Gang Tackle (7 page)

SACKTHECOACH

Darnell stood beside Jamal and Eli, checking out the players. “That’s the weirdest twelve-letter word I’ve ever seen, bro.”

“What does it spell?” Eli asked, scratching his head. “And how’s it going to get rid of Coach?”

Jamal smiled. He waved his arms like he was conducting an orchestra. “Davey, take a step to your left. Carlos, take a step to your right.” He looked at the line of players again. This time they were in three groups.

SACK THE COACH

Darnell and Eli started to grin. They both fist-bumped Jamal.

“What’s so funny?” Rico asked. He leaned forward from his
S
position at the front of the line and read the words. A big smile spread across his face as well. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“We can’t give away our secret too soon,” Jamal said to the kickoff team still standing in front of him. “We have to wait until Coach Fort is on the field. We have to wait until he’s in front of the
TV
cameras. Then we strike.”

“He’s coming!” Rico was posted at the door as a lookout.

Coach Fort swept into the locker room, his eyes darting left and right. The players with the white tape letters hid behind the players wearing the regular Saints uniforms. Coach didn’t bat an eyelash. “Looks like everyone’s ready to go,” he said, clapping his hands.

Jamal stepped forward. “We’ve got something to say, Coach.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to say anything, do you, Jamal?” Coach’s eyes were on fire. “Unless it’s to thank me for bailing you out of the slammer. Without me, you’d still be in there.” He pointed a stubby finger at the other players. “And don’t think this is going to happen again either. The next time one of you thugs goes to jail, I’m not bringing my lawyer down to the station to get you out.”

“We don’t plan on running into trouble,” Darnell said.

Coach Fort just laughed. “Sooner or later you’ll all be running…from the law.”

“You’re wrong about us, Coach. That’s why we have something to tell you,” Carlos said.

“I haven’t got time to talk now. I’ve got a game to win. We can’t afford any screwups like last time. Speaking of which, where are the two biggest screwups on the team?” Coach Fort waved his arms wildly. “Eli and Malik, get over here!”

“Yeah, Coach,” Eli said. He and Malik stood in front of Coach with their jaws clenched.

“You guys are going to start on offense when we get the ball. But one mistake and you’re on the bench. Got it?”

“Are you sure we should be starting?” Malik asked.

Coach Fort put his hands on his hips. “Are you questioning my decision?”

“Yeah, we are,” Eli said. He was tired of being threatened by Coach. “Darnell is twice the quarterback I am.”

“And Jamal can outcatch me any time,” Malik said. “They should be starting on offence, not us.”

Coach’s head bulged. Veins popped out of his neck. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Anybody else have something to say? Anybody else want to tell me how to run the team?
My
team?”

Jamal stepped forward. “That’s just it, Coach. It’s not
your
team—it’s
our
team.”

“Oh, is it?” Coach Fort asked. “Is it your twenty thousand dollars?”

“No,” Jamal said, shaking his head.

“Is the equipment yours?”

“No.”

“How about the uniforms?”

“I guess not.”

“I didn’t think so.” Coach Fort pointed his thumb back at himself. “Without me, you wouldn’t have a team. You wouldn’t have a reason for going to this crappy school. And you wouldn’t have a future. The only place you’d be going is off to join a gang. Or back to jail. So you’ll do what I tell you to do. What have you got to say to that?”

Jamal stood nose to nose with Coach Fort. He glared right back at him. He wasn’t afraid of his power any longer. “I’d say we don’t want you to be Coach anymore.”

“Weren’t you listening to me?” asked Coach Fort, cupping his ear with his hand. “I own you. Now get out on that field right now before I kick you off the team.”

Jamal gave a thin smile and nodded. “Okay, Coach, but don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

The Rexdale Rams were already on the field. Their red-and-black uniforms were
spread across the turf as the team warmed up. Jamal led the Saints blue-and-gold onto the gridiron to join them.

He scanned the field, searching for something as he ran. His secret weapon. He moved past the stands, where Coach Kemp sat watching the game like he always did. Jamal didn’t see it. He smiled at the Saints cheerleaders dancing on the sideline. He didn’t spot it there either. Finally, he approached the Southside bench and saw what he was looking for—the
TV
crew from
The Sports Channel
. The reporter and cameraman were setting up right beside the Saints bench.

