Page 88 of Worth the Trip

One of his defensive backs immediately tripped over a cone.

Malcolm stared at him.

The boy popped back up. “Coach, the cone moved.”

Malcolm looked at me. “You see what I deal with?”

I nodded solemnly. “Hostile equipment.”

“Exactly.”

The boy pointed at both of us. “Y’all play too much.”

Malcolm blew his whistle. “And you about to play ten yards farther back if you don’t fix that footwork.”

I checked the scoreboard.

Ten forty-seven.

Practice ended at eleven thirty. I had enough time to finish red-zone work, speak with a couple parents, get to my parents’ house, shower, change, and leave for Self Ridge without turning punctuality into an emergency. My overnight bag was already packed. The SUV had a full tank.

The playlist had received more attention than I intended to admit under oath.

My phone vibrated against my pocket.

I ignored it through the next snap, watched Jamari force a pass into coverage, and blew the whistle before Caleb could celebrate an interception that never should’ve been offered.

I walked toward Jamari. “Quarterbacks don’t get to panic because option one disappears. Read what changed. Adjust. Don’t let pressure make the defense start choosing for you.”

Jamari tucked the ball beneath one arm. “I thought I could squeeze it in.”

“You can squeeze orange juice. That throw was irresponsible.”

A few boys snickered.

I pointed toward the sideline. “Everybody entertained can give me five while Jamari runs it again.”

Their amusement died immediately.

Jamari smiled. “Appreciate you, Coach.”

“I’m teaching collective accountability.”

“You’re punishing witnesses.”

“I’m developing community.”

Behind me, Malcolm nodded. “See? Pedagogy.”

I looked at him. “You know what pedagogy means?”

His expression changed.

“Why would you disrespect me like that in front of these children?”

A defensive back folded over, laughing.

Malcolm pointed at him. “Eight push-ups.”