Crackback by John Coy Page B

it.” Should I let up? Stahl said to go all out.
    â€œDown, set, hit.” The count is quick, and I’m a half second slow. I cut right behind Tyson, dive, and get my fingertips on the ball. Third block in a row.
    â€œWhat the hell’s the matter with you?” Stahl yells. “You can’t get a punt off?”
    Normally everybody’s excited about a block, but nobody’s enjoying this.
    â€œManning, where are you coming from?” Stahl barks.
    â€œEnd of the line,” I say. “Nobody’s blocking me.”
    â€œI didn’t ask you about being blocked,” Stahl shouts. “Do it again.”
    Now I don’t know what to do. If I go hard and block it, Stahl will explode. If I let up, I’m not showing how easy the punt is to block.
    â€œDown, set, hit.” I’m going after it. I run hard, dive, and feel the thump on my arm. I got it again. Adams gives me a look of sheer hate.
    â€œYou guys disgust me,” Stahl says. “We’re going to run this until you get it right. I don’t care if we stay out here all night.”
    â€œCoach, I think if the end took one step back that would provide enough—”
    â€œI don’t care what you think.” Stahl yanks my facemask. His onion breath is overpowering. “Let’s get one thing clear, Manning. This isn’t a democracy. This is a dictatorship, and I’m the dick.” He lets go of my helmet. “Open your mouth again and you’re on the bench Friday.”
    Stahl’s out of line. Sepolski’s in charge, not him. “Do it again,” Stahl yells.
    â€œLet him get it off so we can go in,” Tyson growls. I ease up and let Adams punt.
    â€œThat’s the way, Adams.” Stahl claps his hands. “See, Manning, it didn’t have anything to do with the blocking. Let’s run it one more time and then we’re done.”
    Should I block it to shove it in Stahl’s face or let it go?
    â€œDown, set, hit.” I slow down to let Adams punt.
    â€œThat’s it, men.” Stahl claps his hands. “That’s better.”
    Sepolski stands on the far sideline with his arms crossed. He hasn’t said much all practice. Stahl’s run everything.
    Stahl blows his whistle. “Men, Coach Sepolski has something important to tell you.”
    We all walk over and kneel down in front of Sepolski. His face looks pale. “Uhhh, ummmm.” Sepolski clears his throat and rubs his head. “You guys have been a fine group to coach.”
    Have been? I didn’t hear right.
    â€œYou know how much I love football, how much it means to me.” Sepolski’s voice is softer than usual. “But there are some things more important. One of these is health. I found out I’ve got prostate cancer. My doctor wants to do surgery right away to keep it from spreading.”
    What?
    â€œHe says I can beat it, but he wants me to make some changes. He insists I cut down on my stress. He wants me to step down from coaching this season. I don’t want to do it, but I’m going to follow his advice.”
    I can’t believe it. It’s one thing to lose players, but Coach is Confluence football. I can’t imagine another coach. I can’t imagine playing for someone else.
    â€œI love working with you guys. It’s the best thing I do.” Sepolski rubs his hand across his eyes. “I will miss it more than you can imagine. But right now, I’ve got to beat this.”
    I feel numb. Coach is the one who made me a starter. He’s the one who encouraged me to play hard, play smart, have fun.
    â€œFor the rest of the season,” Sepolski says, “Coach Stahl will be in charge.”

chapter fourteen
    Nobody says anything in the shower. I turn the water on hot and it blasts my back. I fold my arms on my chest and stare at the pool of water in the bend of my arm.
    First Jonesy, then Stillwell, now Coach. Bad news