It was another hot afternoon, not exactly the kind of weather Howie Erikson had wanted for the first football practice of the season. He felt he was more or less in shape, but knew there were some kids who had been sitting on their butts all summer, and he felt sorry for them; most of them would be hurting before the practice was over with, he was sure.

The news of Coach Weilfahrt’s firing the day before – and Coach Weber’s resignation – had really hit him by surprise. The last minute before practice started, and no football coaches? That had to set a record for lame! He figured somebody would put something together, but it also probably meant that whoever was in charge was going to have them doing a lot of conditioning while they sorted things out. That probably meant a lot of running, and that probably meant a lot of guys puking in this heat.

Pretty sure that whoever it was planned on working the team’s collective asses off, Howie didn’t expend a lot of energy riding his bike over to the school; he took it as slow as possible. Along the way, he fell in with Glen Harpenski, another kid in his class, who usually played as a lineman. “Boy,” Glen said. “Ain’t it the shits to have Weber gone as coach?”

“Yeah,” Howie said. “No coaches at all, from what I hear. You hear anything?”

“My Dad was saying that Mr. Hekkinan might fill in until they can get a new varsity coach on board,” Glen said. “But he was just guessing, he doesn’t know, either.”

“I’ve heard a couple kids say that,” Howie shook his head. “I’ve also heard he might do the JVs, too. Dad said he was pretty good to play football under, but that was a long time ago. But when you get right around to it, nobody knows anything.”

“It might be such a thing that they cancel practice,” Glen said. “I’m not so sure I’d mind that as hot as it is. I’m not really looking forward to laps and wind sprints in this heat.”

“It might help if you trained up a little,” Howie said. “I’ve been out running some to get ready.”

“Yeah, well, knowing that you ought to do it and actually doing it are two different things,” Glen shrugged. “So how are you liking hanging out with Misty Frankovich?”

“It’s been all right,” Howie said, knowing that Misty would be all over his case, and most likely out the door if he bragged about making out with her, especially as much as they’d done. He was a little irritated about that; he’d liked to have bullshitted some people about that, but the word could get back to her all too easily. Being seen hanging out with her was a different story. She liked it, and he liked it too, even though it seemed more and more like things had to be done her way or else. “She’s been a lot of fun, made the summer go faster, that’s for sure.”

“Better watch it with her, or you’re going to get so pussy-whipped that you’re not going to know whether to shit or go blind.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Howie replied, knowing that there was a lot of truth to Harpenski’s teasing. She wasn’t all that happy about him being at football practice today; she hadn’t actually come out and laid a “my-way-or-the-highway” on him, mostly because she’d figured out that Howie was going to be playing football whether it included her or not. Damn it, he couldn’t let her run his life for him, could he? “At least it’s better than no girlfriend at all, and I know damn well you don’t have one,” he teased back by way of defense.

In another few minutes he and Harpenski put their bikes into the racks outside the gym and went inside to head for the locker room. However, at the locker room door, they found their way blocked by Mr. Mykelhoff. “Not just yet,” the basketball coach told them. “There’s going to be a team meeting, both the varsity and JV teams, on the bleachers in the gym.”

“Well, I guess we can do that,” Howie said, relieved to have wind sprints and laps put off at least that long. “Are you going to be one of the new coaches?”

“No, I just volunteered to come in and direct traffic,” Mykelhoff said. “To be honest, I don’t know enough about football to coach it.”

“Are we even going to have coaches?” Harpenski asked.

“Yes, you’re going to have coaches,” the basketball coach replied. “I can’t say who right now; it’s still being worked on.”

The two of them headed down the hall toward the gym. “I heard they caved in and are going to have Weber and the others back,” Brad Dollarhyde, another sophomore, commented, but Dad was saying it would be better in the long run to have them gone.”

“Yeah, but if they’re gone who’s going to coach?” Harpenski shook his head. “No matter what happens, things are going to be fucked up.”

The air was hot and still in the gym – it had to be close to a hundred degrees in there, with no air moving through despite the doors to the outside being open. A lot of kids were there, both varsity and JVs, and more kept coming. In spite of the heat, two or three were out on the gym floor, heaving basketballs around, yelling and raising hell. There were a number of parents there, mostly hanging around the door where there was the slight hope of a little cooler air, and obviously wondering as much as the players what was going to happen.

