Chapter Eight
Dummy
Spring drills had arrived. For the past few days, Cameron had spent his after-school hours on the football field running sprints and doing light workouts with the offensive players. This meant that he had been spared the charming company of the incredible bulk, Chet Ames. However, that was about to change.
Coach blew his whistle and summoned everyone to the center of the field. “Listen up,” he barked as he flipped through some papers on his clipboard, “We’re gonna to break into squads and start runnin’ some red/blue drills. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the team as one.
“What did you say?”
“YES, SIR!”
“That’s better. Now remember, work hard, but take it easy out there, we’re not in pads. We don’t want no one gettin’ hurt. Got it?”
“YES SIR!”
“Okay, listen up, here’re the red squads...”
Cameron knew better than to hope to be on a red squad. Offensive and defensive red squads were for those players who would be contending for first string positions. Blue squad players were, for all practical purposes, living tackling dummies. That’s me alright, he thought. A real dummy.
When Coach blew his whistle again, Cameron went with the blue squad offensive players to the south end of the field where the red defensive squad was waiting.
Coach Rausch, the defensive coach, instructed Cameron and six other blues to pick up blocking pads and form a line.
“Okay, red squad,” said Coach Rausch, “You heard Coach. Nice and easy, we don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
The idea of this drill was simple. The reds formed a line with the first player — Chet, of course — crouched in a three-point stance in front of the first blue with a pad. When Coach Rausch blew his whistle, Chet extended from his ready position, gave the center of the blue’s pad a crisp pop with his forearm, spun to this left and got into his stance in front of the next blue player. Another red assumed his stance before the first blue player. The process repeated itself until all the red players had worked themselves down the entire line of blues.
Cameron, who was in the middle of the blue line, saw Chet eyeing him as the bulky boy made his way down the line of blockers. Cameron was at a loss for any reason Chet hated him so. He didn’t even really know Chet. But this was high school and bullies didn’t need reasons to bully.
Chet was poised in front of the blue player next to Cameron. “You’re next, Rush. Hang on to your ass.”
The whistle blew.
Chet extended, popped, rolled, and positioned himeslf in front of Cameron, glaring. “Told ya you’re gonna be my personal tackling dummy.”
Cameron braced himself.
The whistle blew.
Chet sprang from his position like a striking panther, landed a daunting blow to the center of the pad, and knocked Cameron on his butt.
Before Cameron righted himself, Chet was already in his next position. Cameron noticed Coach Rausch looking in his directions as he braced himself for the next player.
Once the entire red squad had blocked down the line, they started again from the other end. This time, Cameron was ready for Chet , who once again hit him harder than anyone else. Cameron staggered back a step or two, but didn’t fall down.
The third time through, Cameron smiled at Chet. Chet glowered back.
The whistle blew.
Chet came hard and high. Instead of popping the center of the pad, he hit near the top, smashing it into Cameron’s face. Despite the searing pain in his nose, Cameron didn’t give any ground. He felt the trickle of warm blood on his upper lip. It looked to Cameron as if Coach Rausch was going to pull him off the line, but he didn’t. Cameron was glad, because he had a plan.
“One last time,” shouted Coach Rausch. “Form up.”
Chet was three players away.
The whistle blew. Extend. Pop. Spin. Down. Set.
Chet was two players away.
The whistle blew. Extend. Pop. Spin. Down. Set.
Chet was one player away.
The whistle blew. Extend. Pop. Spin. Down. Set.
Chet was lined up in front him, a murderous look in his eyes. Cameron tensed every muscle in his body, preparing for the blow. Chet grinned as he readied to strike.
The whistle blew.
Cameron did several things at once. He relaxed, let the pad drop to his side, and twisted his body like a matador avoiding a bull.
Chet flew through empty space and landed with a heavy thud on the hard turf. He rolled over in a fury, scrambled to this feet, and lunged at Cameron.
Cameron spun about and smacked Chet on the back of the head with the blocking pad, sending him sprawling, face first, into the sod.
When Chet came up to face Cameron, he was spitting grass, and his nose was bleeding. He didn’t lunge this time. Instead, he charged with swinging fists.
Cameron raised the pad in defense, warding off blow after blow. Cameron sunk to one knee as Chet pummeled him into the ground. From the edge of his vision Cameron could see the team circled about. Everyone was shouting. Coach Rausch had his whistle an inch from his mouth but did not blow it.
Chet swung wildly, for once failing to land a blow.
In what seemed like a blur, Cameron let the pad drop to the ground, positioned himself as the red team had been doing all afternoon, and sprang at Chet. Cameron could hear the air go out of Chet as he struck the bully just below the ribs with his forearm. Chet crumpled to the ground, gasping.
Although his dad had taught him not to fight, there was a distinctly satisfying feeling in having triumphed over his larger opponent. He had read about this sort of thing countless times, but he had never experience it himself. Cameron’s blood ran hot; his senses seemed keener than usual; and he had an euphoric feeling of invincibility. As he stood over Chet, he couldn’t help but wonder, Is this what winning feels like?
The whistle blew.
“Let me through, let me through” barked Coach as he forced his way through the circle of players. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Coach Rausch pulling Cameron away from a body on the ground.
“What’s goin’ on here?”
Coach Rausch glanced at Cameron, then turned to Coach. “Mr. Ames,” he said calmly, “was instructing Mr. Rush here on the finer points of football, and Mr. Rush was just thanking Mr. Ames for being such a fine teacher.”
Coach gave his assistant a hard
look before turning to Chet who was struggling to his feet. “Nice work, Mr. Ames,” said
Coach in the mocking voice to which Cameron had become accustomed, “If
ya teach everyone that well, ya’ll make a damn good coach some
day.”
The whole team laughed. Several of the blues patted Cameron on the back. Coach Rausch gave him a nod of approval.
The whistle blew.
“Okay, back to work everyone.”
For the rest of that one, sunny afternoon, Cameron didn’t feel like a dummy.
– End Chapter Eight –
