Gladiators of the Gridiron

An hour into the tryouts and I was wishing there were some clouds in the sky to shield me against the heat of the sun blasting down upon the field.

I was drenched in sweat as we took a break for drinks. Everyone was in a similar situation to me—panting heavily between mouthfuls of water and covered in sweat.

We’d only been doing physical exercises and workouts, mainly a lot of running to start, from things as simple as up and back, to ladder drills, sprinting up the stairs of the bleachers, and even weighted sprints having to do a tug-of-war with the coaches.

It was hellacious and they certainly drove us all hard, but at least it was only about physical prowess for now, I could handle that.

Though I was still dreading actually getting to any of the football skills, and even after puking earlier that nauseous feeling didn’t exactly disappear.

It was only a matter of time before we split off into our position groups and began to have our skills tested, and after our break, the real trials started.

‘Alright, we all warmed up now then? That’s good! Don’t think it’s going to get any easier from here on out. Anybody can run and, anybody can lift some weights, but now we’re getting to the shit only a real footballer can do. This is where we’ll separate the athletes from the players,’ Coach said.

Throughout the first hour of tryouts, I learnt his name was Coach Otsen. I had also learnt that Coach Otsen was practically a drill sergeant when it came to training us.

He was strict and wasn’t afraid to get in your face to push you harder if he thought you weren’t giving it your all. I’d seen a handful of other students receive this sort of treatment from him.

And he had a look to match this intense, aggressive nature too. His face was always marred by a deep scowl. His small, angry eyes were set deeply within his bald head, his forehead home to many prominent wrinkles.

He was a mountain of a man as well, stood tall and strong, with a wide and solid base, unwavering both physically and ideologically.

Coach Otsen’s whistle cut through the air—and my thoughts—as furious and noisy as a steam train.

‘Offence over with Coach Knight, Defence with Coach Temple! Quick to it, we don’t have all day!’

I hurried over to the spot on the field where Coach Knight stood waiting. Coach Knight, who was the team’s OC, was an equally as imposing man as Coach Otsen when it came to looks.

Coach Knight was tall but round, he could’ve been a strongman in his younger days. He didn’t have a single hair on top of his head either, but his face was almost fully covered in thick, bushy, greying hair.

But the differences in attitude and personality couldn’t have been more obvious. Coach Knight was a quiet man of few words. And he took a much more gentle approach to encouragement.

Flanking Coach Knight were the Receiving and OL positional coaches, Coach Vasquez and Diaz respectively. These younger coaches looked more approachable than their older counterparts.

‘Split off into your position groups, and we’ll get your drills underway,’ Coach Knight said. You really had to strain your ears to hear him in the middle of that crowded field.

Coach Vasquez split away from the others and beckoned over the WRs and TEs to him. Coach Diaz did the same on the opposite side for the OL, and Coach Knight found a place for the QBs and RBs (Running Backs).

I, of course, hesitantly made my way over to Coach Vasquez and looked around at all the others who had joined me.

I couldn’t sense any nervousness in the air surrounding the others. Most were still focusing on catching their breath, while others just looked happy to not be directly answering to Coach Otsen for a change.

‘Alright! C’mon guys, I like what you’ve been doing so far, but we need more energy and I need you to give me MAXIMUM EFFORT!’

Coach Vasquez was the shortest of the coaches, he also looked the youngest. He was certainly energetic too. His big, wide eyes looked like they’d pop out of his head at any moment. His black hair was gelled into spikes that stayed solid no matter how much he bounced around.

‘Hmm…’ He scanned over the cast of Receivers before him. ‘If you can’t give me MAXIMUM energy. Then I’ll just have to work you to the MAXIMUM!’

His cheeks puffed up before he blew his whistle, it was so shrill and loud it stopped every athlete in their tracks and forced them to cover their ears.

‘On the line,’ Coach Vasquez said with a glint in his eye.

He had us all run until we couldn’t run anymore, then even more. No one even thought about looking to Coach Otsen for help. Coach Knight wasn’t much help either. He met every begging look with a stern face. The type of face that said, ‘If you stop running, you can go home and never come back.’

Only after we’d all been driven past the point of exhaustion did Coach Vasquez start running us through our actual drills and tests.

Which meant even more running as he gave us all various routes to run. He tested our reactions and catching at the same time by having us stand with our back to the ball and only letting us turn around when it was already flying towards us.

He recorded our “MAXIMUM” verticle jump. Next, it was how well we could catch through contact as he whacked us on the back or stomach with a big foam arm.

He tested our footwork and ability to keep inbounds on sideline catches. He had us run more, getting us up to “MAXIMUM” speed before he’d randomly tell us to “MAXIMUM” break and see how fast we could stop on the spot.

By the time he was done with the tests and drills, there had been multiple people who had run so hard they had to move away to the side to puke up their guts.

I luckily wasn’t one that ended up throwing up. I doubt there would’ve been anything in my stomach to throw up anyway.

My legs felt like they were made out of lead by the time we were done. Physically I had still given it my all and worked until I could barely move a muscle.

Coach Knight had proved a valuable helper at getting people through the challenges. Every time someone finished up their attempt at a drill, they’d look over at him as he watched silently.

Whether his stoic face was an image of unabashed praise or the dreaded, heartbroken look of disappointment. His reaction and appraisal of us would always give us another burst of energy, no matter if we were fuelled by the desire to continue making him proud or to stop letting him down.

Physically, I had been able to keep up. But mentally, I still wasn’t all there. My hands were harder than they should’ve been. I’d dropped passes I should’ve been able to catch. My footwork was sloppy and slow, like it was my first time trying to use my feet.

Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing. Maybe I should’ve focused on Track.

‘Okay! I can see you’re all MAXIMUM exhausted. But that’s perfect! Congratulations everyone, we’re done for today. Give yourself a pat on the back and MAXIMUM applause,’ Coach Vasquez said.

The coaches were the only ones with enough energy to clap still.

‘Good work today. Get a drink, then go see coach Otsen,’ Coach Knight said.

I dragged myself over to my water bottle, draining it all, my drinking only stopped momentarily so I could suck in air between gulps.

As I drank I made my way back over in front of Coach Otsen. The glare of his bald head made it hard to look at him.

‘Great work everyone. No matter what end result you’re left with today, you should be proud of the effort you gave today,’ Coach Otsen said.

‘Now. You can almost go home, don’t worry. We’ve just got the announcement of the teams to get through. If I call your name right now. Go stand over by Coach Knight.’

After he pointed out the bushy-faced Coach Knight, Coach Otsen began listing off names.

‘... Jordan, Brown, Allen, Woods …’ I got up and made my way over to Coach Knight, eyes still focused on Coach Otsen as I listened to him finish off his list.

‘... Alright, if I called your name just then. Congratulations. You’ve made the JV team. I look forward to coaching you all this year,’ He said and then continued to another list of names.

JV?... I felt hollow inside after that. I was crushed. It had been my dream to make it onto varsity. I looked to my family, and they shared my disappointment.

But, shamefully… another part of me was crushed because it had wanted me to be cut from both teams altogether.