Not Everyone Likes Football
Chapter 2: Trouble in Paradise
Dillon, Texas
September 2006
Another hot, dry, and dusty Texas September day was in progress as Jason Street and Lyla Garrity made their way arm in arm into the Sandwich Shop. Like a proper young Texan gentleman, he opened the door for her and let her enter first.
They were Dillon's current "it couple": the handsome senior quarterback and his girlfriend the head cheerleader. With his boyish blue-eyed oval face, short and straight brown hair with sideburns, solid build and perfect blend of poised self-confidence and polite manners, and her combination of a girlish hairdo and face and a womanly, athletic figure, they were hard not to notice and remember.
"Hey, Jason, Lyla," Brendan Taylor, now sixteen years old, called to them from behind the counter. "What can I get ya besides the usual Aztec Burger?" It was Sunday midafternoon, so the shop was mostly empty, with just a few other customers.
"Hi, Brendan!" Lyla sang out and gave him a smile and a quick wave. Jason took a few seconds before he made a move or said anything.
"Hey, B, you can give me the Aztec, but make it extra spicy, with fries and a root beer." he said in a slow, deliberate voice. "And when you bring them out, you mind coming over to sit and talk with us a bit?"
"Let me ask Mr. Olson," meaning the manager, "but it should be okay. Anything for you, Lyla?"
"Sure," she blinked, "the turkey and spinach salad and a Diet Pepsi." Brendan headed back to the kitchen to prepare their order. In a few minutes he brought the food and drinks to the booth where they always sat. The whole school, or rather the whole town, respected that: this was "Street's booth." He was an inch shorter and a year younger than Jason, but four years of weightlifting had made him broad in the shoulders and chest and intense cycling kept him from becoming fat. A pair of copper-framed glasses perched unevenly on his nose.
"You should have played," Jason said to him. "You'd have made a great linebacker."
"Give it a rest, Street," Brendan said in a flat voice. It was only the thousandth time he'd heard people say this sort of thing. Then he took off his glasses. "You can't hit what you can't see. You're just a blue and pink blob right now."
"It's really that bad?" Lyla asked. Brendan nodded wordlessly as he put his glasses back on. The he moved to sit down at the edge of the booth. "So what's on your mind, QB?"
"I'm worried about Tim," Jason said, looking Brendan in the eye while holding Lyla's hand under the table. She started eating her salad, but slowly, and with a pointed look on her face. "I think he's going off the rails and I can't figure why or what to do about it."
"Off the rails how? And how come you're comin' to me about it?"
Lyla answered the first part. "He's drinking. And I mean like crazy, every day. The rally girls do his homework. He just sits there spaced out in class. And him and Tyra, they fight all the time and break up, then he makes out with other girls, and then they fight and get back together again."
"Right." Brendan nodded. "So why tell me?"
"'Cause you're Coach's kid, and you're smart, and we're friends," Jason said. That much was true. Coach Taylor had coached Jason from a young age and molded him into the star he was today. In fact, sometimes Brendan wondered whether his father wished Jason had been his son, but there had never been any kind of bitterness or resentment between the two boys. One played football and one didn't, they were both honor students, and sometimes they hung out together and talked.
"Well, I got news for you, Jason," Brendan drawled. Unlike his sister Julie, he didn't make a deliberate effort not to talk like a Texan. "I'm the last guy Tim Riggins would ever listen to. He calls me 'football hater' or just plain 'hater' to my face. If I wasn't his coach's son, or close to his size, I think he'd belt me one just for the... just to blow some steam off."
"Come on, Brendan, he's not like that," Lyla protested with her fork in the air.
"Tim's had it rough," Jason continued in a lower voice. "Did you know his mother killed herself when he was ten?"
"No. I wasn't living here yet when that happened. What about his dad?"
"Poster child for dead-beats." Jason had to be troubled to be talking this way. "Guy lives out in Corpus Christi or somewhere, sponges off girlfriends, makes his drinking money hustling golf and pool. Tim lives with his brother, but Billy has his hands full just trying to hold down a job."
