Page 6 of Old Fashioned
“Everyone out there,” Jordan said, all but screaming now as he pointed to the locker room doors. “Is going to expect you to fail — expectusto fail. They’re going to wait for us to crack under the pressure, to mess up, to fall short. But what are we going to do?” He looked around that room, and while I expected someone to answer, they all stood and waited, apparently well aware that it was a question Jordan would answer, himself.
And he did.
He smiled, shook his head, and thumbed his chest. “Weare going to win, anyway. Can I hear you say it?” He held out his hands. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to win, anyway,” the room echoed back to him, softer than he wanted.
“What’s that?”
“We’re going to win, anyway!”
“When they tell you we lost our best players to graduation, what are you going to say?”
“We’re going to win, anyway!”
“When they tell you there’s no hope of us getting another state title, what are you going to say?”
“We’re going to win, anyway!”
“This is not going to be an easy season,” Jordan said to the humming room, all the boys on their feet now, shuffling, some of them clapping or stepping side to side. “We’re going to have to work, and work hard. We’re going to have to rise up against the odds. This town is supporting us, but the rest of this state can’t wait to watch us fail. So, when the doubts creep into your mind, when your body hurts, when the scores don’t look good or the fear strangles you, I want you to show up here, anyway. I want you to believe in yourself and in this team, anyway. And I want you to—”
“Win, anyway!”
Jordan smiled as the locker room erupted into cheers, and he clapped one of the boys on the shoulder. “Damn straight.”
More cheers rang out, and I couldn’t help but smile from my little corner of the room. It was the first day of practice and he’d already fired them up for the entire season.
That was a sign of a great coach.
“He’s something out of this world to watch, isn’t he?”
I followed the voice to my right, where the defensive coordinator had slid up beside me. Coach TK, as Jordan had introduced to me. He was a white man, with kind, hazel eyes and a smile that reminded me of my ex-husband’s father. Coach TK was just as tall as Jordan, his stocky figure hinting that he, too, had played football in his youth, and he wore a baseball cap to cover his balding head.
“He’s something, alright,” I mused with a smile, eyeing Jordan with a mixture of annoyance and appreciation. I couldn’t deny that he deserved to be where he was, that there was no better man to lead our town’s team to victory.
But I could still be upset with him for his presumptuous welcome.
“Now, before we hand out equipment and get our first day of practice under way, we have a new member on our staff,” Jordan said, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, all eyes were on me.
I smiled, pushing off the wall I was leaning against to stand straight.
“Please help me welcome Sydney Clark, our new athletic trainer.”
Someone whistled, someone else yelled out, “Oh, I’ll welcome her, alright,”and then the room filled with a mixture of laughter and cheers.
I frowned.
Jordan walked purposefully toward me, his eyes locked on mine, and that moment seemed to lengthen and stretch. There was something about that man’s eyes, about the way he held himself, the confidence he exuded and the respect he demanded.
It left me breathless, awakening a part of me I thought had died forever, before he swiveled and faced the room of boys.
“I’m going to say this one time and one time only, and if it doesn’t sink in, you will all run suicides for every time I have to repeat myself.”
That shut them all up.
“You will respect Ms. Clark just as you respected Mr. Perry when he was in the position. There will be no foul remarks, no whistling, no slanderous talk, and no other behavior that your mother would classify as disrespectful and skin your hide for. If any of you fake injuries to get time on her table, or pull any kind of crap that makes her uncomfortable, you will have me to answer to — and trust me when I say the punishment will not be pretty. Am I understood?”
There were mumbles ofyes, coachin response.
