Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta

Chapter Thirteen – Any Given Sunday

Disclaimer: Still nae mine.

Summary: Stan is made to form a pee-wee football team.

Author's Notes: Hellooo!! Welcome back to all of you who still read these stupid note thingies… Before we go on to the new chapter, which will feature all four of our principal boys' POVs, I'd like to plug one of my OWN stories: Stand By Me, which features AU Style. The AU? Fingerbang became a national hit.

-.-

September 30, 2019

South Park, CO

12:30 P.M.

-.-

Stan's POV

-.-

"You want me to what?" I ask Token in the Mayor's office. Yes, Token's the Mayor of South Park. Has been ever since he came back from Law School. The town decided McDaniels was finally too senile and had her committed, and Token won the special election. Kyle contemplated running against him, but he'd decided against it.

"I want you to form and coach a pee-wee football team, Stan," he repeats. "I was up in Middle Park the other day for a county-wide conference of Mayors, and I got to see their team practice, and I wondered why the hell we didn't have one of our own. You're the best football coach in the state, Stan. If anyone can do it, you can." Oh, sure, asshole, suck up to me. I still haven't forgotten how Wendy dumped me for you and turned me into an emo pussy twenty-five years ago…

"When do you want it done by?" I ask.

"Well, actually, I kinda-sorta challenged Mayor East of Middle Park to a game on Halloween," Token admits bashfully. "So…I would think tryouts next weekend, at least, give you a few weeks to drill them into a halfway decent team and teach them a few plays."

"In the middle of the District schedule!?!" I exclaim. "What, you think I can pull extra time out of my ass, Token?"

"Stan, old buddy, you're riding a seventy-two game win streak that spans six seasons now. Your players can probably run entire games from memory. I think you could spend at least one day a week with them helping you train the little tykes." Well…that's probably true. Oh, hell, of course it is. We've done it before. Just as a joke, in our season opener this year against Conifer. We won 49-3. I can spare a full day a week, and an hour out of all the others, to get my "other" team ready.

"I'm assuming you've already got flyers and commercials announcing tryouts ready to roll as soon as I say yes?"

"You know me too well, Stan."

"Alright, alright, fine, I'll do it. But only because I fucking hate Middle Park."

"Don't we all?" Token asks, and tosses me a beer.

"Touché," I say, saluting him with the can as I catch it, pop it open, and down half of it in one swig.

-.-

When I get home, I'm almost trampled by David running about the house, getting ready for some stupid dance. Ryan, I note, is watching him with an evil eye glare. I should probably ask about that. Ryan's been moody for a couple of weeks now…ever since he found out about the dance. Dunno why…I loved dances. But first…

I walk over to Kyle in the kitchen doorway, where he's observing the frantic action from, and give him a quick kiss.

"So, what'd the good Mayor Token want?" he asks slyly.

"A pee-wee football team to field against Middle Park on Halloween," I reply, wrapping my arms around him.

"Really? And he wanted the best coach in the state to be in charge of it?"

"His words more or less exactly," I confirm.

"When're tryouts?" he asks.

"Next weekend."

"That only gives you…"

"Three weeks, I know. But I'm gonna have my Cows take time out of our practice schedule to help me out."

"But you're in the middle of your District schedule!" Kyle protests.

"So? We can play games from memory. Remember the season opener against Conifer?" I ask, and he nods. "Did I call a play the whole game?"

"No…" he confirms. "How much practice time is it going to eat up, though? You've got Middle Park coming up yourself, remember."

"One full day, and an hour out of each of the other days. I trust my players, Ky. We can beat any team in the state."

"Gee, nice to know I married someone without any ego at all," he comments wryly.

"Gee, nice to know I married someone who has so much confidence in my abilities!" I return.

"Seriously though…you want Ryan and David to play?"

"That's the plan, yeah. I'll have even more time to work with them than I would with the rest of the team, and they can work plays and drills out with the rest of the team during recess," I confirm. "I was gonna go ask Ryan about it now…but I think I should hold off till tomorrow on David."

"Yeah, that'd probably be best," Kyle agrees. "He's…in a bit of a hurry. He's got a big date with Katie tonight, and he wants to look good and be all gentlemanly. Ryan's apparently not going out of protest for the way Katie chose her date."

"Oh, is that why he's so moody lately?" Kyle shrugs.

"I dunno, that's my best guess."

"Well, I'm gonna go see if I can cheer him up," I say with a grin, and walk out to the living room to sit next to my son on the couch. He's watching Nebraska pound the hell out of Kansas on ABC.

