Page 31 of The Perfect Pass
Cade must’ve come to the conclusion that it might never happen, because he interrupted the tirade with a purposeful clear of his throat. “Simmons, I think our head coach would like a word with the team.”
Coach Simmons jerked his head around, and his gaze crashed into Jackson’s. His eyes flashed, and for a second, Jackson could see just how much losing the head coaching job still rankled. Then he averted his eyes as he tucked in the front of his shirt.
“Go ahead. You weren’t here, so I was just sharing some thoughts with the boys,” he mumbled.
“I’m here now.” Jackson stepped in place in front of his team.
Just like I’ll be here next Friday night and the Friday after that. So you’d better get used to it.
That wasn’t necessarily the whole truth, though, was it? Bob Simmons’s entire life was here in Bishop Falls. Jackson’s wasn’t. He was just passing through.
He felt like he’d swallowed a rock as that thought settled in his gut. The players were all looking at him with anticipation shining in their eyes, high on their victorious performance in the first half. Jackson didn’t like the idea of Simmons taking over again next season, even though that’sprobably what would happen once he’d gone back to his real life in Chicago.
He couldn’t think about that right now, though. They still had a game to win tonight…then another and another and another.
“Good job out there so far, boys.” Jackson nodded, taking the time to look each player in the eyes before he continued.
He made his prepared remarks, doing his best to strike a balance between building on the momentum from the first half and keeping his players mentally focused. Simmons wasn’t quite as red-faced by the time they sent the team back onto the field. As much as Jackson would’ve preferred to avoid him for the rest of the game, he knew he couldn’t. He had a feeling the assistant coach was going to balk at his plans for the fourth quarter, and if Simmons was going to cause problems, it was better to get that out of the way now, where they could talk in private instead of on the sidelines in full view of the entire population of Bishop Falls.
“Coach Simmons,” Jackson called as the coaches filed out of the locker room behind the players. “I’d like a quick word, please.”
The older man glanced over his shoulder, bushy eyebrows drawing together beneath the rim of his Bulldogs cap. “Now? The second half is about to start.”
Jackson nodded. “This won’t take long.”
Cade shot him a look that seemed to saygood luckand closed the door behind him, leaving the two men alone in the locker room.
The air was thick with humidity and the pungent scent of damp socks and unwashed football pads. Jackson tuckedthe clipboard where he jotted down plays and player substitutions under his arm and cut straight to the chase. “I’m subbing in the third and fourth string at the close of the third quarter.”
Simmons stared at him like he was speaking a completely foreign language.
“We’ve got a solid lead, and it’s time to give the other players a chance,” Jackson said, keeping his voice level but firm enough for his assistant coach to know he meant business.
“Why would you do that? Now’s not the time for practice. We need to run up the score as high as we can. It’ll be great for the starting players’ stats.” Simmons flailed his arms in the direction of the field.
Jackson stood his ground. He wasn’t going to budge on this. Period. “This isn’t about the starters. It’s about the team. The younger kids need the experience. Think about next year. This is how you build a football program with longevity.”
Simmons puffed out his chest. “Coach, you’re new around here, whereas I’ve lived here my entire life. Bulldog football is in my blood, so let me explain a few things to you.”
They really didn’t have time for this. Jackson needed to get back out there.
Simmons jabbed a finger toward the door. “No one in those stands is thinking about next year. They’re thinking about State and about breaking the…”
He let his voice drift off, but Jackson knew where’d he’d been going with this latest rant.
The curse.
He very nearly said it out loud, just to see how Simmonswould react. Jackson had read up on the curse, obviously, and Cade had filled in the details he hadn’t been able to find online—like the belief that talking about the curse would bring the team even more bad luck.
Now wasn’t the time for that, though. Any minute, the ref would blow his whistle, signaling the start of the next quarter.
“It’s not up for discussion, Coach. Get out there, and get the backups ready.” He strode toward the door and turned around to clarify one last thing. “That includes Tommy Riess.”
Simmons’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “The band kid?”
“That band kid is a fourth-string backup receiver, or have you forgotten?” Jackson had yanked the kid from the offensive line the first day of practice. He was far too small for blocking. And the more Jackson thought about it, the more he suspected that the boy’s experience in marching band might actually give him an advantage over some of the other backup players.
Being in band helped a student develop discipline, teamwork and stamina. Most important, the drills and marching formations weren’t all that different than football plays. Both required executing complex movements under pressure, and both required agile footwork. Besides, Calla’s father had said it best.