"That why your folks have him over for dinner every Tuesday?" Jason nodded at this question.
"Last year when Tim became a starter as a freshman," Jason said, "nobody was happier for him than I was. I mean, he's my best friend. Now I'm thinking maybe it's gone to his head. Do you think your dad could talk to him?"
Brendan shook his head. "Off the record, he's just about used up his patience with Tim. I hear him every day when he drives us to school. Of course, just when he's telling us 'if Riggins shows up hung over again I'm gonna rip the helmet right off his head and throw it in the lake', Tim shows up with his head on straight and lights up the field."
"Yeah, he can do that." Jason said.
Brendan turned towards Lyla. "Lyla, your dad's the absolute king of the Booster Club. Have you tried talking to him?"
"He doesn't get it," Lyla said with a sigh. "Says 'a little beer never hurt nobody'. The boosters actually leave 12-packs on Tim's porch. And it's not like all the cops don't know he uses fake ID."
"Sleazeballs." Brendan almost spat. "What about the rewards, how if he stays focused, the team can get to the playoffs and state championship, or a college scholarship later on?"
"I try to tell him that, but it only works for a few days," Jason's frustration showed in his voice. "He tells me all the time about this dream of his, that I'm going to make it to the NFL and buy a big ranch and he's going to be the caretaker. Calls it 'good friends livin' large in Texas.' See, he's already getting what he wants, girls, beer, and hero worship."
"Guess he's going to have to learn the hard way." Brendan said and stood up. "Take some hits, get benched, maybe suspended. Unless he can listen to you or your Dad. He's already not listening to mine."
"That might break him." Lyla said.
"Hey, what's a guy gotta do to get some service around here?" A booming voice sounded out from in front of the counter. A fat middle-aged man wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and a cowboy hat stood there tapping his boot-clad foot impatiently. "Get a move on, kid, for Chrissake!"
"Sorry, Mr. Whitney," Brendan moved as quickly as he could. "Just shootin' the breeze with Jason here about how he's gonna pick Westerby apart on Friday. What can I get ya?"
The next morning
The Taylor family listened to Slammin' Sammy Meade's Panther Radio talk show in the morning as they drove to Dillon High School. That was Eric's choice, actually, but the unofficial Taylor family rule was that whoever was driving got to choose what everyone listened to.
"This new Coach, Eric Taylor, he's even got camera crews watching his practices. Who does he think he is, Mack Brown?" some irritated lady was telling Mr. Meade. "And speaking of people named Mac, it's Mac McGill who should have been named head coach, after all, he's been the offensive coordinator here for the last twenty years!"
"I don't get how you listen to this stuff, Dad!" Julie piped up from behind her father. "It stresses me out, and I'm just a sophomore."
"Maybe your Dad thinks he might get some ideas that way," Tami said. "A lot of businesspeople say they're inspired by their hate mail."
On the radio, Slammin' Sammy was talking in his classic downhome drawl. "Well, I hear ya, Ma'am, but the powers that be made that decision and we have to imagine they had a reason for it. After all, our amazin' quarterback Jason Street, he and Coach Taylor go way, way back, they've been working together since Street played pee-wee ball."
"We are definitely getting a different soundtrack once I start driving us all." Brendan added.
"Such as what?" Julie asked. "Reggae CD's you borrowed from Jay Greer? Or Mexican music from your friend who taught you Spanish and moved to California?"
"Or your jazz dance CD's, little sister."
"No way!" Julie was horrified. "Then you'd leave them in here and I'd have to come get them myself every time I want to practice." Brendan began to protest, saying that he'd never lost any of her CD's yet.
"Y' all mind?" came Eric's voice from the driver's seat. "I'm tryin' to listen here, just give me another five minutes."
"I'm worried about our defense." A younger man was saying on the radio. "Westerby, they run a lot of counters, and their o-line is mighty strong. I'm not sure we've got the right guys to stop 'em."