Perfect.
He smiled to himself. It was go time.

The referee blew his whistle for the players to line up for the opening kickoff.

“Kick it deep!” Coach Fort shouted from the sideline in front of the Saints bench.

Jamal nodded at the twelve members of the kickoff team. Rico, Carlos, Malik and the other nine players ran onto the field. They lined up in the same order Jamal had assigned in the locker room.

“Hey, Coach,” the reporter said, pointing across the field. “What’s with the letters on the uniforms?”

“What are you talking about?” Coach Fort asked. He blocked out the sun with his hand and stared at the players.

“Looks like your team has a message,” the reporter said. He turned to his cameraman. “Make sure we get a closeup of what it spells.”

“It doesn’t spell anything,” Coach Fort said, looking at the players still packed tightly together. “It’s just a bunch of letters.”

“Spread out!” Jamal cried.

On his command the twelve players broke into three words—the three words that Jamal hoped Coach Fort would never forget.

SACK THE COACH

“What the hell’s going on?” Coach Fort yelled, throwing up his hands.

“Just a wild guess,” the reporter said, “but I think your players want you fired. Looks like Coach Roland isn’t a saint after all.”

“Jamal!” Coach Fort screamed. “Are you behind this?”

“I warned you, Coach.”

“Without me, the Saints would be nothing!” Coach Fort spat out the words.

“You’ve got it backward, Coach. Without the Saints, you’d be nothing.”

“Turn off the camera!” Coach shouted at the reporter. He raced over and tried to cover the camera lens with his hand.

The cameraman dodged the coach and kept the camera rolling. The reporter launched into a series of rapid-fire questions, each one making Coach Fort more and more steamed.

“Get off the field!” he shouted, his arms spinning like a windmill.

“Not going to happen,” Jamal said. “The players are staying in position until everybody sees our message. Until everyone knows we want you gone.”

The cameraman moved right in front of Coach and zoomed in for a closeup.

“Get out of my face!” Coach shouted, pushing the camera out of the way.

“There’s only one way to make it stop,” Jamal said.

“What do I have to do?”

“Quit.”

Coach Fort looked like he was going to explode. He grabbed both sides of his head. “All right, I quit. But don’t think for a second that you’ve won. You may have started this war, but I’m going to finish it. Finish all of you.”

Coach Fort turned and stormed off the field, his suit jacket flapping in the breeze.

The camera zeroed in on Coach as he lumbered away, then panned back to Jamal.

“We did it!” he called across the field to the players.

The Saints kickoff squad ran cheering to the sideline even before they had kicked the ball.

The Rams stood and watched. They looked confused. So did the referee. So did the crowd. No one could figure out why Southside was celebrating. The Saints were cheering like they had already won the game.

“See ya later, Coach!” Rico shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

Carlos let out a whoop. “I knew we could do it!”

“Sweet!” Malik yelled.

Jamal made a
T
with his hands. “Time-out!” he called to the referee.

“You have sixty seconds before the game starts again,” the ref said. “And remember you still have to kick off.”

“It’s great we got rid of Coach Fort,” Darnell said. “But now we’ve got another problem. We need another coach.”

“And we need him now,” Rico said.

“What’s your plan for that?” Eli asked.

Jamal smiled. “Plan C coming up.” He raced over to the stands. “Coach Kemp, welcome back.”

Jamal was surrounded. The opening school bell was about to ring and half the team was still huddled around his locker.

“What a game, man!” Rico said.

“I still can’t believe we won.” Malik couldn’t wipe the giant grin off his face.

“It doesn’t get any closer than twenty-one to twenty,” Davey said.

Rico held up a single finger. “One point is all it takes.”

Eli turned to the winning quarterback. “That was an awesome pass, Big D.”

Darnell grinned and waved him off. “It was nothing, bro. I was just doing what I do. You know, making perfect throws with just seconds to play against the best team in the league.”

“It’s a good thing you were playing
QB
and not me.”

“Yeah, we can thank Coach Kemp for that,” Darnell said. “It sure is good having him back.”