The practice was set to begin at four, and even a few minutes after there were still some stragglers arriving; nothing had happened, although there was a lot of speculation and gossip going around on the bleachers. The tension was rising, when the door to the back hall opened, and Mrs. Wine appeared, leading several men, including Mr. Hekkinan and Mr. Mykelhoff. But there were several others there, none of them small; the only one Howie recognized was Mr. Evachevski, from down at the furniture store. “See, I was right,” Glen whispered. “It’s going to be Mr. Hekkinan after all.”

Mrs. Wine led the group over in front of the bleachers, then pulled out a whistle and gave it a blast. Howie saw her put a wireless microphone in front of her, and realized the PA system was on. “All right!” she said. “Everybody settle down and gather over here in front of me.”

It took a couple minutes for the players to gather on the bleachers. They weren’t sitting very close to each other – it was too hot for that. There was still a lot of talking going on, but Mrs. Wine cured that pretty quickly with another blast on her whistle, this time into the microphone. That was so loud it actually hurt a little.

“All right,” she said into the microphone. “For those of you who don’t know me, and there may be a few, I’m Mrs. Wine, the new high school principal and athletic director. Just to clear things up and make them official, Coach Weilfahrt was relieved of his duties yesterday, and the rest of the coaching staff with the exception of one of the JV coaches, Mr. Bolenbaugh, resigned as a result. I’ve had any number of people ask me what we’re going to do about football coaches, and I’m here to tell you that we have new coaches. They’re all coaches you can learn how to really play football from, not how to just go out on the field and look stupid. There’s been too much of that in Marlin football the last few years, and we’re aiming to fix it.”

There was a murmur in the stands – partly wondering about the new coaches, but about the insult about the recent teams, too. A lot of those listening realized there was a lot of truth to the remark, and it wasn’t just those in the stands.

“I’m not done filling the coaching positions that were so abruptly vacated yesterday, but I want to introduce the new varsity head coach to you. Probably most of you don’t know the gentleman on my left, but if you’ve followed Packer football, you may know the name of our new head coach and defensive coordinator, Mr. Kulwicki, who used to be known as “Rick the Rock” when he was wearing green as a Packer lineman.”

“Holy crap!” Howie said to Glen among the buzz from the stands that came from Mrs. Wine’s statement. “We get a former pro for a head coach?”

“Varsity, but holy shit,” Harpenski agreed. “Maybe they’ll actually do something.”

As the noise from the stands died down, Mrs. Wine went on. “Our new varsity offensive coordinator is someone you might know from downtown, a former Marlin star, Mr. Danny Evachevski. Since it’s been a while since he’s been involved with football, he’s going to have part-time assistance from someone else you might know if you followed pro football a few years ago, former Rams halfback Mitch Reardon.”

“My God,” Howie heard someone say from behind him. “Two former pros!”

“Does that mean Reardon is going to be coaching the JVs, too?” Howie wondered aloud. “Wouldn’t that rock!”

“She didn’t say,” Harpenski said. “Maybe we’ll find out.”

Eventually the sound from the stands died down without Mrs. Wine having to use her whistle again. “There are some other holes to fill, but I’m working on them,” she said. “That’ll hold us for today. I know you’ve seen Mr. Mykelhoff around here. He’s not going to be a coach, but as a favor to me he’s going to help out for a while until your new coaches learn your names, know where all the light switches are, and things like that. Do you Marlins think you can play football for your new coaches?”

There was a big roar from the stands. “I’ll warn you right now,” Mrs. Wine continued after it died down. “These guys are going to teach you, and they’re going to work you hard, but if you do what they tell you to do and you try your hardest, you’re going to be seeing more success than we’ve gotten used to in the past. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

“Shit,” Eddie Awkerman said to Scotty Parsons, who was also out on bail and sitting next to him in the stands. “I was right. The old days are over with.”

“No shit,” Scotty replied. “I think I’m really going to be missing Will-Fart and Payne.”

