Message-ID: <40422asstr$1042416603@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" Mime-Version: 1.0 X-Original-Message-ID: X-OriginalArrivalTime: 12 Jan 2003 21:45:29.0064 (UTC) FILETIME=[EC792680:01C2BA83] X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 12 Jan 2003 15:45:28 -0600 Subject: {ASSM} Playing the Game II: Playing to Win, Ch. 28 (mf rom) Date: Sun, 12 Jan 2003 19:10:03 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: kelly, hecate Welcome to the latest chapter of "Playing to Win". Enjoy, my friends. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring this material. (Copyright 2003, Rev. Cotton Mather) E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you. --------------------------------------------------------------------- PLAYING TO WIN: PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II by Reverend Cotton Mather - 28 - THE ALL-STATE CHEER Can a fourteen or fifteen-year-old girl really know what love is? Even in my own overheated and taxed brain, that question haunted me all night. Long after I had dropped Kayla off at her house, sharing another searing kiss full of promise, I was still bothered by what she had told me. In the intervening years since, I have discovered that there have been exceptional children who have known their hearts early on. Joan of Arc was 12 when she first heard the voices that put her on the path of martyrdom, and Shakespeare infused a 13 year old Juliet with some of the most touching and memorable lines in English literature (even though his model for Juliet, from the Italian tale "The Tragicall Story of Romeus and Juliet", was 16). I could not presume then, nor can I presume even now, 20 years later, that my Luscious was as resolute as St. Joan or Juliet. In fact, in my own mind, aside from the implications of having a girlfriend who was "in love" with me, I was still able to appreciate the undeniable fact that Kayla was gorgeous, she had an uninhibited streak, and she was all mine. Now I just had to figure out a way not to blow it. As we did our homework each evening, there seemed to be more of an intimacy between us, and Jake was well aware of it, and did his best not to interfere too much, or give me too much shit about it when Luscious wasn't around. Sometimes, though, he just couldn't help himself. All the next week, every time he passed me in the hall at school, he would punch me in the arm hard. "Keep your mitts off my little sister," he said one time. "You can kiss, but you'd best not touch," came another warning. "I'd better not find no fingerprints where none should be," he threatened another time. I whirled and grabbed him by the arm that time, and pulled him off to the side. "And I'd better not hear about you searching for fingerprints where you shouldn't be looking," I said. He looked a little surprised, then shocked, and finally, seeing my grin, he chuckled. "Okay, deal," he said. But just for good measure, he gave my arm another pop. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me rubbing the bruise he caused. Coach Neville worked on getting us prepared for the playoffs. We were seeded first, and had home field advantage all the way through the tournament, until the final four teams traveled downstate to play, still three weeks away. This was a change from last year, when the sectionals were held at a neutral field at a local college. We didn't mind not having to travel to our games. It just meant that we could pack our stands with a good-sized crowd. If all went well, we would be playing two games a week until the state playoffs. Our first game was against Lincoln Valley, the team we had absolutely pummeled earlier in the season, beating them by a score of 11-0. On the one hand, I was looking forward to playing against the Bozo Brothers one more time, but on the other hand, it was a little depressing that their team actually made it into the playoffs. Surprisingly, they only had three losses all season long, which probably only pointed out to all and sundry that our conference was not particularly strong in soccer. Still, it was tempting to look beyond Lincoln Valley to see which opponents might be coming up for us to play. Watching the film on Thursday, it was apparent that Lincoln Valley was playing a stronger game now than they did earlier in the season. Maybe their coach had been able to infuse some religion into their front lines, their weakest positions. Then again, considering the strengths of our conference, maybe it was just that they were shown playing weaker opponents. On Friday, the Metro Times, the big city newspaper, came out with their statewide prep rankings for all the fall sports, along with their All-Conference selections. The big news for us was the selection of Jorge Mendoza in the net, Eric Johnson as a midfielder, and Trent Abbott as forward joining me as All-Conference players, with Mike Evanson and Kevin Soranno also listed as outstanding players, even though they didn't make the All-Conference team. No other team in the area placed more than two players on their respective All-Conference teams, and in our conference, only Rockton