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I’m sorry to say that my answer to this question came shortly thereafter. It was an answer I should’ve guessed — as a man, an athlete and a Brit. Had I changed so much that this hadn’t even crossed my mind?
The answer, as it were, was deposited on the field by way of vomit. Sorry for the graphic imagery, but there was no way around it.
I’d just finished reeling from Catya’s close encounter with my dick when I glanced across the field and saw Riri barfing her brains out.
Ah. So that was it.
Alcohol.
Suddenly, everything slid into place. The girls’ hooting and hollering, their inability to run around the field in a timely manner, Catya’s antics. They were, of course, shitfaced. Internally, I berated myself. How did I miss something so offensively obvious? Was this as much their fault as it was mine? Clearly, I wasn’t doing my best work if an entire team being wasted had escaped me.
Moments after I put two and two together, I summoned my most intimidating voice and volume, and bellowed, “Everybody get over here now.”
The girls all looked at one another, as though deciding whether or not they should tell me. It would’ve been almost comically poor acting if I wasn’t in such a foul mood about it.
They ran — well, stumbled — over to me, and formed a large huddle. My face made clear what they’d suspected — the jig was up.
“You’re all drunk,” I stated simply.
A sea of faces turned beet red. It would’ve been a fine confirmation, had I needed one.
Summoning a calmer disposition than I felt, I repeated, “You’re all drunk. Now, in fairness, I did ask you to come to a midnight practice. Having been there myself, I know late night practices are horrific, and sometimes you just want to make it a little bit easier, hmm?”
They all nodded glumly.
“Well,” I continued, “that’s fine. You’re allowed to feel that way.”
I paused for dramatic effect, then said, “What you’re not allowed to do is show up to my practice, on this field, for ULA, blasted out of your minds. I’ve done some stupid shit before, and I’m trying to give you all leeway, because it’s hard adjusting to a new coach, but this is it. You got your pranks in, and now you’re done. We’re going to get down to the business of winning a bloody championship.”
By their expressions, the whole lot was extremely chagrined. I couldn’t even bear to look in Catya’s direction, because I knew she’d be feeling the worst of all. She did that — took everything as her own responsibility, and took the guilt of failure along with it.
I said, “What you did tonight was a liability. Like, the kind of liability that could get me fired.”
A few girls looked up sheepishly, and in the corner of my vision, I saw Catya’s chin snap to attention. What was I to make of that?
“I don’t want to get fired,” I explained mildly. “And I want you to win your upcoming games. At the rate you girls are fooling about, it’ll be a wonder if we make it past round one. If you’re all serious about winning championships, you need to start acting like it.”
“Are we in trouble?” came one meek voice from the crowd, probably a freshman.
I sighed, and replied, “No, not this time. But that’s it — that’s the end of my patience. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Coach,” whimpered a chorus of voices.
There was one last scolding I had to hand out, and it wouldn’t be easy. I steeled myself for the confrontation.
“And Catya?” I said, my voice pitching lower than I’d intended.
Her downcast eyes shot up, and met mine with a blaze. Was she ashamed? Angry? Scared? I couldn’t even begin to read the tea leaves that were her micro-expressions.
She didn’t speak, just stared at me mutely. Was she on the verge of tears, and were they alcohol or humiliation induced? God, I was a horrible person.
But this had to be done. If not, how could I lead them? How could she lead them?
“You’re captain,” I said. “You set the example around here. Getting hammered with the team before a practice isn’t a good example.”
The field had gone quiet, save for the echo of crickets from the nearby woods. The moon was slim in the night sky, as though it was trying to hide. Much like Catya, I thought. Though not quite as beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “It won’t happen again.”
Good enough. Plus, the eyes of all the other teammates had gone so wide they threatened to pop out of their sockets. I sensed that if I gave her any more of a browbeating, it would either undermine her leadership, or turn the whole team against me.
“Okay,” I said, attempting to lighten the mood. It was no fun being the bad guy. Though there was a good chance few of them, if any, would remember a word I’d said — they were well and truly sloshed.
