Magician

"Glad you could join us, 21."

The Special Team coach was grinning behind his bushy mustache. The coach was only slightly taller than Sena, with a huge chest and a belly to match. His hairy forearms were as big as Shin's thighs. He had made a name for himself twenty years before as a fullback, an oversized running back utilized in two-back offenses to strike a blow at the place of attack, allowing the ball carrier to move past his block and gain more yardage. The coach pushed his baseball cap back on his head, revealing his creased forehead and the bald curve of his scalp. "Bring it in, boys!" He bawled. The return team gathered around him, and he slowly creaked down to one knee.

Sena reviewed the faces of the 10 players around him – Coach designated a mix of veterans and younger players to participate in this important phase of the game so it was a curious mingling of experienced, steady stares and shifting, wide-eyed glances that looked back. The players seemed to be connected to the same electric socket, overcharged robots with limbs in continual motion, twitching their necks forward to listen. Even Shin was shifting, his movements structured like junbi undo, classic Judo warm-ups. Shin looked back at him expressionlessly, eyes closed to emotion. The mist continued to fill the air, and as the coach pulled out his sketchboard, the white surface became dewed with condensation.

"Okay. This is it. Let's talk about it…" The older man spoke in brisk phrases as he began to draw. The sketchboard consisted of a rectangle, representing the full field with yard markers. Quickly, the man used a black dry-erase marker to scrawl a line of triangles at the top of the board. "Here they are, those freakin' degenerates," he smiled, as his son-in-law was a player on the other team. "This is their usual kickoff set. Very vanilla." He raised a stubby finger, already marked black with ink. "But, their gunners are the best in the game." He drew dotted lines to represent the progress of the gunners, the men at either end of the field for the other team, nearest to the sidelines, who were able to go in motion and go beyond the ball before it was kicked. "Both guys are track guys, and they rip it up. Sooo…" He coughed and began to sketch in Xs at the bottom of the board, representing the Sabers. "So, we're gonna go with the double wedge and take it right up the gut… the gunners speed will be negated by concentrated blocking."

As soon as the coach said "double wedge," the schematics of the formation coalesced in Sena's mind. Once the ball was in the air, the five largest Sabers, the offensive linemen and linebackers on loan for the return team, would take up position as a group at the thirty yard line, right between the hash marks denoting the "center lane" of the field. At the same time, a smaller group of four men, tight ends and fullbacks, would position and center themselves at the ten yard line, twenty yards behind the others. The two men designated as kick returners would be back near the goal line, awaiting the ball: once one of them caught the ball, the other would act as another blocker, and both would run straight up the middle of the field. The whole plan would be like a moving battering ram, with the first wedge smashing and disrupting the initial attack of the kicking team, the second wedge creating a capsule or pocket around that initial point of contact, so as to force the opposition outside the line of attack. The most important role would be for the final guardian, the blocker immediately ahead of the ball carrier – he would need to create the "spring" block, a one-on-one duel with the desperate foe to create that crease in the coverage, that one hole, to allow the ball carrier to spring free.

Shin was extraordinary in the role of the lead blocker. However, at Sena's insistence, Shin would be carrying the ball on this play.

Sena would be lead blocker, today.

"Any questions, boys? We havin' fun yet?" The Special Teams coach looked at the faces around him and grinned like a deranged walrus. "Give a man a hand, won't you?" He held out his beefy hand, and one of the younger players grasped it and hauled him up. He hit the player on the rear with the sketchboard as thanks.

The return team, as a group, looked at Sena. He swallowed, and forced a smile. "This is it. We have the plan, now. And," He glanced at Shin, "and we know how we're going to execute it." After a moment, Shin nodded. His eyes gleamed with sudden determination.

The coach gave Sena a look, and winked. "Go open a can, son." He turned to the group. "You're a great bunch of hombres, boys. Don't forget that you're Boston Sabers. Let's start this thing right!" The players shouted loudly in agreement, and Sena vented his anxiety by howling loudest of all.

The players began to move to the mid-field marker. "Hey!" the Special Teams coach called after them in a voice that carried easily over the crowd. "Do not forget your mouthpieces!"

One player, sheepishly, turned and jogged back to the coach – it was the same man who had helped the coach get to his feet. The older man whacked the player soundly on the helmet, picked up something from the sodden grass and handed it to him: a forgotten U-shaped piece of black plastic. "You want to look like me, cherry?" He gruffed, one eyebrow rising almost to the bill of his cap.

The player shook his head vigorously, then turned and loped as fast as his dignity might allow back to his mates.

"Heyyyyyy, Cherry!"

"Shinjin baka, Cherry!"

"Is that a tic-tac, or is that your tooth, Cherry?"

"Almost a Darwin award, there, Cherry!"

Sena smiled and Shin grinned slightly as the unfortunate player was now christened with a familiar nickname. As was tradition, he would be called Cherry until the next individual demonstration of prime dumbassery occurred – unfortunately, as the game was the last of the season, the man would most likely be called Cherry until next training camp… several months at the least. What was key about the incident, however, was how it defused the tension: like a grounding wire diffused a charge, the comedic awkwardness altered the emotional paradigm of the return team. As a group, they were reset to what Sena had recognized in the locker room: confident and eager to do their job.

Sena looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened – the coach was beaming back at him. The man had a different mouthpiece between each thick hairy finger, all of which he made disappear with a flourish.

Did the player really drop the mouthpiece, or…?

Sena grinned tightly and turned his attention to the task at hand. A special team coach, indeed.