"Coach Deeks is stopping by later today for a little shop talk." Eric added.
"Why don't you invite him over for dinner?" Tami asked. Coach Wilton Deeks had been Eric's first boss when he'd given up on the chance of playing in the NFL and started working as an assistant coach. Now he was in charge of the football program at Whitmore University, a couple of hundred miles to the north.
"The guy who used to bring us donut holes and call me 'little sugahbabe'? He's funny." Julie said almost at the same time as her mother.
"That's him all right," Eric said with a smile. "I asked him to come over, but he's got to head back to Whitmore for his own team's practices. I'll tell 'im y' all said hi, though."
"Dad, you've got the NBC people coming this afternoon to interview the players, right?" Brendan asked. "Do you mind if I sit in on it so I can see how they work?"
"Go right ahead, son." Eric nodded. "Just be careful what you say to 'em."
The football talk on the radio continued. An older man with a hoarse-sounding voice was saying "It makes you wonder what kind of man this Coach Taylor is when his son's a junior and isn't on the football team. Not even that, as far as I know, the boy hasn't played a single down of the sport ever. How can that even happen in Texas?" Eric and Brendan both tensed up instantly.
"If I knew who it was that said that..." Brendan muttered.
"Yeah, what would you do, Brendan?" Eric stepped on his words. "You wouldn't do a thing, that's the answer. All over town, all the time, now that I'm head coach, there are gonna be people thinking they can tell me how to do my job. You can't fight them all or argue with them all or anything. It's like they say on those cop shows on TV: anything you say can and will be used against you in the kangaroo court of the media and the rumor mill. Just let 'em talk. It's my job to deal with it, not yours."
"This town is crazy." Brendan groaned and sank in his seat, not a difficult thing for a 200-pound teenager to do.
"Technically, Texas isn't even a state," Julie said, "It's a republic. It would be nice to live somewhere that's actually a part of this planet. I took a look at a website that lists coaching jobs all over the country; there have to be some in nice places where people are a bit less insane about football."
"Honey, you didn't." Tami said, turning back to look at her daughter. Julie went on, mentioning one ad she'd seen that came with a house overlooking Puget Sound, except she misprounounced it as "pudgit".
"See, I heard somewhere that a daughter is supposed to be a comfort and a blessing to her father." Eric pouted.
"What if I make pancakes for us on Saturday?" Julie countered.
"Then I get to clean up and wash the dishes," Brendan added.
Julie tapped her brother's arm. "Always got my back, right, big brother?"
"You betcha, Julie-jewel." Eric and Tami both smiled at this as they arrived at the school parking lot.
NBC Sports had come out in full force. Camera crews, lighting gear, makeup artists, and a cigar-smoking supervisor who barked orders in three directions at once. A group of about five or six players, already wearing their jerseys, had gathered around Coach Taylor: presumably, they were the ones who'd get interviewed. Jason Street was there, of course. So was Tim Riggins, the tall and muscular fullback with uncombed dirty blond hair, wearing number 33. Brian "Smash" Williams, the record-setting running back born in the inner city, was standing around with his chest puffed out. The defense was represented by its captain, defensive tackle Greg Budden, and strong safety Bobby Reyes. Other players moved around at an intermediate distance, falling approximately into three categories: those who wished they were being interviewed, those who were curious about the interviews, and those with no desire at all to get roped into answering questions.
"Hey, Brendan" Jay Greer, the team's Jamaican-born kicker, greeted him. "Come to watch the media circus?"
"To find out how to run one of my own," Brendan said and shook his friend's hand. Now that Carlos Palacios had moved to Los Angeles in July, Jay was probably his closest friend left. "You suppose you'll ever get interviewed?"
"You kiddin' me, mon?" Jay let his accent come through. "I'm the kicker. They don't like to remember I exist."
"Or that I do either, apparently." Brendan deadpanned. "Look, I'm going to ask the reporter if I can listen in."
