his arrival in the top three. His t-shirt was already wet and soaked to the waist.

Coach Slideless, 30’s, with blond hair, fair skin and constant rosy cheeks, possessed a large stomach. This disguised the fact that he had played QB at Troop H.S. A story that Derek heard later involved Coach Slideless and the local sporting goods representative. The rep had come to school to do the football equipment order and coaching gear was on the agenda. Coach Slide spoke up about the double-knit coaching shorts with their two-snap fastener on a wide elastic waist-band that was the coaching uniform of the day. We need to get those good coaching shorts that don’t rollover at the waist, interjected coach. The sales rep, without missing a beat, responded, Oh, I have those but they only come on 34waists or less." Apparently it required several minutes to get back to the business of finishing the order and Coach Slide’s cheeks burned red for quite some time.

To kick off his drill, Coach Slideless held his hand straight up and everyone crowded in until all the hands were together, resembling a Christmas tree. Coach counted, one, two, three and all hands came down with a shout of RATTLERS.

Agility was the name of this station. Carioca, which amounts to running sideways, butt down, while stepping in front with the back foot, stepping to the side and then stepping behind with the back foot. Apparently it originates from a folk dance, but not one Derek had been exposed to. The Arthur Murray imitation was followed by lunge walks, backward runs and zig/zag’s- all manner of twists and turns, but climaxed by the cruelest trick of all -cartwheels.

For those who had done this previously there were different levels of skill displayed; however, for the rookies, it was a newbie disaster. They had all watched cheerleaders cartwheel with apparent grace and ease that is a false perception for the uninitiated. Lead arms collapsed for some, resulting in face plants that the French judge would only rate as a one point. Legs did not sweep skyward, but hunkered around the side in a pathetic ball of humanity. All the while, the pukes efforts were rewarded with raucous laughter. The Johnny Cash lyric Boy named Sue, played in Derek’s head- And now you’re gonna die!

Thank, God- the whistle- they were saved.

The final taskmaster was coach Dawson Gilbert, a black man, which was unusual for the area, with a large Afro and a southern drawl. Coach Gilbert had been a big time wide receiver, with great speed and leaping ability. A sudden stop, caused by an SEC LB, ended his football career with a horrific knee injury. The injury was called the unholy triad in the 60’s and required a horse-shoe incision around the knee cap so ligaments could be repaired and cartilage removed. The obvious scar served to explain the limp which was always present.

Coach had found his way north by marrying a local girl who had attended the same university. They both taught at Xanadu. Sam and Dave’s, Soul Man headed Derek’s current playlist, horns. I’m a soul man, more horns, he was sure Coach Gilbert was the inspiration.

The order in which stations were done affected one’s positive or negative rating of each endeavor. Horse held this drill in very low esteem on this day. He was beat.

The team had arrived at a back gate to football stadium itself and was being herded on to the aluminum bleachers. These were referred to as stadiums. They quickly separated into even numbered groups at the bottom of each set of steps. Instructions were barked- Every step, every other step, hop up/two feet, hop up left foot, hop up right foot until the whistle.

Following the stadiums the team sprinted to the goaline of the field; move up 40’s was the call. ‘Seniors up’. The seniors sprinted forty yards, then the juniors and then the sophomores. If a player was in the top four he moved up a group, if he was in the bottom four he moved back. They repeated the procedure. After four sprints, Derek moved up to the first group and after one trip backward finished the ten sprints with the leaders.

A loud whistle and the team surrounded Coach Sizemore and took a knee again.

Great job! But remember this is day one, you either improve or regress- you don’t remain the same. Hmmmmm. Tomorrow is a lift day! Hmmmmmm. Remember your physical forms tomorrow. Rattlers on three- one, two, three! Rattlers!!!

Friends, buddies, teammates were patting each other on the back, cracking each other on the rump, bemoaning the workout or predicting the upcoming season. Derek was heading for his bike to try to pedal home. Since the final team break, he had relaxed but then had tightened up severely. Keep your head up and just put one foot in front of the other, he instructed himself. Suddenly all progress ceased as a large hand grabbed his shoulder. Captain Maris turned him around and said, Between the stool in the locker room and some of the drills, you need some work, but you’ve got some wheels. See you tomorrow. Maris then jogged on into the locker room- Horse looked on with envy.

