“Only for you primadonna QBs who don’t use your precious hands for anything other than throwing the pigskin.” Grant cracked his knuckles. “Some of us are used to using our hands to bring you pretty boys down.”
Blake rolled his eyes. The non-QBs in the group always said the QBs weren’t as tough as they were. Well, they’d see about that once the Smuck competition rolled around.
“To practice flag pulling, you can have someone play with you or you can even pull it from something stationary,” he said, continuing.
“Or put it on your dog,” Hunter commented. “Zack’s St. Bernard would be perfect.”
“Like hell. I’ll be playing with my girlfriend,” Zack said.
“Is that what you call her?” Hunter shot back.
“Guys.”
That shut them up again, but they didn’t look the least bit sheepish. Not that he’d expected them to. “I also don’t want any swearing. Coach Garretty taught all of us you don’t need to use bad language with kids to be effective.”
Everyone nodded. Coach had the oratory skills of a fire-and-brimstone preacher. His pulpit was one hundred yards of green grass. Coach could chew your butt like none other.
“While I respect Coach, some of his other tactics may not be right for my camp.” My, he liked the sound of that. His camp.
“Adam taught me there’s a fine line between encouraging someone with intellectual disabilities and letting them motivate themselves to greatness. I don’t want anyone pushing too hard or singling a kid out. This first camp is going to involve a lot of firsts for us. I’d rather err on the side of encouragement this time.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Sam said, and the others nodded their agreement.
“But don’t pity them or mollycoddle them either. Adam always hated that.” He handed out two manuals to everyone. “What you have before you are the coach's flag football manual for kids with intellectual abilities and the official rule book. Read them. Study them. Brody.”
“Hey, just because I barely made it through school doesn’t mean I don’t read,” he protested.
“Man, you never read the game plan when we were at camp,” Zack said, giving him a look. “I had to cover your ass with Coach Garretty more times than I can count.”
“I’m a professional athlete now, and I do my homework. Blake.”
“Just saying.” He held up his hands. “That’s a pretty good overview for now. I’m working on a solid meal plan with a nutritionist who specializes in food for athletes with intellectual disabilities."
“It had better involve some junk food, Blake,” Logan said. “That was the best part of camp. Chewing potato chips and shooting the breeze.”
He’d forgotten about that. Yeah, junk food had been an important part of bonding. “I’ll keep that in mind. I also will have some medical volunteers on hand. We’ll have some training on special medical issues to be aware of the day before camp starts. All the kids will have had physicals clearing them to play, but muscular, breathing, and cardiac issues can appear out of the blue.”
That’s always the way it had happened with Adam. He’d be fine one day, and the next…
“We’ll be vigilant, Blake,” Sam said, knowing better than anyone the ups and downs they’d experienced with Adam’s health.
“Thanks. Okay. Any questions?”
He answered a few questions, which included a liberal amount of playful banter. Finally Jordan stood and put his hands on his hips.
“Who’s ready for the Smuck competition?” he boomed out in his best TV announcer’s voice. “I think our surprise guest is waiting outside.”
Blake groaned out loud. God only knew what his buddy had in mind for the competition. Some of the guys followed Jordan out. Sitting down in the chair Logan had vacated, Blake kicked out his feet.
“Twenty bucks he rented some clowns,” Sam said.
“Perish the thought!” Blake exclaimed. “What does he expect us to do? Juggle?”
The guys were hooting in the hallway. Then Grant let out a high-pitched girl scream.
“It’s not clowns,” Sam said.
The guys danced into the room, wiggling like nervous dipshits. After a few seconds, Jordan strutted after them, a boa constrictor wrapped around his waist.
Blake’s whole body shivered. Shit. He hated snakes, and Jordan damn well knew it. Their eyes locked, and he saw the same fierce competitiveness he was used to seeing in the mirror before a game gazing back at him. Jordan wanted him to go down and bad.
“Okay, who’s going to be the biggest Smuck this time?” Jordan asked as the snake’s— What in the hell should he call the fifty-year-old woman in the khaki uniform who had followed Jordan into the room and was standing in a military stance beside him? Its babysitter?
“Guys, this is Zeus. He’s a thirteen-foot boa constrictor from Brazil.” Jordan grabbed the back of the snake’s head like he was shaking it in greeting.
Blake could only stare in horror as the army-green body colored with brown and cream spots clenched and rippled around Jordan’s waist.