Page 3 of The Penalty

I step onto the turf, relishing the crunching sound under my sneakers. The sun isn’t even up yet, but that doesn’t bother me. Morning workouts have always been my favorite. My players complain about getting up early, but I know they secretly like it because it starts their day off on the right foot. Football players love to play football. Workouts aren’t a chore. And even if they were, this is what these guys signed up for, so they really can’t complain.

“Hey, Coach.” I look to my left and see my star quarterback walking toward the field. I recruited him in my first year of coaching here, and I’ve never been more proud of a player. I push him hard, but he works his ass off. He wants to be in the NFL, and I’m going to help him get there.

“Morning, Hayes.” I fold my arms across my chest as I watch the rest of the team file onto the field.

“We doing sprints today?” he asks, bending down to retie his shoe.

“Yep.” The team’s strength and conditioning coach, Luke, comes up beside me on the field right as Hayes runs out to join the rest of the team.

“Morning, Coach. You here to watch?” Luke asks me.

“Yeah. For a minute. Want to make sure they’re looking good for this week.” School has been in session for a week, and we’ve been busy preparing for game day. Everything starts to move so fast once we hit September.

“They’re killing it. It’s going to be a great season.” I nod in agreement, not changing my cross-armed stance. He blows his whistle to get the boys’ attention before walking out on the field. I watch them stretch and start their warm-up run around the field.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, telling me I have a new email. The subject line reads, URGENT—Second follow-up: Interview with Coach Danvers.

Urgent? These people can be so dramatic. I have more important things to do than answer interview questions for the local newspaper.

Unfortunately, the school’s athletic director has been on my case about being more present in the community, along with being more personable. He claims that I’m the face of this program, and alumni and donors want to see me. His exact words were, “It’s all about appearance, Tyler.”

I should get an award for the eye roll I held back when he said that.

I get it. I do. But my attention needs to be focused on football and this team. We had a great season last year and made it to the college playoffs before losing by a field goal to Alabama. I want these boys to develop and be the best that they can be if they choose to make football a career. This sport is hard on the mind and the body, and I want my players to be strong enough—physically and mentally—to take it. If they aren’t, I’d rather them figure it out now than fail in the NFL.

I glance up at the field. The sun is just starting to rise as the guys all increase their pace. Watching them train will have to wait since, apparently, emails await.

I turn and head to my office inside the athletic center.

The door slamming against the wall when I push it open shows just how much I hate to be in here. I’d rather be out on the field, in the gym, or literally anywhere else other than sitting behind a desk. It’s boring and my least favorite part of being a coach. Probably why this interviewer needed to email me a second follow-up.

I sit in my chair and pull up my email on the computer. I spend the next half hour answering the same questions I’ve already answered a thousand times before. She could have just done a quick Google search to find the answers to most of these. And I hate that I have to elaborate on such banal questions. Are you excited for the season? Obviously. Are you going to win this season? We damn well better. Will the La Vista Bobcats make it to the College Football National Championship again this year? I sure fucking hope so.

But, since I’d rather not get an annoying email from my boss about my behavior, I answer the questions appropriately.

I do my due diligence with the interview questions and send the email off when I hear a giant clang from the weight room down the hall. Some of the boys must have started weight training. I slip out of my jeans and black La Vista Football polo and into some gym shorts and an old T-shirt.

I head to the gym and do my own workout alongside the guys already in there. I’m not lifting nearly as much as they are, but I hold my own. Even after my football injury, I’ve kept my workouts up. I like to be fit, and I want to be in shape for as long as my body will let me.

I join in on the deadlifts, busting out three-fifteen for reps when my defensive tackle, Quinn, calls out, “Damn, look at Coach go. Didn’t know an old guy could lift so much.” Everyone around us laughs, including me.

“Hey, you better watch your mouth. Thirty-seven ain’t that old. You’ll be here one day.” He laughs, and I shove his shoulder playfully before moving onto the lat pulldown machine. I know they like to give me shit, but I truly don’t mind it. As long as they respect my leadership, they can clown on me for being a washed-up, old NFL player all they want.

We finish our workout right as most people are probably getting up for the day. The players head to their classes, and the coaches find available offices to prepare for the upcoming game.

A little while later, there’s a gentle knock on my door before it’s pushed open.

“Hey, Dad.” I look up, and my daughter is standing there with a bag of bagels from the campus coffee shop.

“Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing here?”

“You were gone before I woke up. Thought I’d come say hi and bring you breakfast.” She grabs a bagel for herself and then hands me the bag.

“Thanks, Ky. You didn’t need to do that.”

She shrugs. “I know it’s a crazy time for you. Wanted to make sure you were eating.”

I chuckle. “I thought I was supposed to be the parent.”