Page 11 of Hard Count
“What do you plan on doing with your major?” I take a bite of my burger. It’s stuffed with blue cheese, bacon, and caramelized onions. It’s probably the best one I’ve ever had. I have to stop myself from eating it in two bites.
“I’m still figuring that out.” She spears a few pickles with her fork and shoves them in her mouth. As if it’s happening in slow motion, drops of pickle juice drip down the corner of her mouth and she flicks her tongue out to capture them.
When my brain catches back up to reality, I ask, “But something in collegiate or professional sports?”
“Drew doesn’t realize how hard it is to get a job at that level.” Coach tightens his grip on his glass of tea. “There are other opportunities that might suit her better.”
“Drewis sitting right here. I’m well aware it won’t be easy. To answer your question”—she turns to me—“yes. Something in sports. The game is mental after all.” She smirks and a dimple pops in her cheek.
“I think I’ve heard that once before,” I tease.
“It’s also skill, hard work, and dedication,” Coach says. “That’s how you win.”
“I think it’s both.” I shift in my seat. “Your skills are useless if you aren’t focused and mentally in the game.” I should knowbetter than anyone. I keep thinking back to what she said about me feeling like I didn’t earn my spot. She’s right. It’s been making me second guess everything I do.
“I think that’s why I’ve been off my game,” I add.
“What are you talking about? You’ve been playing well. We were one game away from advancing to the playoffs last season.” Coach pushes his plate aside and tosses his napkin on top.
“I may have played well but I could have been better.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Drew mutters. Coach and I both glare at her. “What? I’m sorry. I’m not the one who’s so scared they’ll throw an interception that seventeen percent of the time they toss it away instead of to an open receiver.” She shrugs. She might be firing an insult in my direction but I can’t deny how hot it is when she spits out my football stats. Even the shitty ones.
“That isn’t true. You don’t throw the ball away. You shouldn’t be filling his head with doubt,” he says. She starts to refute but he nails her with a look effectively dismissing her from our conversation. Her fists clench before she releases her frustration through a calming breath and goes back to her food.
“She might be right. I don’t know the exact percentage but I’ve been watching game film from last season.” I take a quick sip of my water to calm my nerves. “I do hesitate.”
“Every quarterback takes their time when they’re given it. Don’t let her math facts get in your head. She’s always talked in numbers ever since she was little.” He smiles at herwith affection. “Let the analysts worry about the stats. Your priority is the results and you’re getting them.”
“I get what you’re saying, sir, but I’m not taking advantage of the extra time to make the right play. I’m using that time to talk myself out of messing up. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about tonight,” I explain. “What if the numbers help get better results?”
His eyes ping pong between me and Drew. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying. I thought we discussed everything that needed to be addressed last week in my office.” I’m the one who gets the look from him this time. “Practices have been going well. The new starters are transitioning into their roles. I’m not sure what else needs to be done.”
I glance at Drew for some sort of reassurance or encouragement. It’s her fault I’m bringing this up in the first place. She continues to nibble on her food and pretends she has zero interest in the conversation. Wiping sweaty palms down my pant legs, I take a moment to get my thoughts in order.
“I think we’ve become predictable.”
“Predictable,” he repeats like a question.
“Yes. I’ve spent hours watching all the games from last season. We call the same plays in every situation. We have a pattern.”
“That’s because they work.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Only sixty-four percent of the time,” Drew mumbles, causing her dad to sigh and rub his temples.
“That’s a good statistic. We’re moving the ball. The plays work. There’s nothing to fix.”
“But if you studied your opponents defense,” she says.
“You don’t think we do that? You don’t think my coaching staff isn’t spending time watching tapes and learning their play calls?”
“Of course they do. I’m not insinuating they aren’t doing their jobs. I do think they’re missing critical signals that would be helpful with your decision making,” she explains.
“My decision making is not in question. It wins us games.” He faces off against his daughter. This conversation is quickly turning in a direction I didn’t anticipate. Had I known there was so much hostility over the subject I would have waited to bring it up after practice.
“No one is questioning your decision making, Coach.” I look at Drew, hoping she’ll nod in agreement with me. She gives me nothing but a blank face and a far off stare into the backyard. I’m not going to get anywhere with both of them in the room. “I’m questioning myself. I’ve noticed a few things that I’m in the habit of doing.” I flex my right hand instinctively thinking back to the plays I've watched a thousand times. “It’s something we can talk about later in private.”
Coach’s eyes shift to his daughter then back to me. “That would probably be best.”