When he retrieved his bike, all the other bikes were gone, so he pedaled solo around the school toward Rte 21. A horn honked and an older pickup truck stopped beside him. There were three of the captains in the cab and Come to Together crackled out the window, Come together, over me. Maris spoke again, Hey rook, wait, what’s your name again?

Derek, he replied.

Derek, toss your bike in the bed and hop in with it.

He was in heaven and held his head high as they passed other bike riders on the way to town. The breeze caused by the moving truck felt great.

CHAPTER 6

Change comes to us all- right or wrong, desired or thrust upon us.

Is that you, Horse? Mom called from the living room as he burst through the back door.

It’s me, Mom. He proceeded to the living room, where Mom was knitting. I’ve got a request. Please don’t call me, Horse, ok?

Well, what’s this about? Your Grandfather gave you that nickname, ‘saying you’re strong as a horse.’

‘I know, but I’m starting at the bottom here and I want to fit in." he begged.

I can do that, but I think it’s silly. Mom relented.

Ex-Horse headed upstairs for a shower in the one bathroom. His old house had only had a bathtub.

This house was a two-story wood sided frame structure, with a slate roof. He had always admired the pattern of rows of straight and angled slates the builders had created. It was painted white, just as most of the houses in Wyandot, with green shutters. There was a tin roofed front porch completely across the front. The house sat back from the street on half an acre, with two large maple trees in the front. The front walk to the house had been lifted crooked in several places by tree roots.

The interior consisted of a front hall, large carpeted living room, a dining room, and kitchen, which had been updated. In the kitchen the old chimney was exposed from the plaster walls and held a metal plate that covered the opening where the old wool stove had been vented. The kitchen table sat on the plaid patterned linoleum floor. On the kitchen wall was the yellow telephone, with a long cord which was usually hopelessly tangled badly.

Upstairs were three bedrooms, the smallest was used as an office. His bedroom was at the back of the house, with the bathroom in the middle of the hall. There was a door that led to the attic which was all open and used for storage.

The house had been well maintained, but some of the color schemes were highly dated. Dad and Derek had painted the living room and their bedroom, but more changes to the design palette were needed.

Several of the plaster/lathe ceilings had acquired large cracks and covering of one-foot square acoustic tile has been discussed. He enjoyed looking at the ceiling cracks and let his imagination create maps of states or countries and other designs. He liked looking at clouds to find pictures, too.

CHAPTER 7

Change and growth was hopefully a good combination.

After a long shower he flopped on his bed and reflected on today and the past.

Derek drifted back to Coach Rector and Middle Creek which seemed like years ago now. Some people referred to Coach as Sarge due to his rank in the war to end all wars. (Too bad that hadn’t work out.)

Derek’s radio was just in reach and he flicked the off/on switch. The AM DJ attempted to be funny, but he was not Cousin Brucie or Dick Biondi. When weather and sun spots or whatever were right one could pickup Chicago or New York and hear music that was not on locally yet. He felt that there was a song that fit every situation; but, some of his favorites he’d hold close until he got to know people better.

The news came on at the top of the hour. Vietnam always led, Nixon said something and the upcoming Apollo NASA mission was highlighted. Sugar, sugar was the first song played, it was a bit bubble gummy, but it had a beat. Hey sugar, sugar, won’t you be my candy girl?

He wondered what Coach Rector had the Owls doing, but realized he knew because Coach followed the same system every year. They started off with cals, lots of cals. A dozen different sit ups, a dozen different pushups, leg lifts until the stomach cramped, mountains climbers, squat thrusts- all with Rector’s calm voice asking questions, What are our opponents doing now? What is your limit? or If football were easy, wouldn’t everyone play?

Stage two was a trail run of up to three miles, with car tire inner-tubes full of sand on the shoulders. The length of the runs could reach mythical proportions, when the workout was described to outsiders.

Stage three was agilities, much like Xanadu. These workouts had been in the evening, since most of the players worked on their farms during the day.

Derek had started through these workouts last summer, until the pain in his knee became too intense. All spring he had followed the workouts and worked for the family who rented their farmland. They had already put in the first cutting of hay. Grabbing the baling twine and throwing the bales onto the moving wagon toughen your hands, arms, back, legs, and outlook. He was now 6’ 1" and 190#s.

