Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [48]
Charles shook his hand firmly, appreciating his appearance on this busy Saturday. “Hey, thanks for coming, Greg. Charlie will be so excited when he sees you here.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it. Several of my guys are playing today. Figured I needed to see the game myself to keep ’em honest. When they start bragging about their moves tomorrow in Sunday school—to impress the girls, of course—I’ll know who’s exaggerating just a tad.”
When it was nearly time for the game to begin, Coach Henry stepped to the center of the swirling mass of motion and emotion—the squirming, energetic players. They were like thoroughbred racehorses in the starting gate.
He offered a short pep talk, reminding them of their fundamentals, and then said, “I’m proud of you, each and every one of you.” Barely getting out the word you, he had to take a deep breath to regain his composure. “Whether you win or lose, I want all of you to remember that. It’s been a great year. And it’s been a privilege to be your coach.”
Coach Henry smiled at them, a spark of his competitive nature escaping from his taunting grin. “Now, get out there and let’s show ’em how the game of soccer is played.”
Led by Charlie, the boys shouted their ritual chant. “On three. One, two, three … Flames. Make ’em feel the burn!” And Charlie repeated his ritual tribute—locating his parents in the crowd, waving to them, and finally, positioning into a handstand. Walking on his hands to the center of the field. It never failed to make Fran chuckle and shake her head, Charles to glow with pride, and the entire crowd—Flames fans and opponents—to respond with laughter.
Charlie’s stunt broke the tension somewhat, but the electricity was palpable in the stands and on the field.
The referee placed the ball on the center mark, showing Charlie and the opposing center fielder the coin he would toss into the air. Since it was the Flames’ home field, the Des Moines Comets were allowed to choose heads or tails. The center fielder called out “Heads,” and when the coin landed faceup, the referee pointed to the Comets as winning the toss. Charlie motioned for his teammates to take their positions outside the center circle.
Charlie watched the center midfielder and forward move together and immediately began shouting out instructions, “Trevor, Austin, heads up. They’re coming your way.” In his total concentration and excitement, at first Charlie noticed little discomfort in his leg. Whether that resulted from a conscious putting aside or an actual absence of pain even Charlie didn’t know. But he was able to run, dribble, and steal without the continuous ache he’d had to deal with yesterday.
The only problem was the other players: They were by far the most talented team the Flames had faced. For the first time that season, the Flames began to wonder, Maybe we’re not as good as these guys. Despair and capitulation to that dangerous belief were not far behind.
When Charlie had a breakaway run at a goal—the goalie’s fingertips just brushed the ball, causing it to hit the goalpost—the Flames’ spirits were lifted considerably by the near miss. Charlie built on the excitement from their fans, pumping his fists and yelling out, “We can do this. Next time it’s in!”
But by halftime, the game remained scoreless. And Charlie’s leg had begun to hurt. He didn’t really notice it until they jogged off the field, but the throbbing pain was back with a vengeance. It was all he could do to keep his gait even, knowing that if Coach Henry noticed, he wouldn’t be going in for the second half.
As the Flames huddled up at the sideline,