Heights had two players named. All the other teams were represented by one player, including Lincoln Valley, whose stopper was selected. As we were in the locker room getting prepared for the game, the mood was loose and light, with a substantial amount of good-natured ribbing aimed at all of us whose name had been in the paper. Matt Hartigan was also in the locker room, talking with Eric and Trent, gathering up tidbits for his own article for the local rag about the game. Eric and I did our customary laps around the field before the game, but we couldn't check out the opposition, because the Lincoln Valley team was still unloading from their buses. We rejoined our teammates and flopped to the ground to stretch out, taking our time and doing more joking and relaxing than stretching. The football team was playing on Saturday, so the stands were filling up fast. The student section was already packed, and Jorge, Eric, Anthony and I walked over to the fence to take a look at the crowds. Keisha and Ayesha came down to say hello, and Kayla came hopping down the steps to join them when she saw me there. She stuck her fingers through the fence, and I held them with mine as we stood there. "Play well, Sean," she said, her eyes shining with happiness. "I'll try," I said. "It might be a little tough out there, though, what with all these All-Conference guys wanting to hog the ball all the time." I glanced over to make sure Eric and Jorge heard me. I didn't want to waste a good opportunity to hand them some shit. Eric heard me, and was studiously ignoring me. Jorge was standing by the fence on his far side, and all his brothers and sisters, including Kristina, were gathered in front of him, talking excitedly to him, so he wasn't paying any attention to me at all. Kristina was concentrating on ignoring me, too. I certainly couldn't blame her. She had joined a growing list of females I have disappointed and failed over the past couple of years. I fervently hoped that my losing streak with women was at an end as I turned back to Luscious, still clutching my fingers. "I don't think I'll have to worry about you not getting your touches on the ball, Porter," she said. "Somehow, you'll find a way." I smiled at her. "During practices, I'm a ball hog," I said. "During games, the ball can stay on the other side of the field, for all I care. Fewer chances for me to fall down and embarrass myself." "And us," said Eric, still ostensibly chatting with Keisha. Jorge and Anthony were headed back toward the bench. I waved to Kay, and Eric and I ran up to join them. I put my arm around Jorge's shoulder. "Hey, amigacho, I never got to congratulate you." "Thanks, Sean. It was a surprise, I tell you." "Not to me, it wasn't," I said. "You've been directing the defense like you've been doing it your whole life." He grinned at me. "I have been doing it my whole life," he said. "Yeah," I agreed. "I guess you have, at that." I dropped my arm off his shoulder. "Hey, Jorge, is Kristina still going out with Paco?" He shot me a surprised glance. "I thought you was wrapped up with Jake's sister," he said. "Oh, I am," I said hurriedly. "I still feel bad about how that all went, that's all. I just want her to be happy." He shrugged. He was able to squeeze entire conversations into his silent gestures, a gift few kids our age had acquired. "Yeah, she happy, I guess. At least she's liking the worship. Paco is completely whipped, man. He just walk around all moony eyed, staring at her all the time, hanging around the house until Papa, he tells him to go home. Gives me the creeps." "You want me to help you chase him off?" "Nah. Kristina's enjoying being the center of attention with him around. And he's basically a good guy. Hell, I'm the one got them together, why am I complaining? Let her have her fun. At least it's with somebody who treats her good." "Yeah," I said grumpily. "Her last boyfriend didn't treat her so well." He just looked at me for a moment, expressionless. "No, he din', did he?" he said quietly. "But I t'ink he learned from it pretty good now." "Yes, he did," I reluctantly agreed. We left it at that. Everybody has their own pre-game preparations that they go through, personal time to get them into game mentality, and I stepped away from everybody and started on my routines. I liked to stand with my toes on the chalk of the sidelines and stare out onto the field, setting up my own imaginary borders. I liked to think of myself as a benevolent dictator of my territory, allowing transgressors reasonably safe passage, unless they were carrying contraband, in the form of a soccer ball. In that case, the dictatorship became considerably less benevolent, and stepped much closer to being militarily threatening. I pictured, in my mind, patrolling my borders, friendly and relaxed, but still oh so watchful, wary of any strangers who ventured across my invisible boundaries, ready to strike against any incursion. I stepped back and grabbed a cup of water, just as the announcer started up with the starting lineup. He announced the lineup for the visiting team, and it took me a moment to realize, as he