Juice - Eric Walters [3]
Coach Reeves laughed too. “Sometimes it feels like that long. Twenty-seven years ago, in my first year as coach, our team captured the Division Two championship. I was young and just figured that we’d win every year. Now, twenty-seven years later, it seems fitting that we should win again—in my last year of coaching.”
There was a gasp. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard him say. It couldn’t be right.
“I’ve been thinking about this all year. I didn’t want to say anything until after the game because I didn’t want to have anything interfere with your focus.” He reached up and brushed away some tears. “I qualify for my pension in June. I’ve been coaching, and teaching, for a long time. There’s probably never a good time to say goodbye. I’ve enjoyed every moment of every year, maybe none as much as this year. As most of you graduate this year and move on to college or go out and get a job in the real world, I’ll be moving on too. It’s just that most of my moving will be back and forth as I sit in a rocking chair on my front porch. I think I’ve worked hard enough to deserve a break!”
“Way to go, Coach!” somebody yelled out.
“You’re the best!” somebody else screamed and everybody started cheering.
“Thank you all, so much. I’m hoping that all of you will come by, knock on the door and share a glass of lemonade with me.”
“How about a beer?” somebody called out.
“Do you mean root beer?” Coach asked. Everybody laughed.
“I guess the big question, especially for those who are returning, is, who will coach you next year?”
“Yeah, who?” asked Caleb, one of our receivers, my best friend and one of the eleven of us who were returning the next year. He sounded as anxious as I felt.
“You don’t have to worry about that. I wasn’t leaving you until I found the right replacement. You’ll be guided by Coach Kevin Barnes.”
For some reason that name sounded familiar.
“You mean Coach Barnes from Central?” somebody asked.
Coach Reeves nodded. “Yes. Coach Barnes from Central. The coach who has led his school to four Division One championships in the past five years. You’re trading up to a newer and better version.”
“Maybe newer but couldn’t be better,” Dave, our co-captain, said.
“We’re lucky to have him come to our school,” Coach said. “It’s very rare for a coach, especially one as successful as him, to move to a smaller program. I guess it means that he’s not just a smart coach, but smart enough to realize that he’s moving to the best school in the whole country. He’s lucky to have you kids to coach—the best kids.” He stopped and wiped away some more tears with the back of his hand. I was closer to tears then ever.
“Now I want you all to put away those sad faces. This isn’t a funeral. This is a celebration. A celebration of the best team I ever coached—the champions!”
Everybody started cheering again, but not me. It wasn’t a funeral, but it did feel like I’d lost more than I’d gained.
Chapter Three
I hated hearing my name over the school PA system. I liked to just sit at the back of the class and be left alone. I knew I wasn’t being called for doing anything bad—especially since I was supposed to go to the gym office and not the main office. Still, I liked being in the background more. That was hard these days. Everywhere I went, kids knew who I was. Heck, everywhere I went in town it seemed like everybody knew who I was—I was the Moose. In a town like ours, football was everything. If you were a star, then people knew who you were. And suddenly, being the Moose meant I was a star.
Funny, I’d been called Moose since I was in grade one. Some stupid kid, whose name I didn’t even remember, had said that my hair stuck up like I had antlers. That, combined with the fact that I was the biggest kid in the class—I was always the biggest kid in the class—got me the nickname Moose. For years I hated it because it wasn’t meant as a compliment. It was like being a big, dumb, clumsy moose who tripped over his own feet. Since I’d started playing football, it had become something