"Hey, Ryan, can I talk to you for a sec?" I ask, putting my hand on his shoulder to catch his attention.

"Sure, Dad," he says, muting the TV and turning to face me. "What's up?"

"I'm forming a pee-wee football team because Mayor Black made a wager with Mayor East of Middle Park for a Halloween game. I just wanted to ask if you think you might be game for trying out."

"Am I going to really have a choice?" he asks. God, sometime's he's just so perceptive…

"Well, I can say that I would definitely PREFER that you did, but ultimately, it's your time and your choice."

"I'm glad you respect me like that, Dad," he says. "Count me in. When're tryouts?"

"Next Saturday, at the football field."

"Are you gonna make David come too?"

"Yeah. Do you wanna hear the plan?"

"Can I suggest modifications?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Then yeah, hit me with it, Dad."

"OK then. The plan is, whatever positions you two end up getting, I'm going to have you and David work with me a little extra at night on the game plan, and go over it with the rest of the team during recess at school. That way we can optimize what little practice time we get because you'll all know what you're supposed to be doing."

"And the optimization is necessary because of the three-week turnaround between the start of practice and the game itself," Ryan states.

"Right."

"How much time are we going to spend practicing, with your High School schedule and all?"

"Well, I'm going to take time out of my High School practices to have me and the team work with you and your team to get ready really quick. They all know my coaching scheme, probably better than I do, and having all of them on hand will really make it easier for you all to learn the ropes. An hour every day for three days a week, and a full day probably on Tuesdays, will be extracted from my normal practices, to work with the pee-wee team."

"And we're playing Middle Park?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck Middle Park. Stuck up sonsabitches…" he mutters.

"You wanna go throw the ball around some, help me with a little scouting out of the people you know and what you think they might be capable of?" I ask.

"Will it get me out of the house and away from David's stupid preparations?" Ryan asks.

"Well…yeah," I say. He grins.

"Dear God, what're we waiting for? Let's go!!"

-.-

Three Weeks Later

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Ryan's POV

-.-

"No, Goddamnit, that's NOT how it goes!" I exclaim. "I run the slant route across the middle, Jamie goes long, and Danny buttonhooks! You've got it all mixed around, David!!"

"Ryan. Dad said, 'Run SLB O 5.' Option Five is JAMIE runs slant, DANNY goes long, and YOU buttonhook!" David argues.

"Nuh-uh!" I exclaim, and David and I begin shouting until Pops, with a smirk, drops a yellow flag into the middle of our huddle and blows his whistle.

"DELAY OF GAME, WHITE!" he shouts.

"David, what the hell's going on out there!?!" Dad shouts from the sidelines.

"Ryan doesn't agree about O 5!" David calls back.

"GET OVER HERE!" Dad looks angry. And well he should…we've got a little more than a week before we have to suit up and take the field against Middle Park, who is vulnerable to passing plays. Unfortunately, David can't keep his passing plays straight!!

"OK, Ryan, what's SLB O 5?" Dad asks. Because I'M the one with the photographic memory, I know the entire playbook by heart. I'm right.

"I run slant, Jamie goes long, and Danny buttonhooks," I recite smugly.

"David, what's SLB O 5?" Dad asks.

"JAMIE runs slant, DANNY goes long, and RYAN buttonhooks!" he exclaims, exasperated.

"No," Dad says. "Ryan's right on this one. You're thinking of O 4. You just wasted thirty seconds and lost five yards on that. Go out and run it again."

David glares at me as we re-buckle our chin straps and jog back out to the huddle. I've been trying to work with him to memorize the playbook over the past few weeks, but he's been sort of hostile to me…like sports are his territory alone, and I'm supposed to be holed up in my room playing with graphing calculators and things.

"Alright, SLB O 5 on two, ready, BREAK!" David announces, and we trot up to the line of scrimmage as marked by Pops. David crouches under Jason, who's playing center, and I line up in the tight end slot, inside of Danny, who's the flanker. Jamie's the wideout on the other side of the field.

"Fiver, Fiver, hut hut!" David calls, and the D-Line surges forward as I push off my coverage and sprint downfield, then abruptly cut inside twenty yards from the line of scrimmage. I watch David look first to Jamie, who's sprinting downfield, twenty yards ahead of me but double-covered, and then to Danny, who's gone five yards ahead of me but reversed course and headed back towards the line, also still covered, before looking to wide-open me and letting the ball fly.

