My Name Is River Blue

by Noah James Adams

  The day began with the media and boosters attending a morning kickoff meeting hosted by Principal Wilson in the large conference room of our athletic building. The building also housed all the offices of the athletic staff and rooms for supplies, athletic gear, weight training, physical therapy, and audio/video equipment.

  There were forty-two invited media representatives and booster club members. They faced coaches and players, including me, seated behind a long table, broken in the middle by a podium equipped with a microphone. Principal Wilson stood at the podium along with Athletic Director Dodd and Coach Haney. A look at my teammates told me that they would have slept late that Saturday morning if the coach had given them a choice.

  We all wore our jerseys, and the visitors could identify us by looking at the roster of players in the program guide. I was number seven, and I learned that to some of my teammates, "seven" was also my name. It took time to get used to teammates calling me by a number even when we were away from football.

  Principal Wilson greeted everyone and told them briefly of the planned activities for that day. Coach Haney would give an opening statement about the team and a preview of the first game, and then the reporters would be allowed to ask questions of him or any of the players present. Afterwards, everyone would move to the stadium where the team would run some plays and show off for their fans. Later, the players would be available to meet the fans and hand out free Hawks programs, which the fans' favorite players would autograph. For a $20 donation to the booster club, fans could have their pictures taken with the players of their choice. Any time that players were not busy with fans, they were free to speak briefly with the media, but Principal Wilson stressed that no media person was to take a player away from a fan.

  After Coach Haney's opening remarks, he called several of his older players to the podium to answer questions from the reporters. At the start, the questions were typical, but the subject matter became more uncomfortable for me when the two veteran quarterbacks came to the podium together.

  One was senior Casey Hampton, last year's starting quarterback. In the program, Casey was again listed as QB1 for the coming season. Junior Josh Greer, listed as the number two quarterback on the depth chart, stood next to him. I was the third quarterback, but the coach didn't ask me to join the other two at the podium, and I was glad.

  Roy Pittman, a reporter for The Sun, was the first to ask a question of Casey and Josh. "Have you two spent much time trying to help River Blue get accustomed to high school ball? And what's your opinion on his progress?"

  I could see a barely perceptible flash of irritation on the faces of both boys. Casey Hampton answered the question. "We haven't worked with him that much. As far as his progress, you would have to ask Coach Haney that question."

  Pittman played with fire. "One more question for you guys, if both of you were injured, do you think River is good enough to play your position?"

  Coach Haney stood before the microphone. "Please don't ask my players to critique a teammate. That's my job, not theirs. Also, every player on my team is important and deserves your respect, so please don't belittle one of them by ignoring his skills and contributions, so you can ask a back-door question about another player."

  With a very red face, Pittman took his seat as the two quarterbacks answered other reporters' questions that were more acceptable to Coach Haney.

  Towards the end of the meeting, Coach Haney called me to the podium. I think it was obvious to everyone that the coach purposely allowed the veteran players to go first, which was a smart move to help prevent their resentment. As for me, I didn't want to come to the meeting at all, but the booster club thought that they needed the media to keep my name in the news. They hoped that my popularity would fill more seats in the stadium and raise more money. Since I most likely wouldn't play in the game, I was like a loss leader product that a manager advertises to draw customers inside his store.

  As I moved to the podium, one reporter got some laughs when he commented to those around him that I was too big to be a freshman. At fourteen years old, I was a little over six feet tall and weighed 180 pounds. I would grow even more during the next two years. The team had a strength coach in charge of weight training and conditioning, and he had been available to work with the players during the summer. For me, the coach's guidance in the weight room, and my own exercise routine and diet, worked together to improve my strength, speed, and stamina. I had always worked hard to have a strong body, but even I was impressed with my progress over the summer prior to my freshman year of high school.

  I hated answering questions from obnoxious reporters. Prior to Media Day, Coach Haney and I rehearsed what my answers should be to certain questions, and I sounded much like a robot with some of my replies.

  One reporter asked, "River, have you learned enough about the team's offense to play in a game?"

  "I still have a lot to learn, but I think I would do okay in a mop up situation."

  Another reporter asked, "Will you be playing on special teams?"

  "I don't think so, but I'll play whenever and wherever the coach tells me."

  Another question, "Are you feeling a little down to go from being the star of your team last year to being a freshman who may not play much this year?"

  "Everyone on the team can make an important contribution, so no, I'm not down, and I'll do whatever the team needs, including their laundry, if that's what Coach Haney wants."

  "Truthfully, do you think you're good enough to start at quarterback?"

  I remembered what the coach told me to say, and I repeated him almost perfectly. "I think Coach Haney would be making a mistake to start me over two very good quarterbacks, who obviously have more experience than I have. I totally support Casey and Josh, and I'm grateful to be on the varsity squad where I have the opportunity to learn from watching those guys."

  "How do you keep a level head at your age with all the attention you receive from your fans and the media?"

  "I don't need attention, and I don't take it seriously. Right now, I would rather be watching the college pre-season shows and picking lint out of my navel than standing at this podium." They could tell that Coach Haney didn't give me that answer.

