Page 35 of Over Time Advantage

Diane: Okay. Where should we go?

Lloyd: Line dancing, of course. You said in your profile that it’s one of your favorite things to do.

I forgot about that little lie. I’ve never been line dancing a day in my life.

Diane: I’m not very good at it.

Lloyd: I know. You told me. Lucky for you, I am. It’s big where I grew up. I want to teach you.

Diane: You didn’t grow up in Philly?

Lloyd: No. I told you I came here for work about twenty years ago. I’m originally from North Carolina.

Right, he did tell me that once. I forgot. Damn alcohol.

Lloyd: Line dancing is big down there. I know the best spot in Philly for it. I don’t go often, mostly because I have no one to go with, but I do know where to go. It will be fun. I promise.

Diane: I have an admission. I’m scared to meet you.

Lloyd: I’m not a bad guy. I promise.

Diane: That’s not what I meant. I enjoy our nightly conversations. It’s kept me sane for the past few months of craziness in my life. I’m afraid of losing it.

Lloyd: Maybe we’ll both gain something.

Diane: Maybe. How old are you?

Lloyd: So old when I was on the toilet as a kid, I had to read the back of a shampoo bottle.

EIGHT

JETT

“What do a cigarette and pussy have in common?” Daylen asks the guys in the locker room during halftime of our first playoff game.

“What?” Presley Ladrón, our placekicker, responds.

Daylen smirks. “The closer you get to the butt, the better it tastes.”

The guys all burst into laughter while I look up at the ceiling. Thank god the man can catch anything within fifteen feet of him or I’d boot his ass from both the locker room and the team. It’s only our first playoff game of the season. The most important one so far. Why not tell crude, immature, irrelevant jokes?

“Humblecut,” I grumble with annoyance. “Can I bother you to focus for the next few hours? It’s kind of an important day.”

“Sorry, Coach. Just trying to help everyone relax.”

“Any other words of wisdom for us, Humblecut?” I ask sarcastically, not actually wanting an answer.

He starts to say something else, but I hold up my hand. “Enough,” I bark. “We’re only up a touchdown. You all shouldn’t be so damn relaxed.” I’m certainly not. I’m a ball of nerves.

Yes, we’re favored to win this game, but it’s the playoffs. Anything goes.

I continue, “You all need to fight until the bitter end. Our defense needs to make a few more stands. Our offense can’t continue at this insane pace. You don’t win championships by trading punch for punch.”

Vance threw four touchdowns in the first half. We should be up by more, but injuries and a general lack of personnel have plagued our defense this season. Beau is playing his ass off, but he can’t cover for ten other guys on the field. I know he would if he could. He’s that kind of guy.

“Defense,” I shout at the group of guys sitting on a bench with bottles of water. “Our tackling is embarrassing. How many second and third chances have we given up in this game? Let me remind you of the basics. Keep your fucking head up and wrap the player. Every damn one of you should be running to gang tackle. I’m not kidding. I want eleven men tackling on every fucking play. I’m sick of your lazy asses watching Fudd run around trying to make each one. Earn your keep. You want to be a champion? Play like one. If you all had half the heart Fudd has, this game would already be over.”

I look directly at our starting safeties and grit my teeth. “You all are cheating the coverage. If you can’t keep up, let me know because there are a few very hungry guys on the bench who I know would be willing to do so.”