called out the Lincoln Valley left forward starting player as Bruce somebody or other, that the guy's name wasn't really Bozo One. He used almost the same routine for calling out our team's starters that he used the previous week, except that he added the All- Conference honors for Eric and Trent. Once again, the crowd got louder and louder as he started with the defensive side, starting with Anthony, and then announcing Mikey and Brett. As they trotted out onto the field, the noise level went up another notch as the announcer's voice intoned, "Starting as goalkeeper, a sophomore, and an All-Conference selection, Jorge Mendoooozaaaaa!" And the grandstand started shaking as the entire crowd stomped their feet and yelled and whistled. The announcer paused to let the noise settle just a little before continuing, "And at right defense, a junior, also an All-Conference selection, Sean Pooorrrterrrr!" I ran out and high-fived all my teammates, and clapped Jorge on the back. "Welcome to Adulation Central, buddy," I said. "But don't get too used to it. Five minutes after our season is done, we're back to being plain old Mendoza and Porter, B-average students." "Don't I know it," he replied as we jogged back to the sidelines. "Can't get a swelled head over playing a game." The game was even easier than our regular-season game. The Lincoln Valley coaches had apparently instructed their players, under penalty of permanent substitution, to keep the ball out of the left offensive half of the field, where Kevin and I were patrolling. They repeatedly attacked our left, only to be rebuffed time and again. Because there was no pressure at all on our side, Kevin shifted over about 15 meters, covering more of the middle, allowing Mikey and Robert, our center midfielders, to shift over a little, giving Eric and Anthony a buffer. Lincoln Valley was essentially playing a half- field game on our half, cutting down on their offensive options by more than 50 percent. Their only real scoring opportunity came on a corner kick late in the first half. Jorge boxed up everybody on the line, and put Anthony on the near post and me on the far post, and he positioned Brett 5 meters out and in the middle. The corner kick came in high and lazy, and we were able to block out all their players as Jorge went up and easily snagged the ball out of the air. He punted it down to the midfield stripe, where Javier picked it up, passed it over to Jimmy on the right, who dribbled it down the sidelines against the defender, stopped and crossed it about 15 meters in front of the goal. Conference scoring leader Trent Abbott was right there, crowding out the stopper with his back and arms, and he took the pass with his right foot, sweeping the ball off his instep into the top left corner of the net, over the outstretched arms of the Lincoln Valley keeper. It ended up as a 9-0 drubbing, and we left the field satisfied with the win, and looking forward to our next opponent, to be played on Sunday, and who was sure to be more of a challenge than the hapless Lincoln Valley team. And, at Sunday's game, they were more of a challenge, but it was still a pretty easy win for us. Coach even pulled his core group in favor of giving some of his bench players a little more playing time. Trent, Eric, Jorge, and I sat together on the bench for most of the second half, soaking up the weak sun and relaxing, for a change, as the second team held on to win, 6-1. The next week, we were surprised and a little disappointed when we learned that Rockton Heights, our conference rivals, got beat in their playoff game over the weekend, on a power play when one of their players got a red card and had to leave the game. Playing short, they got beat off the ball, and the Shady Grove Orioles walked off with the win, 3-2. "What the hell kind of mascot is an oriole?" asked Eric, when he heard about Rockton's defeat. "Doesn't exactly instill fear in the hearts of their opponents, does it?" said Trent. "Maybe all the good animals were taken," suggested Mikey. "Maybe so, but orioles? Might as well just call yourselves the Yapping Dachshunds, or the Mighty Angry Turtledoves, or something. At least if you were the Fighting Statisticians, you could clobber your opponents with your briefcases." Eric just shook his head, chuckling, while the rest of us laughed. "I wouldn't take the Orioles too lightly, were I you," warned Coach Neville ominously. "Shady Grove has two players in particular who are very good. All-Conference selections, in fact, in a conference full of fairly athletic teams." He took off his glasses and casually polished them with his loosened tie as he glanced at me with a small smile. "Interestingly, both of their Conference players work the left offensive side. Perhaps Mr. Porter, here, will finally face a bit of a challenge." "Yeah, great," I said. "Just remind Kevin and Robert to keep the ball on the offensive side of the field, okay?" "By the way, I just got word of something that might be of interest to you, Mr. Porter, and to Mr. Abbott, also." He stood, and the entire team quieted down expectantly. "Earlier this afternoon