Leaving

Ten


CODY WASN’T SURE HOW MUCH MORE OF COACH OLIVER HE could take. He had tried working with him every day this spring, but it was the last Monday before April and Cody wondered if his presence wasn’t doing more harm than good with the football team. He slipped the navy Lyle sweat jacket over his T-shirt and stepped into the silky sweats. A donor with the booster club had sprung for new warm-ups for the team.

But that was the only sign of anything new Cody had seen since he started.

The locker room was empty except for DeMetri Smith. The kid had been hanging back, and Cody had a feeling he wanted to sneak in a quick conversation before training got underway. When his last teammate had left the building, DeMetri walked up, his steps hesitant. “Coach?”

“Yeah, buddy.” Cody took the baseball cap from his locker and positioned it on his head as he turned to the player. “Everything okay?”

DeMetri hung his head and for a long time he didn’t say anything. When he looked up, Cody saw more anger in the kid’s eyes than he had ever seen before. “I’m tired of Coach Oliver.” He clenched his jaw and gave a firm shake of his head. “We all are.” His hands were clenched, and he tossed them, frustrated. “Can’t you see it? We ain’t never gonna be nothing with him in charge.”

The right thing was to take Dennis Oliver’s side, defend him, and stay united as a coaching staff. But Cody felt exactly the same way. He folded his arms in front of him and waited until he had the right words. “You still praying for this team, Smitty?”

DeMetri exhaled hard through his nose. “Yes, sir. Not sure what good it’s doing.”

“Well,” he patted the player on the back. “I’ve never seen a time when praying to God didn’t work one way or another. God’s in this situation — same as He is whenever His people are involved.” Cody led the way out to the practice field and DeMetri fell in beside him. “Now we only have to wait and see what God’s going to do.” They stopped at the door of the locker room. “You understand, Smitty?”

“Yes, sir.” The kid didn’t look any more convinced than before. As he jogged out to the field, his shoulders were more slumped than usual. But what Cody had said was true. God was in this. He knew because DeMetri wasn’t the only one from the Lyle football team praying for a breakthrough. Cody was praying too.

He checked his clipboard, reviewing in a hurry the drills for the day. It was still spring ball — only ninety minutes of training and conditioning. The real work didn’t begin until mid-summer. But by then if players weren’t in shape, they never would be. So every day they spent on the field now would result in wins and losses come fall. Cody knew that much from experience.

“Coleman! What are you doing?” Coach Oliver’s face was purple. He waved his hand wildly at Cody. “Get out here! What sort of example is that if my coaches can’t be on time!”

The man was always angry—worse than before. Cody jogged out to the field and thought about DeMetri’s concerns. He could hardly tell the kid he was thinking about leaving himself. As long as he stayed, he had to believe a few of the guys were remaining in the program only because of him, and right now he wasn’t sure he’d recommend that for anyone. Least of all kids like DeMetri, who cared so deeply.

Cody pulled up beside the coach. “Sorry. I had a few students stay late. This was the soonest I could get here.”

“No excuses, Coleman.” He snarled every word. Something about the man looked different, like maybe he was more pale than usual. His eyes were a little off too. “I won’t tolerate that from my players, and I certainly won’t tolerate it from you.”

“Yes, sir.” Cody wouldn’t have responded any other way. He had been raised to be polite — by the Flanigan family and then by his sergeants in the Army. But Coach Oliver always pushed too far, too hard. He ordered the guys to get in a line. “We’re doing forties till someone throws up,” he shouted. He lifted his whistle to his lips and blew. “Go!”

The team took off as fast as they could toward the forty-yard line. They no sooner stopped and regrouped than Oliver was blowing his whistle again. The man seemed a little more slumped over than usual, but it didn’t change his approach with the kids. “Go!”

Cody shifted in the damp grass beside the man. “Coach—”

“Not now!” He waited barely a few seconds this time after most of the guys reached the goal line. “Again!”

Cody felt sick. “Coach, about this … running till someone throws up.” He struggled for a few seconds. He was begging for another diatribe from the man, but he didn’t care. Someone had to stand up for the players. “They can maybe do this six, seven times, but then they need a real break. These are sprints, sir, not jogs. No one can sustain that sort of—”

“Stop!” He seethed the word straight at Cody, inches from his face. “If I want your opinion on how to run this practice, I’ll ask you.” He hunched over a little more, and for a brief moment he clutched his stomach. Under his breath he rattled off a string of cuss words. “You might have to finish this practice.” He snarled at himself. “Dratted stomach.”