"OK, catch you later." Jay moved off. Brendan made his way towards the chairs were the interviews were going to take place. The reporter had to be the man talking to his father: around thirty years old, a light-skinned black man with a shaved head, tall and slender, wearing a perfectly ironed light blue button-down shirt, no suit or tie. Coach Taylor was in his blue Panthers T-shirt, cap, and shorts. On his way over, Brendan said hello to a few assistant coaches and players who he knew, like sophomore Matt Saracen, the backup quarterback whose father was in the army, usually deployed in Iraq.
"We're just about ready to start, Coach Taylor," the reporter said in a voice that showed clearly that either he wasn't from the South or he'd had speech training. "Once your players are ready, that is. Is this your son?"
"And proud of it." Brendan answered before his father could. "I'm Brendan Taylor, Sir. Since I'm interested in possibly studying journalism, would you mind if I watched the interviews, just to understand how you do your work?"
"Tommy Hastings, NBC Sports." the reporter held out his hand for a shake, which was firm and quick. "Nice to meet you, Brendan. I can see the family resemblance. Sure, you can watch the interviews, if you can just stand over to the side a bit and take care not to make any noise. Could I talk with you a bit later?"
"Um, that's not actually a good idea, Mr. Hastings." Brendan said this and then noticed his father let out a deep breath.
"OK then." the reporter didn't seem disappointed. He pointed to an area that was still in the shade and off to the side from where the cameras would be, not directly behind them. "Would over there be all right for you?"
"Sure." Brendan answered. "And thank you. I'll talk to you later, Dad." His father just gave him a silent wave. Brendan moved to the designated spot and listened.
The interview started with Coach Taylor and Jason Street being asked about how they'd worked together for a long time. "He's a good boy," Coach Taylor said, "We expect a lot of him and he produces." Jason added that he enjoyed being on a team where the players all knew each other. No really tough questions were being asked, so far. Brendan wasn't sure whether he should feel disappointed in the reporter or relieved for his father's sake.
Things changed somewhat when Smash Williams was getting interviewed. Mr. Hastings called him Brian, but he referred to himself as "the Smash". Smash talked big about both the team's prospects and his own: "gonna get my national championship on and get my Heisman on." Except when he was asked about his father, who'd apparently died a couple of years earlier. "I don't talk about that. You want to ask me some football questions, I'll answer your football questions."
How did Hastings find out about Smash's father? Brendan wondered. He hadn't known it himself, although they were both juniors. He'd seen Mrs. Williams, a large lady who worked as a nurse, a couple of times. One more guy without a dad, Brendan thought, remembering what Jason had told him about Tim Riggins, and Matt Saracen's father off fighting a war.
"Man, this here's the best team. They got me!" Come on, Smash, could you possibly get any cheesier? Hastings then asked him about allegations of racism on the team. Brendan wondered whether he could ask Jay about that some time; after all he had a unique perspective: the white kids considered him black and the black kids considered him a foreigner. Smash didn't say there was or wasn't any racism, just that he didn't let it stop him. "I got thangs to do."
Tim Riggins was up next. "That ain't racism, I just don't like 'im." Meaning Smash, apparently. "He could be from Saudi Arabia, or Sweden, or Czech, and I still wouldn't like him." At least he hadn't been hung over in geography class. When he was asked about his aggressive play, Tim said "I just like to hurt people." Of course he'd had to play aggressively to win the starting fullback job as a freshman. And then Hastings asked him whether he'd been drinking, which Tim denied. If the guy can smell it on his breath, it's probably there, Brendan thought. He'd told his father about the boosters supplying Riggins with beer, but at sixteen he was just cynical enough to believe nothing would change. People would just lie and say it wasn't going to happen again. Jason, how on Earth did you believe I could help you with Tim?
Brendan was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice that Tommy Hastings had come closer to him and the cameras were actually facing his direction. "Brendan, it's unusual for the son of a Texas football coach not to be involved in the game. What's behind that?"
"Mr. Hastings," Brendan crossed his arms over his chest, "I said I didn't want to be interviewed." Should he walk away now?