I received a telephone call from the State Athletic Board. I have just been informed that Sean Porter and Trent Abbott have both been selected for first-team All-State honors." The whole room erupted. Trent and I high-fived each other. "Ah, but I am not finished," interrupted Coach. "Second-team All- State honors are accorded to Eric Johnson at midfield. Congratulations to all three players." I grabbed Eric by the shirtsleeve and dragged him up to stand with Trent and me. We draped arms around one another, the three of us, basking in the show of appreciation from our teammates. "Now, if I may continue for a moment," called Coach. He had his hands in the air, calling for a little quiet again. "All of these honors for these individuals are fine, and well justified. However, those accolades will be all the sweeter if they can also be accompanied by a trip downstate. And to do that, we have some hard work to do this week." And, with that, Coach Simonson fired up the projector, and analysis of our last game began. On Tuesday, I called Lori to see if Davey and Kip would like to work for the team as ball boys again on Sunday. We had a game on Thursday, and perhaps I was looking too far ahead, but the way we were playing made me pretty confident we would at least be playing on the weekend. "Oh, I know they would love it," she said. "Great. It'll be easier for them this time, now that they know the guys, and they know what they will be expected to do," I said. "Thank you, Sean. And I believe congratulations are in order, too." "Well, the talent pool for defenders must be a little shallow this year," I said. "I really shouldn't have been picked, since I missed two games entirely, and half of a third." "That's baloney, and you know it," she told me. "You deserved the honor, just as you earned it last year, too." "Don't get me started on last year," I said. "The only reason I even got noticed is because of the publicity surrounding the situation that got me into the game in the first place." "Maybe so," she said. "But that doesn't detract from the fact that you played well enough, in spite of the pressure, to earn that recognition." "Well, thanks, Lori. I knew I could count on you to boost me up a little. I appreciate it." Even through the low-fidelity of the telephone, I could hear the humor in her voice. "I'm just telling the truth here, Sean. Besides, I owe you more than you'll ever know." "What? How do you figure?" She hesitated. "I'll tell you about it sometime, Sean." She paused again, sounding unsure of herself. "Sean? On Sunday?" "Yes? Sunday? At the game?" "Yes. At the game." She paused once more, and then seemed to change her mind about something. "I'll just see you Sunday, Sean. At the same gate?" "Sure," I said, more confused than ever. My confidence was not misplaced. Our game on Thursday was against the Apple Valley Tigers. They were a good team - they had to be, to make it this deep into the playoffs - but Apple Valley was a tiny community, and their high school was one of the smallest in our area. Their starters were decent players, but when they had to go to their bench, they were vulnerable. Their strategy for our playoff game was to double cover Trent as much as possible. It would have been a sound plan if Trent was our only offensive threat, but as it worked out, it was a courageous but foolhardy plan. Once their strategy was figured out, Eric and Robert stopped trying to feed the ball into Trent, and shifted their focus to the other side, moving the ball over to Kevin, Jimmy and Javier. Because of the double team, somebody was going to be open, and we were able to spread the field out all the way to the sidelines with passes, forcing the Tigers to scramble to cover. Eventually they had to pull their offensive middle guy back to help defend, allowing us to pull another player up to attack, while leaving their chances of moving the ball into our half on a scoring opportunity pretty minimal. The final result was another too-easy win, 5-0. We found out the next morning that Shady Grove also advanced. Our Sunday game would be against the Orioles. On Sunday afternoon, about an hour before game time, I was standing at the gate, waiting, when I saw Davey and Kip come running up. Davey grabbed at the handle and swung the gate open, and they both dashed in and grabbed me around my waist. "Hi, Sean!" "Hi, Sean!" "Hi, guys, how have you been?" I asked, trying without success to disentangle myself. Lori came walking up, a big smile on her face. There was a man I didn't know walking with her. "Hey, Lori," I said. "Sean I'd like you to meet David McMasters. David, this is Sean Porter." McMasters was a big man, with a big, open face. He looked to be older, maybe around 30, and there were laugh lines etched around his mouth, evidence of a seemingly friendly guy. He stuck out his hand, and I shook it. He nearly shook my arm off with enthusiasm. "Glad to finally meet you, Sean. Lori's been talking so much about you, I feel like we've been friends for a long time!" he practically shouted. "Really?" I shot Lori a glance, but she was just standing beside him, smiling