Hometown Legend by Jerry B. Jenkins

sudden I’m feeling like grandpaw the sage and thanking God I didn’t ask her out. What in the world would she have
     thought, or said?
    Oh, it wasn’t my imagination. She had been so nice and smiley to me—because I was an old man. I felt like an idiot the rest
     of the day.
    • • •
    “Dawgs,” Coach began at practice, “Athens City football lives by Schuler’s three commandments. Commandment one: thou shalt
     run the wishbone offense. Commandment two: thou shalt never fumble my football. And commandment three: thou shalt do it my
     way, all … the… time.”
    As we ran the boys through the paces, forcing them into a shape they’d never been in, Coach kept preaching. I could tell by
     the looks on a lot a faces that specially the veterans were wondering how in the world anybody could be MVP and win a scholarship
     under a coach so hung up on selflessness and teamwork.
    “For the next four months,” Coach hollered between whistle blows, “your lives will consist of two simple activities: you will
     crush with apocalyptic force anything that moves, and you will sprint like dawgs until you sweat blood!”
    During one drill, Abel Gordon worked so hard getting that big body a his going that he threw up all over Schuler’s pant leg.
     The Shermanater busted out laughing until Coach grabbed his shoulder pads and pulled his face toward the mess. Then Sherman
     vomited.
    “The wishbone runs on gain and maintain, gentlemen! Gain yards, maintain position. Now go hard, or go home. You think you’re
     gonna make the playoffs with this blocking I see before me? You got about as much chance as spit in a hurricane. You are without
     a doubt!”
    Elvis Jackson stood out if anybody did, darting around the field with those fluid strides, able to change direction seemingly
     without stopping. You don’t expect a running back to hit as hard as a linebacker, but he did. You’d never have guessed Coach
     noticed. He didn’t favor anybody. I knew he liked the Shermanater and expected him to lead the defense. And I believe he thought
     he could rassle his nephew into running the wishbone from quarterback, even though it meant cutting out that awful passing
     he’d done the year before.
    We ran the guys through the gauntlet, hollering for everybody else to not just attack and bang and tackle but to also try
     to strip the ball from the runner’s grip. “ Make that ball carrier violate my second commandment!” Coach would yell. “Make
     him earn the right to move that ball or give up his position to you!”
    The guys were hitting and smashing and spending more time on the ground than on their feet.
    “Dirt and dust, dawgs! That is the marrow of the bone!”
    During a water break, Brian Schuler picks up a ball and nods to Yash Upshaw to go long. Yash takes off and Brian fires a half-decent
     pass, maybe slightly behind Yash, who drops it right in front of Buster. Coach picks up the ball, smiles, hands it to Yash,
     and says, just like I knew he would: “Only three things can happen when you throw the ball, and two of em are bad. Any odds
     worse than a coin toss, I don’t play.”
    We went on to Bull in the Ring, a drill I love. It’s where us littler guys can show what we’re made of. Basically everybody’s
     in a circle with one guy in the middle. The coach calls out a number, and that player comes charging the guy. Whoever’s left
     standing is the bull in the middle for the next call.
    Eventually, Coach’s nephew is in the middle, and he proves to be a tough kid, taking and giving pretty good till number 40
     is called. Jackson comes flying in and just levels him. Brian jumps up and it’s clear he’s stunned.
    Coach was thrilled. “Did y’all hear that sound?” he said. “That’s the first big bang I heard all day! That’s the sound of
     percussion! You a tough guy, Jackson?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Say again?”
    “No, sir, I just want my chance in the middle.”
    “You floss with barbed wire and gargle