Whatever was wrong with the man, Cody could only hope it would take him off the field. He waved off the players and motioned for them to come closer. “Hurry up! You look like a bunch of third-grade girls. Not a man among you, and I mean that. You’re worthless. Worse than that.” He stopped to grab a quick breath. Whatever was wrong with his stomach it was getting worse. He looked like he wouldn’t make it another five minutes without needing a restroom.

Cody stared at the muddy grass, helpless to save the kids. When he glanced up, he took in the looks on the faces of the players. They were losers in record and losers on the field. If Coach Oliver had his way, they would be losers in life. Because every word he said was like a dagger to the confidence of the young men standing before them. Kids who had grown up in a small town, guys who weren’t sure how they were supposed to compete in the business world or how to make a living or raise a family. Whatever hope they might’ve brought to the experience of Lyle football, whatever confidence, Oliver wouldn’t be content until it was dead and buried.

“No one has to ask what sort of football players you are,” he snarled at them. “The kind that make a coach wanna quit, that’s what kind. You’re losers!” He panted harder than before. “If you don’t start putting a little effort into every run, every drill … then you’re going to stay losers.” He was shouting now. “Do you hear me?”

The guys clustered together, and collectively they appeared a foot shorter than when practice began. DeMetri met Cody’s eyes, but then he looked away. Cody felt terrible. He had just told him that God was in this, that something was going to happen to show an answer to the kid’s prayers. But here they were, Coach Oliver decimating them once again.

Before Cody could utter a silent, desperate prayer for help, Coach Oliver clutched his stomach once more. Whatever was hurting him, he hated himself for the weakness. But the situation was too much even for a surly old man like Coach Oliver. He paused, struggling to stand straight. “Coach Coleman is going to finish up.” He glared at Cody. “Make good use of your time, Coach. Opening day is right around the corner.”

More like six months from now, but Cody didn’t dare say so. He was grateful just to see the man leave. In the weeks since Cody started teaching and coaching at Lyle, he’d never seen Coach Oliver leave a practice. For sure the man must’ve been very sick. Probably the flu, which would account for his purple complexion. The man probably had a fever, but even still he was out here barking at his players.

All twenty-nine young men who had come out for spring training watched along with Cody as Coach Oliver hobbled off the field and to the locker room. Cody could almost feel the sense of relief that went up among the guys as the door shut behind the man. Cody felt a sudden sense of relief. This was what he’d been praying for, right? Not that Coach Oliver would get sick, but that he would leave or take a day off. Anything so that Cody could have time with the players, time to let them know that he was very different from the coach they were used to.

Cody turned to the guys and studied them. Some gave off a look of angry indifference, and others of them looked frustrated. Most were discouraged … even defeated. DeMetri was among those. Cody drew a long breath. “Which of you would like to pray for Coach Oliver?” On a number of occasions Cody had been told that prayer was allowed at Lyle. No form of government could stop the local school from doing what they had always done. In this case, he had very little to lose by praying publicly. And since he couldn’t say anything nice about the coach, this was the only transition he knew.

At first, none of the guys stepped forward. But then — as though there was a mountain on his shoulders — DeMetri raised his hand. “I’ll pray.” Some of the guys looked at him almost with disgust, like he was a traitor for lifting to their holy God a man like Dennis Oliver. But DeMetri seemed to draw his strength from Cody, from the peace and strength Cody hoped he exuded. None of the guys wore helmets or hats, so there was nothing for DeMetri to do but hang his head. “Dear God, we ask … that you be with Coach Oliver. Whatever’s going on with him, we ask that you make things right. In Christ’s name, amen.”

A few of the guys added their voices to the amen, and then they were silent again, sizing up Cody, wondering if he was going to snap at them the same way Coach Oliver had. Cody looked at his stopwatch. “I’d say we’ve done enough sprints.” He set his clipboard down. Today’s drills were going to be his alone. “Let’s pair up.”

For the next hour the guys went through a series of warmups and strength-training exercises, all in pairs and small groups. The drills were intended to build unity and fun among the players. By the end of the practice the guys looked like a different team. They stood straight, and the weariness in their expressions had been replaced by laughter and an easiness Cody hadn’t seen in them before. And something else — with each successive drill their effort increased until he barely recognized them. These were players he could work with, guys who could win games.

Cody studied them. He couldn’t say they looked exactly confident, but then … that would take time.

“Okay, men,” Cody looked each of them in the eyes. “Good work today. You should be proud of yourselves.” He motioned to them to come closer. “Let’s huddle up.”

There was a chant Jim Flanigan liked to use with his kids when they worked out as a family in the backyard. Jim would bring the guys in close, have them put their fists high in the center, and then he’d shout out, “Whose way?”

