Week 32: Dare: Destroy It
[Destroy It]
Coach’s hands are heavy on his shoulders, the sun’s hot, his hair is sticking to his forehead and he’s tired. He wants to wiggle out from underneath Coach’s hands, go home and stand underneath the sprinkler. He’s got on a pair of cheap shoulder pads, a helmet that’s heavy and a pair of cleats that were Billy’s; they’re half a size too small so his toes hurt. When Coach leans down to whisper in his ear he wants to ask if it he can go home.
“See that boy over there,” Coach says, pointing over his shoulder at Jake Moss. Tim nods in response because his dad’s standing on the sidelines watching. “Alright, I want you to destroy him.”
He’s been carrying around a Dillon Panthers football since he could walk and going to Friday night games even before then. His parents miss a lot of things, even before his Mom left. They never miss a Friday night Panthers game. Never. He had chicken pox when he was six. Dad bundled him up and told him not to touch anyone.
“You hear me, Timmy? I want you to destroy that boy.”
Tim nods and pushes off his toes. He catches Jake in the chest with his shoulder and Jake goes down. His shoulder hurts like fire, Jake can’t breathe and Tim gets all tangled up in his arms so that both boys are sprawled out on the dry, dusty ground. Coach is clapping and laughing as he holds a hand out to Tim. Jake’s left to get up on his own.
“Timmy Riggins, I think we got ourselves a full back.”
Tim looks over and his Dad is grinning, not one of the fake smiles he gives the teachers when they tell him Tim’s doing well. It’s a real smile, full-fledged-make-your-eyes-twinkle smile.
“Good job Timmy!” he yells across the field. It doesn’t matter that his toes hurt, or he’s hot or that his shoulder is on fire. His helmet isn’t heavy anymore and he doesn’t care if Jake’s his friend and his friend is just now getting up from the grass, struggling to breathe.
“Ready to go again, Son?” Coach asks.
“Yeah,” Tim nods, still watching his dad. “Ready to go again.”
Tim Riggins
Friday Night Lights
374 words
Coach’s hands are heavy on his shoulders, the sun’s hot, his hair is sticking to his forehead and he’s tired. He wants to wiggle out from underneath Coach’s hands, go home and stand underneath the sprinkler. He’s got on a pair of cheap shoulder pads, a helmet that’s heavy and a pair of cleats that were Billy’s; they’re half a size too small so his toes hurt. When Coach leans down to whisper in his ear he wants to ask if it he can go home.
“See that boy over there,” Coach says, pointing over his shoulder at Jake Moss. Tim nods in response because his dad’s standing on the sidelines watching. “Alright, I want you to destroy him.”
He’s been carrying around a Dillon Panthers football since he could walk and going to Friday night games even before then. His parents miss a lot of things, even before his Mom left. They never miss a Friday night Panthers game. Never. He had chicken pox when he was six. Dad bundled him up and told him not to touch anyone.
“You hear me, Timmy? I want you to destroy that boy.”
Tim nods and pushes off his toes. He catches Jake in the chest with his shoulder and Jake goes down. His shoulder hurts like fire, Jake can’t breathe and Tim gets all tangled up in his arms so that both boys are sprawled out on the dry, dusty ground. Coach is clapping and laughing as he holds a hand out to Tim. Jake’s left to get up on his own.
“Timmy Riggins, I think we got ourselves a full back.”
Tim looks over and his Dad is grinning, not one of the fake smiles he gives the teachers when they tell him Tim’s doing well. It’s a real smile, full-fledged-make-your-eyes-twinkle smile.
“Good job Timmy!” he yells across the field. It doesn’t matter that his toes hurt, or he’s hot or that his shoulder is on fire. His helmet isn’t heavy anymore and he doesn’t care if Jake’s his friend and his friend is just now getting up from the grass, struggling to breathe.
“Ready to go again, Son?” Coach asks.
“Yeah,” Tim nods, still watching his dad. “Ready to go again.”
Tim Riggins
Friday Night Lights
374 words