Hometown Legend by Jerry B. Jenkins Page A

with gasoline, boy? You’re in the middle now!”
    Coach calls Sherman’s number. This oughta be good. He charges. Jackson stays still till the last instant, then shucks the
     Shermanater into two other players. Schuler calls three numbers at once, and Elvis somehow handles em all. I’m liking this
     kid, and I know Coach can’t ignore him. He calls a number from either side of the circle at the same time. Elvis drops one
     and sends the other flying into Brian, knocking him over.
    “Awright, ladies, that’s enough!” Coach says, and he and I start walking to the next drill area. I turn to wave the guys along
     with us, just in time to see Brian blindside Jackson, spearing him right in the back. Course they wind up on the ground, fighting.
     Coach hears the commotion, and we hurry back to break it up.
    “Can anyone here tell me why two of my players are in a head-on collision?” Coach says. I know enough to say nothing. I been
     here before.
    “Elvis started it, sir,” a lineman says. “He—”
    “Why, thank you, son,” Coach says. “You can go home.” The kid shoots him a double take. “You are off this team!” He shoves
     the boy. “Go on now.”
    Stunned, the boy staggers away. The other players look at each other scared.
    “Anyone else wanna tell me what happened?” Schuler says. “Come on, now, fess up. Tell me the truth or I’ll make you run from
     here to eternity.”
    Another boy raises his hand. “Brian speared him from the back.”
    “Son, thank you. Now we’d appreciate it if you’d get off our field. Get out!”
    The team is frozen. “Any more traitors? No one? Is that the game we’re gonna play? Silence is a lie, dawgs. It’s a crime of
     omission. And in Alabama, crimes get punished. Follow me. Everybody!”
    In his coat and tie, Coach jogs to the parking lot, puts me behind the wheel of his Mustang, and stands on the backseat. I
     slowly follow the team as they jog through town. And the strangest thing happened. The kids were mad and I’m sure feeling
     unfairly treated, but people in town didn’t know they were being punished. They musta thought this was another drill by a
     tough coach, and they cheered as we cruised by. The kids enjoyed that, a course, and ran taller, faster. When we neared the
     school again, Coach had another idea. “Shut it down and mash the clutch,” he told me. The guys had to take turns pushing the
     car the other way, but again, to the cheers of the townsfolk.
    By the time we finally got back to the parking lot, it was dark and everybody was dragging. Coach and I hurried past the boys
     to the field, where we began picking up the gear. The kids straggled one by one through the tunnel and past us toward the
     field house, most not even looking at us. I couldn’t blame em.
    When Jackson jogged past, carrying his shoulder pads, Schuler called out to him. “Son! We both know why you’re here, so why
     don’t you save us both a lot of time and energy and limp on out of here.”
    Elvis stopped and stared. “I
came
here to
play
for you.”
    “No you didn’t! You came here to play for
you
. That’s why you view every man on this team as a threat. Every time I turn around, you’re in somebody’s face. You’ve got
     one thing on your mind, and we both know that’s the curse, and that requires playing time. Let me make it crystal clear for
     ya. You are not gonna play one minute for me.”
    Elvis’s face went red and it looked to me like he was determined not to be drove off. He turned and headed for the field house.
    Brian jogged up and hopped over the fence. “Coach!” he called. “Uncle Buster!”
    Coach got nose to nose with him, pointing. “Listen to me! Nephew or not, you get treated the same as everyone else!”
    “Coach, are you really gonna just run the old wishbone all the time? How am I gonna get a chance at the scholarship if I don’t
     get a chance to throw the ball?”
    “Never mind the scholarship!” Coach said. “Your last