affectionately at David's introduction. "Oh, yes," he continued. "And the boys! My goodness, they think you're the tops!" "The tops?" What the hell were the tops? I had no idea, but apparently they were good things. "Absolutely! Right, boys?" said David as he turned, looking around for Davey and Kip. They had already run down the path toward the door into school, though, and he just shook his head in bemusement. "Those boys move faster than just about anything else I've ever seen," he said with a smile. He held out his arm for Lori. "Well, come on, then, Mrs. W., we'd best be finding our seats in the stands, hadn't we?" Lori was almost floating above the ground as she slid her arm through his proffered elbow. "Yes, David," she said. She looked back to me, her entire face aglow. "And thank you again, Sean. This means the world to me, and to the boys." And they walked off together. David was almost a foot taller than Lori, but somehow it didn't look funny at all. It looked kind of nice, especially when I saw him moderate his naturally longer stride to accommodate Lori's shorter step. I smiled and shook my head, and then walked over to where the boys were waiting as patiently as they could, by the door to the locker room. It was time to prepare for the game. Maybe the Shady Grove mascot was weak and goofy, but the team was not. At the referee's opening whistle, they started an offensive set that was quick and effective in getting the ball down close to our goal. They were not afraid to use the sidelines, and they relied on their speed and agility to make crossing passes to their forwards in front of the net. Their first attack, on our left side, slipped by Eric, skirted the line, and their midfielders and forwards all attacked, leaving Anthony to scramble to stay with their right forward, who was handling the ball. Even so, Anthony was a step behind him when he lofted a cross into the box, and defenders and attackers alike went up to try to head it. Brett Oldman managed to muscle his mark off the ball, and he headed the ball over toward me, but I had two opponents on me almost before I got to the ball. I managed to knock it off the shin of one of their players, and it caromed out of bounds, skidding along the fence. Davey tossed me another ball as I stepped out to handle the throw, and I caught it and immediately turned and whipped it as far as I could down the line, hoping that Kevin or Jimmy would be able to snag it. Kevin trapped the ball, a defender right behind him with his hand on Kevin's back, but he was still was able to sideswipe the ball into the center, where Robert picked it up, passing it over to Eric right away, who was momentarily open. As soon as the Orioles defenders recognized that Eric had the ball, they dropped back, picking up their assignments, and their midfielders and forwards came back to assist, blanketing their half of the field with players. I thought that their forwards and midfielders were going to be exhausted by halftime, trying to play both sides of the ball like that. If they built up a lead by then, though, they could afford to play keep-away during the second half, without the need to mount any offensive charges. Eric couldn't advance the ball, so he passed back to Anthony, back across the midfield stripe, and we reset while the Orioles came back over to try for an interception. Jorge and Mikey recognized the pattern at about the same time I did, so we spread out in the back and passed the ball laterally, Mike to me, me to Brett, Brett to Anthony, until we could find an opportunity to advance it. We were able to work the ball up to Kevin and Robert occasionally, but we didn't seem to be able to move it forward any further than that, and the ball kept on returning back to us. Then, on an unintentionally soft pass from Robert to Anthony, a Shady Grove midfielder managed to intercept. He split the field, running in the seam, as Anthony and Mike angled toward him. Brett picked up the center forward, but that left their right forward open, behind Anthony, and the midfielder threaded a pass over to him. He stopped the ball with his right foot, took two shambling dribbles, and launched a shot at goal. Jorge was awake and paying attention, though. He trusted Brett to hold off the man in the center, and had kept one eye on the ball, and one eye on the forward behind Anthony. When the pass was made, Jorge was as ready as he could be. He rushed out at the forward, cutting down on the shooting angle, and managed to block the ball, deflecting it over toward the right post. The Orioles forward on my side saw the opportunity, and ran hard toward the loose ball, but I was right with him, and I managed to shoulder him away, keeping my arms and elbows tucked. I took the ball out from his reach with my left foot, and popped it back toward the sidelines. My opponent looked to the referee, perhaps looking for an obstruction call or a charge, but the referee indicated a legal play, telling him to play on. The game seesawed back and forth like that all the first half, and by the time the referee blew his whistle for halftime, I was pretty winded. I