“Fuck, you and me both,” Eddie shook his head. “This is going to suck fucking rocks.”

“All right,” Mrs. Wine said into the microphone. “There are a few other things we have to talk about. I’m going to call out some names, and I want those persons whose name I call to come down here. Awkerman!” she began.

“What the fuck?” Eddie said.

“Don’t know, better get down there.”

Eddie had the feeling this wasn’t going to be good, but there was nothing else to do but get up and clamber down the bleachers as Mrs. Wine called out “Caldwell!”

“He’s not here, he’s not going to be playing,” a voice called from the stands.

“OK,” Mrs. Wine said. “Parsons!” She continued calling names, including Walt Lethbridge, Don Johansen, and Lenny Mundhenk, until there were a dozen football players standing in front of her in front of the crowd, most of them seniors, and all of whom had multiple charges resulting from the party Saturday night. One other besides Caldwell wasn’t present at all.

“Each one of you was issued one of these Athletic Code of Conduct handbooks when you signed up for football,” she said. “I have your signatures on forms agreeing to follow these rules. Did any of you bother to read the handbook?”

All of a sudden the gym was very quiet. Most eyes in the bleachers were on the dozen football players, and everybody knew that the hammer was about to drop big time. Not a hand went up, and not a word was spoken. After a minute or more of very leaden silence, Mrs. Wine continued, “I don’t think I need to tell anyone here what happened on Saturday night. You all probably know more about it than I do, anyway. But the simple fact of the matter is that over the summer all of you standing in front of me committed multiple violations of the Athletic Code of Conduct, specifically section fourteen B two, as well as other offenses against the code that I’ve heard about. Under section fourteen C one, you’re all off the team for the season, including those who didn’t show up today. Now, you have no business being here, so get out of here.”

“You can’t do that to us,” Lenny Mundhenk’s voice sounded.

“I’m the athletic director, and the handbook says I can. Like I said, out of here. You have no business being around athletes who do know how to follow the rules. Don’t waste our time anymore.”

“Shit,” Harpenski said as the group headed for the door. “That’s going to raise hell with the varsity.”

“Lots of hell,” Howie agreed, “but they deserved it.”

“What the hell are they going to do for a quarterback? They got both Mundhenk and Lethbridge!”

“Shit, I don’t know,” Howie said, beginning to see a possibility in front of him. Although just a JV player, he was about the next quarterback in line. Could it be?

“How about the other guys who were at the party?” Dollarhyde wondered.

“I don’t know,” Howie said. “Mrs. Wine is supposed to be a real hard ass.”

Once the muttering and swearing former football players were out of the gym, Mrs. Wine continued, “All right, I need more of you down here in front of me. Bergstrom . . . Ralston . . . ” She continued reading off her list, another dozen names in all, three seniors and nine juniors, again a couple of whom hadn’t shown up, presumably because their parents wouldn’t let them play football after Saturday night.

“All right,” Mrs. Wine said. “Did any of you actually read the Athletic Code of Conduct?”

A couple hands went up gingerly, but no one actually said anything. “Does anyone want to deny they were at that party Saturday night?” Mrs. Wine asked.

No one spoke up; it was clear that the hammer wasn’t done falling. “Again, according to the information I’ve been given, you each broke rule fourteen B two of the Athletic Code of Conduct. Again, under section fourteen C, you are suspended from the team. That means you may not attend practices for three weeks, nor suit up for a game until three games have been played. If you want to rejoin the team, and are willing to follow the rules, you’re welcome to do it. However, that doesn’t mean you will automatically get your old positions back. You’ll have to compete with those who will then hold those positions. The coaches will be making the decisions as to who will be playing, not me. Now since you have no business being here right now, you can leave, too.”

“Holy shit!” Dollarhyde exclaimed. “That all but cleans out the varsity!”

Howie looked around. The bleachers seemed a lot emptier now – and most of those left were junior varsity players. “No shit, Sherlock,” he said. “Now what happens?”

“All right,” Mrs. Wine said. “I’ve got a third list of players I want down here. It’s not a long list. Mike Kovacs. Steve Sarmeinto. Darrell Stersec. Jimmy Gogolen, and Chad Kimble. Come on down, guys,” she said in a lighter tone. “We need to talk.”