Later in the afternoon he rolled off the bed, only to discover just how tight his muscles had become, and, as he extended his toes toward the floor, wham a calf cramp grabbed him like a hawk latching onto a rabbit. He tried to lie back on the bed, to stretch his calf, but he had moved farther away from the mattress than he thought. Bam, he hit the floor and began attempting to pull his toes up toward his knee. At this exact moment, his mom and dad burst through his open bedroom door. There was a slight hesitation as Dad’s facial expression changed from concern to a wide grin, accompanied by unrestrained laughter. Mom was demanding, What‘s wrong? and What’s so funny?

Leg cramp! was all Dad could squeeze out, as a snot-bubble emanated from his left nostril.

By now Horse had gotten his toes Dorsi flexed, as Coach Rector had called it and was feeling relief from the sharp pain. Nice Dad! Horse spit out and then burst into laughter of his own.

Mom stomped out the door and headed back down stairs muttering, Men! They laugh at the stupidest things! I thought someone was dying up there!

He started to relax his foot and the cramp began to grab again, so he hopped up and placed the ball of his foot on a couple of books, so he could lean forward and stretch it easier.

Busted your butt pretty good today, did they?’ Dad queried, while trying to stifle another snicker.

Derek recounted all the events of his first day as a Rattler. Dad listened intently. He had played ball in his day for Coach Rector.

Dinner came the order from the bottom of the steps. Mom’s tone was still not completely back to normal. They followed the aroma of dinner to the table.

CHAPTER 8

Additional change in the Moore house.

The move allowed Dad to get home much earlier and even run home for lunch some days. Over pot roast they took turns describing their mornings. Mom had finished the afghan she had been knitting, Dad landed a new business in town as a client, and Derek told more details of day one. When dinner was cleared and the plates washed, the family flopped down in the living room to watch ‘Rowan and Martin’s Laugh In’. It was goofy and thought provoking, Here comes the judge, here comes the judge. Moxie’s head was on Derek’s knee and he scratched behind her ears.

As soon as the show was over Horse announced I’m heading to bed. Dad snapped his head around with a surprised look. I’m tired and tomorrow is a lift day.

Moxie won the race up the stairs, but bounced off the wall at the top, as her nails don’t get much traction on the wood floor.

Derek pulled out an album and placed it on his stereo. His fold down GE record player was ok, but he longed for a component system. He’d been checking them out. Jimi Hendrix filled the room, If all the hippies cut off all their hair, I don’t care, I don’t care. Jimi or his other favorites were not played on the local air waves. Horse’s hair touched the tops of his ears; this was his last conscious thought before sleep claimed him.

Tuesday morning went smoothly. Derek remembered his signed physical form and was out the door in good time. He pedaled down to the town square, in the center of Wyandot. There was no hurry, as a train hauling coal cars was heading north and had Rte 21 blocked. There was a statue of a Dough Boy in the center of the park. It always made him think of Coach Rector.

Coach was maybe 5'9", but stood erect with a proud military bearing. His white hair was a medium cut. Even in the wind, it never got messed up. Those brown eyes were sharp and while there was always something going on behind them, they were kind and drew one in. He always carried the smell of talcum powder with him.

Honk!!! A truck horn snapped him out of his day dream. It was Maris and the other captains. They had two other rookies, with their bikes, in the truck bed. Move it, we don’t have all morning! Derek flipped his bike in the back and hopped in. As they pulled away from the square and headed to the high school, he heard a voice from the truck cab say, Pretty soon we’ll be changing their diapers and wiping their noses! The laughter was quickly lost to rush of the wind as the truck gained speed.

CHAPTER 9

First things first, snapped Doc Melville, the team trainer and school biology teacher. Line up seniors, juniors, sophomores. If your form isn’t signed, get out of line. After I get your height and weight, you take this cup, hit the head and urinate in it. Remember, it only takes one finger’s worth to check your sugar- there’s no bonus for a full cup. Chuckles move down the forming line. Then take the cup to nurse Schafer and wait until Dr. Hutson calls for you. Got it?

Yes sir! was the loud answer.

Waiting in line can be boring, but Derek was attempting to put the time to good use. He had the opportunity to introduce himself to the other two rookies in the truck earlier. Sam Casto and Billy Casto were cousins. Kovaleski was there in line. He also shook hands with David White; whose dad was