  Some of the reporters laughed, and others didn't seem to think that my comments were funny. I was too inexperienced to realize that I was only making the hounds more determined to chase, not only my play on the football field, but also any controversial statements I might make.

  Before anyone could ask me another question, Coach Haney and Principal Wilson almost stumbled as they hurried to step behind the podium and announce the conclusion of that portion of the program. Principal Wilson invited our guests to have refreshments in the next room before they joined the fans to watch us run plays on the field. Coach Haney shielded me from the reporters and waited until they filed out of the room before leading me and the other players through another exit.

  ***

  In our locker room, the smells emanating from so many sweat-soaked practice uniforms, tee shirts, shorts, socks, jocks, cleats, and towels hung unusually strong in the air. I suspected that after the locker room was closed down all night that the janitorial staff was hit with an oppressive stench each morning. The one feature of our locker room that helped make the smell bearable for them was its many windows, which they opened early each morning long before the first students arrived.

  Ant, Max, Gary, and I agreed that we had never ended a football practice as exhausted as we were on the Tuesday night before our first varsity game on Friday. Long after we had soaped and rinsed, we all leaned into the shower wall while the hot water rained down on our aching muscles. We were too tired for the normal locker room banter.

  The older players, showering across from us, were also unusually quiet, not bothering to harass us as they normally did. I was glad that the upperclassmen were apparently as wasted from the brutal practice as we were. I was not in the mood to be a good sport while I performed another one of their stu
pid, humiliating tasks, and I knew for sure that I was never again leading a procession of new varsity players in the squatting duck walk with our jocks worn over our heads.

  As far as I was concerned, I was done with the traditional hazing that new players endured, so the veteran players would accept them as part of the varsity team. The unwritten rule was that the harassment of new players, which included the four of us freshmen and twelve sophomores promoted from junior varsity, stopped after the team scored its first touchdown of the season. If everyone had followed school policy, there would have been no hazing of any kind, but the older players ignored the rule. The new players knew better than to complain, and although the coaches officially supported school policy, they unofficially monitored the hazing to ensure that it didn't go too far. I assumed that "too far" meant the accidental death of a freshman or sophomore.

  When Hal Mackey brought us home from practice, Jenny warmed the dinners she had saved for Ant and me and served them to us at the dining room table. The Mackeys sat with us, and we were soon joined by some of our foster brothers who wanted to hear about practice and if we would see any playing time Friday night. I had developed a friendly relationship with my house parents and my foster brothers over the previous year, but I was too tired to talk, and I continued eating while Ant answered their questions.

  "I'm going to play on special teams," explained Ant. "I'm one of the two deep guys on kickoff returns, and I'm on the punt return team. River will stay on the sideline with Coach Haney. The number two quarterback and River will both be signaling plays to the offense, but one of them gives the real play, and the other one gives fake signs."

  "River's big and fast," said Jeff. "He should be playing somewhere. I don't get it."

  Jeff Simms was an eleven-year-old African-American orphan, who moved from the boys home into Tolley House during the summer. After his third charge for shoplifting food, specifically sandwich meat and cheese, the court threatened him with Stockwell and placed him on probation in Tolley House. The court dismissed Jeff's claims that the older boys at the home were stealing his food, but all of us believed him. Stealing food is different from stealing video games. Why would a kid steal food unless he was hungry?

  At Tolley House, Jeff not only enjoyed eating all his meals in peace with no bullies to bother him, we gave him the attention he deserved. We all spoiled the lovable kid so much that Jenny and Hal had a hard time correcting him. Since he loved football and wanted to play for the Hawks when he was old enough, Ant and I took time each week to teach him more about the game. We agreed that it felt good to have a kid look up to us as Jeff did.

  Ant tried to explain to Jeff. "Coach doesn't want any quarterbacks getting hurt on special teams, and he has to have them giving the signals because they know the offense better than any other players do. It keeps their heads in the game in case they have to play."

  Jeff wasn't satisfied. "Well, I seen all three quarterbacks run plays on fan day, and River is the best passer. Just don't make sense to me not to play him."

  Everyone at the table smiled at Jeff, who idolized Ant and me. "I think River is the best, too," agreed Ant.

  "See," said Jeff. "The coach ought to play River."

  I finished my last bite of dinner and knuckled-rubbed Jeff's head. I wrapped my arms around him from behind and pulled him up to sit on my knee.

  "Listen, little dude, Coach Haney knows what's best for the team. The other two guys have been on the team longer than I have, and they deserve a chance to show what they can do. Papa agrees with the coach that I need a lot more practice reps before I'm ready to start a game. I have to be patient and learn my job better. One day, it'll be my turn."

  "Being patient sucks a big one," said Jeff.

  "Jeff!" Jenny gave Jeff her stern look, and the rest of us laughed, including Hal.

  That night in our room, Ant and I held our usual short, nightly chat after we settled across from each other under the covers of our beds.

  "Is Carlee excited about going to her first after-game dance?" Ant asked.