Given the mass forced exits of a few minutes before, none of the five – three seniors and two juniors – seemed very happy to be coming down the mostly empty bleachers, but they formed a line in front of Mrs. Wine. “As far as I can find out, you guys did nothing wrong, and you’re not the kind of guys who get into much trouble, anyway. Now, I’ll point out to the rest of you that the five guys you see standing here are what’s left of the varsity team. They did the right thing, and they shouldn’t have to pay for other people screwing up.

“Now, if you can count, you can see that we’ve got a problem here. These five guys are going to have a tough time playing against the Coldwater Icebergs at the season opener in three weeks. In fact, I’d have to say that there’s no way they can do it. That means that something has to be done. The first thing I could do is to cancel those first three varsity games and hope that there will be enough people from the second group coming back to at least field a varsity team. I don’t think that’s a very good option, and I’ll bet everyone else here agrees with me.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and Mrs. Wine went on. “I could just cancel the whole varsity season, which would be the wise thing to do, and let the junior varsity get a little more experience under the new coaches. But I don’t think that would be very fair to these five guys who followed the rules, rather than following the crowd. They can’t be moved back to JVs, so that would mean they’re treated just as badly as the people who screwed up. I don’t want that to happen and I don’t think you want it to happen, either.”

Again, there were considerable sounds of unhappiness coming from the stands. “That leaves one final thing I can do, and that’s cancel the JV season, and make all of you the varsity. I’m not going to kid you, it’s going to be tough on you guys, especially the freshmen. But I think you can learn a lot and have some success at it. Maybe not a huge success, but you can learn what you’re going to be facing on varsity the next couple years. But if you give everything you can and work your hardest, miracles can happen.

“Ten years ago, one of those miracles happened right in this gym. When I first started coaching basketball, the only girls I had come out for the varsity team were five freshmen and two sophomores. You may have heard of the Magnificent Seven. They were in pretty much the same boat you’re in right now. They knew they were in a tough spot, but they gave me everything they had and did everything I asked of them, clear up to the state semifinals. It’s been done once, and it can be done again. I’m not saying it will happen again, but I am saying I know it can because it has happened, right here in Spearfish Lake. Now, I’m asking for a show of hands. Shall I cancel the JV season so you kids can give a hundred and twenty percent as the Marlin Varsity?”

It was an impassioned speech by a coach who knew how to motivate kids, and Brandy was not surprised to see every hand in the air, along with a bunch of cheering.

“All right, so be it,” she said when the noise died down. “A couple more things. I have to say to the freshmen here that many of you, maybe most of you, will have to go back to JVs next year. That’s not all bad. You’ll have the possibility of three years on varsity, and going back to JVs will give you a chance to show the kids coming behind how it’s really supposed to be done. I think it’s a fair trade. Do you freshmen agree with me?”

Again there were hands in the air, and cheers.

“One final thing before I give you to your coaches,” she said. “Once upon a time there was honor and respect in being a Spearfish Lake Marlin football player. That honor and respect was earned on the field, not just because someone happened to be on the team. That honor and respect and trust led to a lot of winning. Coach Evachevski can tell you of those times. He was there in those days, just like I was. Somehow along the way we lost that honor and respect. The incident on Saturday night wasn’t the first time something like that happened, but it had better be the last. I’m now going to give you the toughest job of all. I’ve done what I can, but it’s going to be up to you to restore the honor to Spearfish Lake football. So I’m asking you – no, begging you – not as a teacher, not as the principal or athletic director, not as a coach, but as someone who was once proud to wear the uniform and be an athlete for the Spearfish Lake Marlins, restore the honor!”

There may not have been a lot of football players present – barely more than half the number that had filed in half hour before – but they still did a pretty good job of trying to take the roof off the gym. Brandy handed the microphone to Coach Kulwicki, and walked over to one of the doors where some cooler air was blowing. It was his job, now.

“All right, Marlin Varsity!” his bull voice sounded. “Off to the locker room. Coach Mykelhoff will be issuing gear, and I’ll be there because I want a word with every one of you.”

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