Season starts this Friday and Coach has his boys ready for war. Coach is making them rehearse the plays until they’re zipped up, button-down, perfect. Coach is yelling, give no quarter to the enemy and expect nothing less in return. Coach is in the locker room after practice checking his boys' urine to make sure they’re hydrated and pissing clear. Coach is driving around town shining up car windows with his hunting light; nodding with approval as his boys hold out Durex boxes for inspection. Coach is pulling away, shouting, “No glove no love!” Coach is calling every college program on the east coast, saying that he’s had players with talent before but never ones who want to win so freaking badly. Coach is standing in the pep rally with a microphone saying, “I’m damn proud of these boys, damn proud of their big hearts and their safe sex and their clear piss.” Coach is screaming at the crowd, when Western comes to town will you stand up for this team and this school?! Coach is basking in the cheers, yelling that Western can suck his balls until someone yanks the mic away. Coach is staying late cutting up tape and designing trick plays for when all else looks lost. Coach is letting his assistants go home early to spend time with their families saying, “The game will be here tomorrow, catch a movie or something.”
Coach is… Coach is drinking gin out of a water bottle and pissing his pants at Kroger. Coach is ignoring a phone call from the league office and his athletic director. Coach is lying like a rug in a disciplinary meeting about recruiting infractions and why someone spotted him sleeping in the press box. Coach is saying to a room full of parents, “I love this team and these boys like I love my goddamn family.” Coach is standing in court with his hair slicked back and his tie loosened around his neck saying, “Your honor, my wife is a disturbed individual, I have made mistakes but please do not let her take my daughter away.” Coach is crying in his office, so loud and vociferous that the assistant coaches crank up the pre-game music to drown out his sobs. Coach is thinking about how in life there is only the slow churn of your dreams, how one season begets another until you’re old and alone, and listening to a radio broadcast of some young coach leading your boys to victory. Coach is wiping his tears with his sleeve and saying, “Okay let’s fucking pray.” Coach is kneeling in a circle while his boys put their hands on him and pray, "Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee" but in their hearts and minds and souls, they’re all saying the same thing, “Coach we love you, Coach we love you, we love you, Coach. WE LOVE YOU, COACH.”
-- Pat Jameson is a writer based in Roanoke, VA. His work has appeared in APOCALYPSE CONFIDENTIAL, X-R-A-Y, Hemingway Shorts, SmokeLong Quarterly, BULL, HAD, and Hex, among others. Find him on Twitter @jameson_pat.