“Anybody forgetting something?” Jamal asked.

“Like what?” Rico joked. “The guy they featured on
The Sports Channel
last night? The guy they showed beating his coverage and blazing into the end zone to make a diving catch with just one hand?”

“Yeah, that guy,” Jamal said. “It was a pretty awesome catch if I do say so myself.” He pounded fists with Darnell to thank him for the sweet pass.

“It wasn’t quite as awesome as the
video they showed before your catch,” Eli said.

“You mean Coach Fort going crazy on the sideline when he figured out our secret message?” Malik asked.

“I thought he was going to have a heart attack right on camera.” Darnell pretended to be in pain, grabbing his chest with one hand.

“He sure got out of there in a hurry,” Eli said.

Malik laughed. “I didn’t know he could run that fast.”

“Waddle is more like it,” Rico kidded.

Suddenly the speakers in the hall crackled with a school announcement. “Would Jamal Wilson please report to the principal’s office.”

“What’s going on?” Darnell asked. “You haven’t been hanging with the Southside gang again, have you?”

“No way.” Jamal shook his head. “I learned my lesson.”

“Then what is it?”

“Beats me.” He shrugged.

Carlos came flying out of an empty classroom. His eyes were wide. “I bet it has something to do with what I just saw. Look what’s in front of the school.”

Carlos led Jamal, Darnell and his teammates to the window in the classroom. Parked outside was a truck with two words on its side that they had hoped to never see again.
Fort Sports
.

Jamal watched three men with orange fort logos on their jackets carry large duffel bags to the back of the truck.
This can’t be good
. Jamal turned and headed to Principal Campbell’s office.

“Have a seat, Jamal,” Principal Campbell said. She was sitting behind her big oak desk. Coach Kemp sat in one of two chairs in front of her.

Jamal stood in the doorway. His brow was wrinkled with worry.

“You can relax,” the principal said, motioning him in. “You’re not in trouble. In fact, I’d like to thank you for getting rid of Coach Fort. Taping a message on your uniforms was very clever.”

“But we do have a problem,” Coach Kemp said.

Jamal nodded.

“Mr. Fort called me this morning,” Principal Campbell said. “He was madder than a hornet. He said he was taking his uniforms back.”

Jamal had worried this might happen. “And the equipment?”

“Everything,” Coach Kemp said. “Even the balls.”

Jamal slumped in his chair. He had loved those uniforms. They’d made the Saints look like a real team. Every last player had been proud to pull on his jersey when they played.

The principal eyed Jamal. “Since you’re the leader of the Saints, we wanted you to be the first to know.”

“The team is going to have to use our old equipment,” Coach Kemp said.

“It’s pretty beat up.” Jamal shook his head sadly. “The jerseys have rips in them. The pads are too small. The helmets are scratched and old. They’re not like the new
ones from Fort Sports. They really protected our heads from hard hits. Someone might get hurt.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Coach Kemp said. “If we want to stay in the league, the players have to wear something.”

Jamal pursed his lips and let out a long sigh.

“I asked the school board for extra money.” Principal Campbell lowered her chin, then shook her head. “But they said no.”

“We look like a bunch of losers,” Jamal said. “The other teams are going to laugh us off the field.” He stood on the fifty-yard line with the other players, waiting for practice to start. They were all wearing their old Saints uniforms. Uniforms they thought they had left behind for good. Everyone was gawking at each other.

Darnell’s shoulder pads were too small for his broad shoulders. “I look like a little kid.” He didn’t seem nearly as big and muscular as he really was.

Rico’s jersey had a big hunk missing in front where some lineman had grabbed him the year before. “At least I have some built-in air-conditioning,” he joked, pointing at the gaping hole.

Davey’s helmet was too tiny for his big head. “I squeezed it on, but I’m not sure I can ever take it off. I may have to wear it to class.”

The rest of the uniforms were no better. They were battered and ripped, not much better than rags. Coach Kemp did his best to get the team ready for the next game against Don Mills, but the players just moped around. No one felt like running or catching or blocking or tackling. Losing the uniforms was a real drag. After winning the last game, the team had been sky high. Now they were down in the dirt.