Jack sat at his locker. He’d arrived early, again. He worked his feet into his cleats.
Spring practice was ancient history, as far as he was concerned. Yes, Gordon had looked good. But Jack had loosened up. He’d responded to coaching. He’d proven he belonged in the starting lineup.
He’d paid his dues. He was the safer choice than someone who was new and unproven.
Football coaches are careful. Football coaches are loyal. Football coaches respect the pecking order.
As Jack pulled his laces, Larry Connors walked through the locker room. He was whistling.
“Don’t you just love the first day of fall practice, Jack?”
Jack looked up through hair he knew he’d soon wish he’d gotten cut, or at least trimmed.
“Love is a strong word for practice,” he said.
Connors stopped and threw his hands against his hips. “I love it,” he said. “Everything about it.”
Jack sat up. “I could do without the heat.”
“The heat’s the best part. Gets you in shape.”
Jack stood. “I keep myself in shape all year.”
Connors raised an index finger. “Practicing in the heat will get you in football shape.”
“Well,” Jack said, “you’re not the one who has to put his hands under a sweaty butt to get the ball.”
“A little swamp ass never hurt nobody.”
Jack turned toward his pads. “It never helped anybody, either.”
Connors put his hands back on his hips. He opened his mouth, but then closed it.
“Let’s go to my office,” he said.
“Your office?”
“We can talk in there.”
“We’re talking here.”
Connors craned his neck before turning his head from side to side. “You never know who else may show up early like you.”
He started toward the door. Jack put his shoulder pads on the chair and followed him.
“Is this good or bad?” Jack said.
“Let’s just say it has something to do with swamp ass.”
As Jack walked, he felt like he was about to develop an acute case of it.
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Quarterback of the Future