"This town is passionate about football and your father's the new head coach. People are saying that your not being on the team says something about Coach Taylor. How do you feel about that?" the reporter insisted.
"Yeah, I know," Brendan stood straight and glared at Hastings. "I heard a bunch of nitwits on the radio questioning what kind of coach my Dad is because he doesn't make me play – how about thinking that makes him a good father, since he respects my wishes? I'm just not a team sports guy, I like bicycling and lifting weights, plus my eyes are shot. Isn't it better to have the people who are actually into football playing it? Or are you going to ask me why my sister isn't a cheerleader or a rally girl? Our father lets us be ourselves. What everyone else needs to do is let him be himself, and do his job. He can do it."
"Thank you for speaking your mind, Brendan." The nerve of this guy! "And that wraps up our interviews here in Dillon, Texas, home of the Panthers." Hastings made some kind of gesture to his cameramen and the lights went off in a second.
Coach Taylor came over and grabbed his son by his right arm. "We had a deal, son. I warned you about the media."
Brendan didn't try to wrestle out of his father's grip. He could have, but that would be too much like fighting. He turned to him, head slightly bent, and said "I know, Dad, but he just wouldn't let it go. I felt like I had to stand up for you, or they'd just keep on saying stuff against you. And I didn't say anything bad about football, just that I'm not into it."
Eric Taylor's gaze and grip softened, and he moved his hand to his son's shoulder. "OK, I understand. I know you're loyal, it's just that sometimes a man's got to choose which battles to fight. Sometimes firing with both barrels isn't the way to do it."
"Dad." Brendan looked his father in the eye; after all, they were close to the same height, with Eric having an extra inch or so. "Really, honestly, do you wish I was playing?"
"Course I do, but I wouldn't force you to do it." Eric looked right back at him. "The truth is, you've already got the heart and the character that I want all my players to have. Football, that's my job and I would have loved to teach you that. But you and Tami and Julie, you're my family, my life. The guys out there, they could stand to learn from you. I'm proud of you, son."
"Thanks, Dad. It's not just Julie's back that I got, y' know." They bear-hugged each other. Then Eric stepped away, saying that he had to start practice. Brendan could have sworn he saw him blink a couple of times.
Lunchtime in the school cafeteria
Brendan was sitting with Jay Greer discussing Jamaica – he absolutely had to go there some time, Jay made the place sound fantastic - and reggae music when he noticed that a couple of guys were checking Julie out. Well, that was bound to happen sometime. She was fifteen and no longer a little girl. And as far as guys went, those two were relatively harmless: Matt Saracen and a friend of his who was a freshman, a blond guy with little eyes, what was his name, Lance Clarke? No, Landry. Julie was sitting there reading a book. Brendan was close enough that he could overhear their conversation whenever it happened. Also close enough to go into protective big brother mode, if needed. This might be interesting.
"Yes?" Julie said to the two boys after they had come close enough to make it clear they intended to talk to her.
"I'm in your English class, I'm Landry." He seemed to be the more talkative one, while Matt seemed to be more focused on looking at Julie.
"And?"
"And Matt and I were wondering if we could sit and eat with you. Talk a little about the book you're reading and stuff." Landry continued.
"You're on the football team." Julie said, looking at Matt.
"Well, he barely is." Landry kept talking, but he'd started to look a bit uncomfortable. "I mean, he's second-string."
"I hold extra points sometimes," Matt cut in, while looking clearly bewildered.
"Technically, though, you're still on the football team." Julie said. "And I don't eat with football players."
"I'm not on the football team, though." Landry said.
"And I don't eat with you either." Julie said. And then, to temper the blow, she gave them a bright smile. "If you need somebody to eat with, you could try my brother. He eats with everyone, especially if they give him some food."And then she went back to reading her book: Moby Dick, Brendan could recognize it from the cover and the fact that he'd had to read it last year.
"Mon, your sister is a genius," Jay said to Brendan with a wink. "I wonder how she'll shut down the next guy. And you might get some extra food out of it."