adequate law officer.
He played football for Florida Western. While I was playing for Florence City High he was a deputy sheriff who, by a rearrangement of his duty schedule, was able to work with the Florence City High coaching staff on a volunteer basis. It took me a long time to figure out why he singled me out. I finally realized it was because of all the members of the squad, I was the one who was obviously better than he had ever been. He rode me hard throughout those two seasons. The last game of my senior year was a night game. We won. After I had showered and changed, Millhaus and I went out back of the gym, all alone in the bright white moonlight. I was nineteen and I weighed one ninety. He was twenty-six and weighed two twenty. I had more height and reach, but I had played three quarters of a hard game that same night.
We fought for over an hour. We beat each other to bloody ruin. At times I couldn’t remember who I was fighting or why. At times we rested, our lungs creaking, our arms like dead meat, and then went at it again. I don’t know how many times I got up from the cool moist grass, back onto my feet, when I thought I’d never make it. I don’t know how many times I watched him climbing ponderously, slowly back onto his feet, as I waited, praying he wouldn’t make it.
It was a standoff. Afterwards we required medical and surgical attention and bed rest. Neither of us was worth a damn for a couple of weeks.
Folklore says that such an experience creates undying friendship. But it neither enhanced nor reduced our hatred.
“It’s a shameful thing to come so far down in the world you’ve got fellas like LeRoy putting knots on your All-American skull, Sam.”
“He’s a little quick with that stick.”
“It’s a shame you can’t call a press conference.”
“Knock it off, Millhaus.”
He shook his big head sadly. “There you were, right on top of the heap. Finest tackle in the league they were calling you. Had what they call a shining future. Had that blonde wife that could make a fella go all sweaty just seeing her half a block away.”
“You’ve been waiting for this a long time, Pat. So have your fun.”
“But you were always so much more important than anybody else you figured you could make your own rules. So you got real cute, and you got thrown out of pro football for life. Oh, I know it didn’t get into the papers because that was part of the agreement. The papers talked about a bad knee you didn’t have. But they had to unload you, Brice, because they couldn’t take a chance on you throwing a ball game for a little cash money.”
“Enjoy yourself.”
“And when all of a sudden they busted you right down to nothing, you didn’t have a thing left to sorta hold the interest of that fancy little wife. Guess she decided if you were going to live under a cloud, you could live there all by yourself.”
“You’re a son of a bitch.”
He smiled comfortably. “I’m a sheriff son of a bitch, Sam. You’re a crooked ballplayer son of a bitch. And I’d love for you to get into some real trouble around here sometime, so you could see how I operate this department. And if you felt you were being treated less than fair, who would you yell to?Since that last uncle died, you’ve got no kin down here. No special friends. People figure you think you’re too good for the common folk. You’re a loner, Sam.” He leaned forward, “And there isn’t one soul in the big world gives enough of a damn about you to care what the hell I might do to you, given half a chance.”
“I’m intrigued to see how you can use your position to lean on me, Pat, instead of trying to pick up Charlie.”
I saw the flicker of a dangerous anger in his dark eyes. It went away as he leaned back in his big chair. “Right dangerous character, that Charlie Haywood.”
“Who knows?”
“He’s off in the brush someplace being et up by bugs. When he gets hungry enough and discouraged enough, he’ll
He played football for Florida Western. While I was playing for Florence City High he was a deputy sheriff who, by a rearrangement of his duty schedule, was able to work with the Florence City High coaching staff on a volunteer basis. It took me a long time to figure out why he singled me out. I finally realized it was because of all the members of the squad, I was the one who was obviously better than he had ever been. He rode me hard throughout those two seasons. The last game of my senior year was a night game. We won. After I had showered and changed, Millhaus and I went out back of the gym, all alone in the bright white moonlight. I was nineteen and I weighed one ninety. He was twenty-six and weighed two twenty. I had more height and reach, but I had played three quarters of a hard game that same night.
We fought for over an hour. We beat each other to bloody ruin. At times I couldn’t remember who I was fighting or why. At times we rested, our lungs creaking, our arms like dead meat, and then went at it again. I don’t know how many times I got up from the cool moist grass, back onto my feet, when I thought I’d never make it. I don’t know how many times I watched him climbing ponderously, slowly back onto his feet, as I waited, praying he wouldn’t make it.
It was a standoff. Afterwards we required medical and surgical attention and bed rest. Neither of us was worth a damn for a couple of weeks.
Folklore says that such an experience creates undying friendship. But it neither enhanced nor reduced our hatred.
“It’s a shameful thing to come so far down in the world you’ve got fellas like LeRoy putting knots on your All-American skull, Sam.”
“He’s a little quick with that stick.”
“It’s a shame you can’t call a press conference.”
“Knock it off, Millhaus.”
He shook his big head sadly. “There you were, right on top of the heap. Finest tackle in the league they were calling you. Had what they call a shining future. Had that blonde wife that could make a fella go all sweaty just seeing her half a block away.”
“You’ve been waiting for this a long time, Pat. So have your fun.”
“But you were always so much more important than anybody else you figured you could make your own rules. So you got real cute, and you got thrown out of pro football for life. Oh, I know it didn’t get into the papers because that was part of the agreement. The papers talked about a bad knee you didn’t have. But they had to unload you, Brice, because they couldn’t take a chance on you throwing a ball game for a little cash money.”
“Enjoy yourself.”
“And when all of a sudden they busted you right down to nothing, you didn’t have a thing left to sorta hold the interest of that fancy little wife. Guess she decided if you were going to live under a cloud, you could live there all by yourself.”
“You’re a son of a bitch.”
He smiled comfortably. “I’m a sheriff son of a bitch, Sam. You’re a crooked ballplayer son of a bitch. And I’d love for you to get into some real trouble around here sometime, so you could see how I operate this department. And if you felt you were being treated less than fair, who would you yell to?Since that last uncle died, you’ve got no kin down here. No special friends. People figure you think you’re too good for the common folk. You’re a loner, Sam.” He leaned forward, “And there isn’t one soul in the big world gives enough of a damn about you to care what the hell I might do to you, given half a chance.”
“I’m intrigued to see how you can use your position to lean on me, Pat, instead of trying to pick up Charlie.”
I saw the flicker of a dangerous anger in his dark eyes. It went away as he leaned back in his big chair. “Right dangerous character, that Charlie Haywood.”
“Who knows?”
“He’s off in the brush someplace being et up by bugs. When he gets hungry enough and discouraged enough, he’ll
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