looked at the rest of my team, and they were looking like they felt the same as I did, tired and blowing hard, but still coming off the field feeling like we had accomplished something, keeping them out of our goal. Their offensive lineup had to be even more winded than we were, and they had nothing to show for it. Of course, neither did we, but I knew that Eric and Trent couldn't be shut out for the entire game. Something would happen. In fact, Eric, Trent, Javier, Jimmy, and Robert were huddled together with Coach Simonson, trying to come up with just that something. At the start of the second half, I was feeling pretty decent again. On our kickoff, we moved the ball back to Eric, and Trent took off downfield at a hard sprint, part of the play they had designed. Eric launched a high pass down the sidelines, leading Trent by about 10 meters, and Trent picked it up from over his shoulder at a dead run, and kept on going. Eric, meanwhile, relying on his speed, ran as hard as he could, angling in toward the middle, with Javier heading toward the right side, in front of Eric, for a diversion. The Orioles sweeper loped out to cut off Javier, and their stopper warily came out to try to track Eric. Trent put on the brakes, and his defender scrambled to stop and reverse, but Trent was open for long enough. He powered a crossing pass to Eric, and the Orioles stopper closed on him, keeping him from a clear shot. He stayed off Eric, though, fully expecting him to try to make a move around him, but instead, Eric one-touched the ball back into open space in front of Trent, who was now in full stride, bearing down on goal, with his defender two steps behind him in a delayed reaction to the play. The ball reached Trent's left foot in stride, and he swept it off his laces, over the keeper's head, and into the high far corner of the net, for the first goal of the game. The stands erupted with cheers, and from the student section came the syncopated cry, "All State! All State! All State!" in honor of the offensive combination of Eric Johnson and Trent Abbott. On the Orioles restart, it became apparent that they, too, spent halftime coming up with adjustments. They still loaded up the offensive side, but this time they sent more players into the middle and their left. The ball came over to their left midfielder, and his forward took the sideline route, so I was forced to guard the passing lane, until Kevin could come back to pick up the man with the ball. The forward slipped ahead of me, back toward his midfielder, and got the ball, and then immediately passed it back over as the midfielder stepped closer to the center. They worked a two-man game against me, keeping the ball moving between the two of them and away from either Kevin or me, staying near the sidelines, moving constantly into open spaces. On the one hand, it was a clever way of keeping the ball down in our area of the field. On the other hand, it didn't really advance the ball, and eventually something would have to be done. Mikey Evanson forced the issue by sliding over to make it three on two. He stepped in front of the midfielder and intercepted, but all he could do was knock the ball to the side, instead of control it. The ball was headed just behind me, with the Orioles forward in front of me. He stepped to the side, probably intending on retrieving the ball as it passed behind me, and so he was caught. I heeled the ball back to Mikey on a give-and-go, and took off upfield, knowing that Mikey would do the right thing, one-touching it back to me. I was just running up to the Orioles midfielder when the ball came at me from Mikey, and I stepped in front of it, still with my back to it, and let it run up my left leg. I boosted it up and over, and Jesse Wilhoit's Alley-Oop One-Man Give-And-Go looped over the surprised midfielder's head, landed bouncing on the other side for me to pick up, and I headed downfield with just one defender between me and the corner of the box. I angled a hard pass just in front of Javier, and he feinted at it, making the keeper hesitate, and let it go past him so that it could hit Trent, who rocketed it past the diving Oriole keeper for goal number two. Trent came running over to me, and jumped up and landed on me, and we both fell to the ground. Eric jumped onto both of us, and the pileup began as we yelled and screamed. The student section started up with their "All State! All State!" cheer again as we slowly extricated ourselves, and we jogged back to our side of the field side by side, Eric and Trent and I. It was all over but the shouting. The Orioles coach had to substitute his midfielders, who had run the field as hard as they could, but they were scrambling to make something of nothing by then, and all their offensive tries were rebuffed. We were content to play the time out, and the clock worked in our favor, running the Orioles out of time before they could score. We were headed downstate. (Continued in Chapter 29) _________________________________________________________________ MSN 8 helps eliminate e-mail viruses. 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