Blind Your Ponies by Stanley Gordon West Page A

who had never won a game. It was critical that the boys had to stay out of foul trouble because there would be no relief from the bench. They would have to endure the whole game without substitution. And when fatigue set in, they’d make mistakes and foul more. And by the fourth quarter, the Broncs would find themselves playing against teams of ten or twelve rested players. If one of the four fouled out, there would be a glaring vulnerability that their opponents would quickly exploit. To win they would have to be in better shape, play harder, longer, and with more heart than those teams who annually used Willow Creek to blow the carbon out of their tailpipes. What could he possibly conceive and bring forth out of his fruitless and infertile life to inspire them to give in blood? And how could he convince them to believe they could win when he knew his faith in the matter was utterly impoverished?
    T HAT AFTERNOON AFTER five minutes of wind sprints, Sam gathered the boys at midcourt. Sweat dripped from their bodies and Olaf braced his hands on his knees, gasping.
    “Men, last year we had an excuse not to succeed. We were outmanned and outgunned and we didn’t believe we could win so we coached and played with no expectations.”
    Sam glanced at Rob and Tom.
    “If we’re going to succeed this year, we can no longer simply pull on a uniform and play half assed. I’m asking each of you for a new level ofdedication, to give your very best every second, every minute, at practice as well as in games. I’m asking you to play hard until the final buzzer, knowing you’ve played your best, always.”
    He glanced into their eyes and was overcome by the intensity he found; they appeared to take his challenge to heart.
    “Besides regular practice, I will be holding voluntary sessions for whoever can make them, watching films and going over plays. The first one will be tonight at my house, seven-thirty to eight-thirty. Try to come if it doesn’t interfere with your homework or family life. No one will be penalized for missing.”
    Sam cleared his throat. “Thank you for your hard work. I’m happy to announce that you all made the first cut.”
    He paused as the boys shared amused glances.
    “That means you’re all officially Willow Creek Broncs. It also means you’ll have to maintain your eligibility. In order to participate with the team, you have to be passing in every subject at each two-week grading interval. Poor grades can beat us as surely as Gardiner or Twin Bridges. So hit the books. As members of the team it means no tobacco—including chewing, Tom—no alcohol, and most importantly …” Sam looked kindly into Dean’s magnified eyes, “… no wild women. Got that Dean?”
    The unassuming freshman, his cap cocked over one ear, gawked at the coach with the most confused expression Sam had ever seen.
    “Yeah,” the boy said in his squeaking falsetto.
    They laughed and Tom gently swatted his abbreviated teammate. Sam sensed that the hard-bodied country boy was strong for his age, probably working like a man on the ranch since he was old enough to see over the tailgate.
    “You’re fast, Dean,” Sam said. “You’re going to help us a lot.”
    The sturdy boy puffed up slightly. “Are we going to eat at McDonald’s?”
    “Yes, when we travel.”
    “Bodacious!” Dean said with a bright smile.
    “Burger King,” Tom said. “Better burgers.”
    Sam flinched. His heart skipped a beat. He glanced at Tom then looked back at Dean, fighting it off.
    “Don’t you find it awfully hot wearing your cap when you practice?” Sam asked.
    “It makes me run faster,” Dean said.
    Sam paused, and the boy gave no indication that he was joking. “All right, then. Everyone have a good shower and a restful night … after ten laps around the gym.”
    “Yeeehaaa!” Rob shouted and took off running.
    The others followed with rekindled enthusiasm except for Tom, who trotted behind.
    I N THE MODEST whitewashed locker room