  "Oh my god, yeah," I answered. "She won't shut up about it, and I wish I wasn't going. You saw how much I had to spend for new clothes that suited her and wouldn't clash with her outfit when we danced. All that trouble and she's still scared to admit that I'm her boyfriend."

  "Well, you might as well get used to doing what she wants. Carlee has you wrapped and you'll never escape."

  I looked at Ant as if he were crazy. "Don't count on it."

  "RB, a girl as hot as Carlee with her brains? You don't stand a chance. You two might fight and even break up, but I'm telling you, she'll win in the end. They always do."

  "And I should believe that why? Because of all your years of experience?" It was funny to hear another high school freshman trying to sound like a veteran of mature relationships.

  "Yo, whatever you think, RB. Anyway, it's gonna be fun, and I'm making the most of my first varsity dance. I plan on Tina and me finding a dark corner for some tongue action."

  "There are gonna be chaperones, dummy. I wish I could find a dark corner too, but only so I could hide."

  "Still worried about dancing in front of everyone?"

  "You would be too if you sucked as bad as I do. You caught on to every step Jenny showed you, and I only crushed her feet. Hal almost had a stroke from laughing so hard, and the guys that are jealous of the attention I get will do the same thing."

  "If you ever stop growing, maybe that'll help," reasoned Ant. "You're like over six feet. That's kinda tall for fourteen, dude."

  "Yeah, but you're only two inches shorter. Plus, you added more height than I did over the summer, and you were smooth as butter when you practiced with Jenny."

  "Yo, RB. You ain't never gonna be as smooth as a brother," bragged Ant. "I think you got them dancing feet from yo cracker side."

  "Shut up and go to sleep, you damn caramel-assed racist."

  Ant cackled, and I cut off the lamp between our beds before he saw me smiling.

  "Goodnight, Antman."

  "Night, RB."

  ***

  Papa once recommended that I try a fun experiment that would teach me something. He told me when I was ready to go to bed for the night to make notes predicting the following day's events that would directly or indirectly affect me. The first time I tried Papa's idea was the Wednesday night prior to our first game of the season on Friday, and I didn't even come close to guessing what would happen on the day before our game.

  "You never know what tomorrow may bring" was an expression I had heard many times. Shortly after nine o'clock in the morning on Thursday, the day before our season opener against Iverson, I learned that the saying was born from the kind of news that stunned me when I first heard it. I also learned that if you think you know what goes on in the lives of the people you see every day, you're wrong. Three of my teammates convinced me.

  I was sitting with Carlee in my American History class, taught by Mrs. Boozer, the oldest and most boring teacher in the school. She was one of the few people I knew who openly hated the football team and the amount of support we received. That day, she was leading the class in a discussion about early colonial life, and my attention was divided between the lesson and Carlee's scent, which had me thinking of things vastly different from colonial America.

  I paid little attention to Cody Smalls when he entered the classroom to give Mrs. Boozer a note. Cody was one of the nerdy, honor students, who used his free period each day to assist the high school office staff so that they would give him a glowing letter of reference to use on his college applications. His last name was appropriate since his physical stature was more common for the average sixth grader than for a high school senior.

  Mrs. Boozer, who was never happy with interruptions, snatched the note from Cody and scanned it. She very rudely told me to take my books and go with Cody to the office. Carlee and I glanced at each other, and I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea who wanted me or why.

  I
was sure that Cody wasn't supposed to discuss anything he heard in the office, but I was too curious not to try. "Do you know what this is about?"

  "You know I'm not allowed to tell you if I did. Besides I don't have the time it would take to draw pictures, so a freshman jock could understand." Cody, as most seniors did, thought he was hilariously funny when he jabbed at a freshman, and in Cody's case, he also showed obvious disdain for athletes. I thought of asking him if he was related to Mrs. Boozer, but instead, I tried to goad him into answering me.

  "I think it's more like you came up with a witty remark instead of admitting that you don't know shit."

  Cody stopped and pointed his finger at my chest. "Well, if you knew shit, you wouldn't be asking. So either you don't know the news about your own teammates, or you do know, and you're too dumb to figure out who thinks it's important to talk to you about it."

  He lost me. "Okay, you win. What about my teammates?"

  "You really don't know? Last night, the police arrested Casey Hampton, Josh Greer, and Joe Cummings. Possession with intent. The cops caught them with enough dope to get the entire senior class high. Too much for even football players to get away with in this retarded, jock-sniffing town."

  "Holy shit." It occurred to me that I had not seen any of those guys at school that morning.

  "I knew they would get caught one day. They talked too much," reasoned Cody. "They invited people to parties where they provided the weed, and then they would turn some of their guests into new customers. I'm surprised that the word never got to Coach Haney."

  "I was in the locker room with them every day, and I didn't know either. I mean I would sometimes hear one of them make a joke about partying, but I never heard anyone admit to using weed."

  "Yeah, well, now you know what they do at their little parties," said Cody. "I'm surprised they didn't invite you to smoke with them yet."

  His words jolted me. "Shit. Some of us were late getting away from practice last night, and Casey offered to take Ant, Max, and me home. Josh and Joe were already set to ride with him, but Casey said there was room for us, and he wanted to show us something on the way."