Juice (3 page)

We trailed Coach Barnes out of the dressing room, down the hall and into the weight room.

“You gentlemen probably spend a lot of time in here,” he said.

“Some of us more than others,” I said, shooting Caleb a dirty look. He was always finding ways to avoid weights.

“All of the equipment in this room will be replaced. Everything.”

“Everything?” I questioned. I'd spent so much time in here that some of the equipment felt like family members.

“Everything. The stuff in here is from a different century. Each station will have
its own separate sound system, with headphones, and in all three corners there will be a television set. A forty-two-inch, flat-screen, high-definition television.”

“My set at home isn't that big,” Robbie exclaimed.

“You may come to think of this as your second home,” Coach Barnes said. “Because if we're going to be successful, you are going to have to spend a great deal of time in here.”

“You install a bed and I'll move in here right away,” Caleb joked.

“And you have people who will pay for all of this too?” another one of the players asked.

“Sponsors and the school. One of the conditions of me coming here was that they had to bring everything up to date. To create the best product you have to have the best ingredients and the best tools. Nothing but the best is what they promised me.”

He walked over to the far end of the weight room. He pulled a black marker out of his pocket and began writing on the white block wall! In big numerals he wrote “4” and then
“37” and finally “2.” He turned back around to face us.

“Does anybody know what these numbers mean?” Coach Barnes asked.

We all looked at each other and then at him.

“The winning numbers in the lottery?” somebody finally asked.

“You're half right. They are the winning numbers, but they have nothing to do with the lottery.”

He circled the first number. “That's the number of championships—Division
One
championships—that I have coached.”

He circled the second number. “Thirty-seven. The number of kids I have coached who have gone on to full scholarships in college programs.”

Next he circled the final number. “Two. The number of players I've coached who have gone on to play professional football.” He paused. We hung on his next words. “One of them was up in the big leagues for just half a season, never was a starter. The other, I think you know. Jessie McCarthy.”

“Of course we know him,” Caleb said. “Everybody in the country knows him.”

Jessie was a defensive lineman—like me—and was a star in the NFL.

“I was talking to Jessie yesterday and —”

“You were talking to him?” Robbie gasped.

Coach Barnes shrugged. “We talk all the time. He calls to ask advice or sometimes just to shoot the breeze. Anyway, he said he's going to drop in this summer to meet my new players.”

“To meet us?” Caleb sounded like he couldn't believe his ears.

“And to maybe give some tips to our linemen. Jessie is living large, living the dream,” Coach Barnes said. “A dream that everybody in this room has had at one time in their life. Is there anybody who hasn't thought about making it, going to college, being that one-in-a-million player who not only makes it to the NFL, but becomes a star? Well…anybody?”

Nobody answered. Who hadn't had that dream? Or the dream about hitting the homer
that wins the World Series? Or playing in the NBA?

“Dreams do come true,” Coach Barnes said, “but only for those who never sleep. If you snooze you lose. I'm now going to tell you boys—you men—my dream. Actually, it's my plan, because I always have a plan. Those who fail to plan, plan to fail. I want you all to remember those words—heck, I want you all to repeat them. Those who fail to plan…”

“Those who fail to plan,” we all echoed.

“…plan to fail,” Coach Barnes said.

“Plan to fail,” we repeated.

“Say it again!” he ordered.

We repeated the words, this time louder and with more force and purpose.

“This is my plan,” Coach Barnes said. “We're going to win the championship next year. The Division One championship.”

“But we've always played Division Two,” Caleb said.

“That was in the past. It's time to step up and play with the big boys—beat the big boys.”

“We're not that big a school,” somebody said. “Our student body isn't that big.”

“I'm not interested in the size of the student body, but in the size of the heart inside the bodies on my team. Is there anybody here who doesn't think we can do it?”

Nobody answered.

“Because anybody who doesn't think we can win can walk through that door right now. As a matter of fact, I'll open the door myself and slam it behind them. Well, do you think we can do it? Yes or no?”

“We can do it,” Caleb said.

“I heard the words, but I couldn't hear the attitude. Don't make it sound like a question or an apology. Make it sound like a statement.”

“We can do it!” Caleb practically yelled. “We can do it!”

“What about the rest of you? What do you think?”

“We can do it!” everybody yelled.

“I know we can. If you can dream it, you can plan it, and if you can plan it, you can do it. We can do it. All of you, stand up.”

We stumbled to our feet.

“Form a circle.”

We all did what we were told.

“Now put out a hand—right here on top of mine.”

We all extended our hands until there was a pile of hands on top of each other.

“I'm going to give you boys my word that I will do whatever, and I mean
whatever
, is necessary to help us reach our dream. Will you all do the same?”

We all nodded our heads and yelled out agreement. I felt a tingle go right up my spine. I felt as hyped as I had been during the big game—after the big game.

“It all begins right now, right here. On three, break. One, two, three.”

“Break!” we all yelled out.

The bell suddenly rang, signaling the end of fourth period. It was lunch. As everybody stood around, talking and laughing, I walked over to the corner of the weight room. I sat down on the end of the bench and positioned myself under the bar. I started doing presses. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I reached ten and put the bar back in place.

I looked around the room. The other guys were all at different pieces of equipment,
working out. Coach Barnes was standing at my side.

“I figured I'd made the right choice for captain. Now I know.”

I felt happy and excited—and a little bit guilty. Coach Reeves hadn't even cleaned out his office yet.