And in response the Flanigan boys would yell back, “His way.”

“Whose way?”

“His way!”

Again, it wasn’t something often heard in public schools, but Lyle was different. Cody figured the kids needed it so badly he had no choice. It was time for drastic measures. Besides, the community was deeply faithful, and pretty much everyone at the school believed in Jesus. Cody had learned that working in the classroom, and now he could see it was true with the players, too. He saw it in the way they prayed together earlier, the way they respected Cody for asking them to pray.

Now, as the guys gathered close, Cody put his arms around the shoulders of the guys nearest him — one of whom was DeMetri Smith. “Huddle up … that’s right, come on.” In all the days he’d been working with Coach Oliver for these spring sessions, he’d never once seen the man lead them in a group huddle like this. How could he possibly expect to have a winning team when the guys didn’t have even a hint of team unity? Cody gritted his teeth. He’d change that. If nothing else came from his time in charge today, it would be that much. They would be a team, and they would be God’s team.

When they were as close as they could get, when the entire group formed a single nucleus, Cody let the passion ring in his voice. “Okay, listen up.” He didn’t have to ask twice. The guys had clearly never been through a practice like this. Not in two years anyway. “Whatever happens with Coach Oliver, whatever he might tell you from this day forward, we’re a team. You are all very capable, very strong young men, and you have it in you to be winners. You know why?” His voice rang with a sincerity that reminded him of Jim Flanigan, the way Jim would talk to him when he needed to be convinced of his worth. “You’re winners not because of your record, but because of whose you are. You are God’s men, and because of that this year will be different. I promise you that.”

“Amen.” DeMetri’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was a start, a show of enthusiasm. A few other players added their voices to the mix, and then the guys quieted, allowing Cody to continue.

“Let’s do this, let’s dedicate this season to God — no matter what happens after today.” He could only imagine the way he might be fired for doing this somewhere else. But not here. Not with the heritage of Lyle, Indiana. “Father, God, we come to you broken. Shaken from the past in a lot of ways. But we come to you, Lord … we dedicate this coming season to you.” Something in his tone was more on fire, more filled with energy for Christ than Cody had ever been before. “Every young man here is a winner, Father, they are winners because they are yours. And so we ask that you would bring about a miracle for the Lyle football team. Show us that you are here among us, Father, and make these boys believe they are winners. And God, please … let them know … I couldn’t be more proud of them. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

This time the team let up a loud amen, almost in unison. The improvement in morale was so great Cody felt chills along his arms, and he wondered if he was the only one. “Okay, bring it in.” He raised his fist to the center of the huddle and the guys did the same thing. This was something that didn’t have to be taught, even if Coach Oliver had never led the guys in a display of team bonding like this. It was time for the chant. “I’ll ask you a question — ‘Whose way?’ and you … you all will respond, ‘His way!’” He drew a quick breath. “Whose way?”

“His way!” Only DeMetri’s voice rose above the others.

“Again, men. Louder.” Cody paused. “Whose way?”

“His way!” A few more guys joined in.

“Whose way?” Cody raised his voice — not in anger like Coach Oliver, but with an intensity that showed how much he believed in them.

“His way!” This time most of the guys responded.

Their fists were still in the air, but it was time to wrap it up. Cody finished with something he hoped would become a tradition. “One-two-three … Believe!” He hadn’t told the guys about that part, so none of them said it with him. But that would change.

Cody believed that with everything in him.

He dismissed the guys ten minutes earlier than Coach Oliver ever had, and he noticed something that had never marked the moments after a practice. As the guys walked off to the locker room they were talking, pairing up in groups of twos and threes and fours, and patting each other on the backs. They feel good about themselves, God … but what about tomorrow? He remembered that he’d prayed for a miracle. Trust You, right God? That’s what You want me to do?

Don’t worry about tomorrow, my son … every day has enough trouble of its own.

That’s for sure. Cody smiled as he removed his hat and wiped his brow. The response was more of a reminder, the Bible verse Cody had written in his school planner this week. It was from Matthew 6:34 and he’d needed it a number of times already. Don’t worry about tomorrow — tomorrow would worry about itself.

He was gathering his gear bag when he spotted something in the parking lot, a flash of yellow that caught his attention. As he turned, he felt his knees grow weak. Leaning against the fence and looking stunning was Cheyenne, her yellow Volkswagen bug parked a few feet away. She was smiling at him, he could tell that much from where he stood fifty yards away. Then, very slowly, she started clapping. And he could only surmise one very certain thing.

In his coaching career at Lyle High School, he had won his first fan.