I owed him so much. He was the reason I had played in the first place, and then he'd worked with me to help me become a better player. He'd also been there when I was having trouble in math. He sat down and worked with me until I understood calculus. He didn't do that just so I could stay eligible to play ball. He just did it. I'd miss him. Still, this was pretty exciting.

“What are you doing?” my mother asked as she padded into the kitchen in her slippers and pajamas.

“Eating,” I mumbled through a big mouthful of cereal.

“You're always eating. What I meant is, what are you doing up at this hour? It's not even seven o'clock. You can't be starting work this early.”

“The store doesn't even open until eight,” I said. “I have a shift later on today. I'm working from noon to six.”

I worked in the produce department of Dennis's No Frills Grocery Store. It was a nice job. I liked the people I worked with. Dennis was a great boss, and he always let me, and the other members of the team, change our shifts so we wouldn't miss games or practices.

“Then, getting back to my original question, why are you up?”

“I'm going to school.”

“In case you hadn't noticed, it's summer vacation. You don't have to go to school,” my mother said.

“I'm not taking a vacation this year. I'm going to school every day this summer to hit the weight room. You should see how amazing it is in there!”

They'd finished the weight room in record time, and it was everything that Coach Barnes had said it would be.

“I'm sure it's wonderful. What I don't understand is how come they don't have money for each student to have his own
textbook, but they have money to spend on the football program.”

“It was all donated,” I explained.

“Maybe somebody should donate money for textbooks.”

“I think that'll happen when everybody in town crowds into the stadium to watch people read their textbooks,” I said.

“That won't happen in this town. Everybody is football crazy, maybe too much so,” my mother said.

“That's not possible.”

“Do you really think that you have to go in every day?” my mother asked.

“Gotta. I'm the captain and I have to set a good example.”

My mother came over and gave me a kiss on the top of my head. “You always set a good example in everything. I'm so proud of you. I was proud of you long before you started playing football.”

I felt embarrassed and happy. “I better get going.”

“Why don't you wait and I'll drive you to school.”

I shook my head. “That wouldn't work. I'm going to run to the school and get some work for my legs. Thanks, but no thanks. I gotta get going.”

I stood up and cleared my place, putting the bowl and cup in the sink.

“I'll see you after work,” I said.

“I'll make you something special for dinner,” my mother said.

“If you want to make it really special, make it really big. I'm trying to bulk up.”

“I'm glad to hear that. I was worried that you were wasting away,” she joked.

“And do you think you could buy me some vitamins?” I asked.

“You've always hated vitamins,” my mother said. “When you were little I even tried to get you to take those chewable ones, the ones shaped like little bears and bunnies.”

“I was hoping that instead of bears and bunnies you could get me some vitamin C, and A and some E and—maybe you should just get me the whole alphabet.”

“I'll get you whatever you want, but why this sudden interest in vitamins?” she asked.

“You can't run an engine without putting in the right fuel. That's what Coach Barnes said. I need vitamins to build up my strength.”

“Your strength? You're as strong as an ox,” she said.

“I want to be stronger than an ox. I only have fourteen weeks until our first game. That's fourteen weeks to make it happen.”

That didn't seem like nearly enough time. I had no time to waste.

I paused at the door to the weight room. The door was locked and there was a little touch pad to enter the code that would open it. It was a four-digit code—a very easy code to remember. One, one, one, one. Coach Barnes had told us that one was the only number we'd need to know because number two and up were for losers. I punched in the code and there was a loud click as the lock
released. I pulled the door open. I expected that the lights would be off. Instead the hall was well lit and the door to the weight room was open. Had somebody gotten here before me? I heard the sound of weights being lifted. Who was it? Was it Caleb or Robbie or one of the other guys? Then again, it couldn't be Caleb. If he were here he'd be sitting on a bench, but not actually lifting any weights.

I poked my head through the door. There was a man—a big man—on a bench doing presses. He was focused on the bar he was pumping and didn't see me. He was grunting as he lifted, and his muscles—his big muscles—flexed. His arms were gigantic and his chest was as thick as a tree trunk. His head was shaved and shiny, and that made it harder to judge his age, but I figured he was in his twenties.

I did a quick count of the weight he was lifting, adding up the plates. There were over three hundred pounds on the bar! And he wasn't just lifting it—he was pumping it up and down, up and down, like his arms were pistons in a car. It looked like he wasn't even
working that hard. How many had he done and how many was he going to do?

At that instant he lowered the bar into the cradle. He sat up, saw me and smiled. There were a couple of big, angry-looking zits on his face.

“Good morning. You have to be Michael,” he said.

“Yeah, I am. How did you know?”

“Coach Barnes told me that he thought you'd be the first one here.”

He stood up. I was surprised. He was really built, but he was short. I was a full head taller than he was. Somehow, when he was sitting on the bench, his muscles all big and bulging, I thought he was taller.

“I'm Tony,” he said, offering me his hand. We shook. His grip was strong and powerful. “I'm the strength coach.”

“We have a strength coach?”

“You do for the summer. I've been hired to create and monitor an individual program for every member of the team.”

“You'll tell us what weights we should use?” I asked.

“What weights, what machines, how many reps, how often and in what order. But I'll be doing a lot more than that. I'll be looking at your diet, vitamins and food supplements.”

“That's great. I was just telling my mother this morning that I needed some vitamins.”

“You do, but tell her to save her money. We'll supply everything.”

“Everything?” I asked in amazement.

“Everything except for the most important thing, and that you have to supply.” He tapped me on the chest. “The heart. You supply the heart and we'll supply the rest. So what do you weigh? Around 225 would be my guess.”

“I was 229 on my scale when I weighed myself this morning.”