Just as I practiced with both Dad and David, I reach up my hands to snatch the ball out of the air, but instead of flying into them, it instead drills me in the side of the helmet, knocking me to the turf.

"GOD FUCKING DAMNIT DAVID!" Dad screams from the sidelines. "YOUR BROTHER'S HEAD ISN'T GOING TO CATCH THE GODDAMN BALL!! EITHER AIM FOR HIS HANDS, LIKE I TAUGHT YOU, OR I'LL FIND ME ANOTHER GODDAMN QUARTERBACK!!"

-.-

After practice, Pops takes both of us aside. "Alright, you two, listen up. I want to know what the hell's going on between you, and I want to know right the fuck now. This is very important to your Dad, and if you fuck this up for him because of some stupid spat the two of you are having, so help me, I will rip your balls off myself!!" David just gapes, but I've heard about Pops' temper. You do NOT want to fuck with him.

"I don't have any problems with David," I answer, honestly. "I'm doing what Dad told me to do and help him and the rest of the team get on board with the game plan and the plays and stuff."

"David?" Pops asks. "What's your problem with Ryan?"

"Sports are MY thing! He's never played with me and the guys at recess before this! He's horning in on my territory!!" David exclaims. "It's only a matter of time before he tries to take Katie away from me too!"

"Oh my fucking GOD, dude, get OVER yourself!" I exclaim in frustration. "For the LAST GODDAMN TIME, I have NO romantic interests WHATSOEVER in Katie McKormick. If you want to put up with her, that's your goddamn business. But all I want to do is play football and beat the hell out of Middle Park. Now, can you? I promise to go back to my swingsets and graph paper after this is finished."

He glares at me, under pressure from Pops. "Sure, Ryan. I'm sorry for being such a dick. I know you're just trying to help me and be a good brother and stuff."

"There, now wasn't that easy?" Pops asks, rising up from his crouch. "Now c'mon, your Dad's waiting at the car."

"Hey, Ry?" David asks as we fall into step behind Pops. "Can you help me out with the passing codes again? I keep forgetting which one goes with which routes…" He looks ashamed.

"Sure, dude. What are supergenius brothers for, anyway?" I reply with a grin. He gives me a good-natured shrug as we approach the car, and we both have a good laugh. David's no academic slouch, but I AM smarter than him…

-.-

One Week Later

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David's POV

-.-

Whatever dumb son of a bitch that told Dad Middle Park was vulnerable to passing plays fucking lied his ass off. Their coverage is three times worse than anything I had in practice, even when we ran that scrimmage against the sixth-graders! The only target I've had with any reliability is Ryan. I know he'd deny it to his grave, but there's SOME sort of subliminal bond-thing between us. I swear he knows exactly where I'm going to throw the ball before I ever release it, and he's been busting his ass to make sure he's there to meet it. Even so, for the three touchdowns I've thrown to him so far, their defense has still picked me off twice, snatching it practically right out of Ryan's hands, much to his displeasure as we jog to the sidelines to be replaced by the defense.

We're up 35-28 with only a couple of minutes left in the game. Dad is rocking back and forth, along with the linebacker who's Captain of the High School's Defense and serving as the defensive coordinator for this game, and shouting out encouragement to our haggard classmates.

"Three-Four Shift!" Tony shouts. Tony's the linebacker. Dad says he's gonna get a big offer from Colorado. He's been over a lot this week, talking about strategy and things with Dad. Ryan and I got to offer advice, cuz when it gets down to it, we know the players they're talking about better than they do, but they know the strategies and things.

The Middle Park Quarterback goes under center, and takes a quick snap, dropping back…oh, fuck, he's got a receiver wide open! Danny's supposed to be covering that guy…maybe double duty is taking its toll on him. He's still not getting a lot to eat, but at least Dad says his dad's more sober since the bartender stopped serving him until he pays his tab, which means he has to get a job, which means he's making money, which means that Danny occasionally gets Instant Ramen to eat instead of bread and air.

"DANNY!" I shout. "PICK UP YOUR MAN!!" Jerking his head in response, my emaciated friend sprints downfield after his target as the ball flies from the quarterback's hand towards the boy Danny is chasing down. It's gonna be a close one…it's gonna be a DAMN close one! C'mon, Danny…get there! Get there, Danny!!

YES! Broken up pass! They're gonna have to punt!

"Ryan, Jamie, get the receiving team in formation!" Dad calls, as I put my helmet on in preparation to go back onto the field and maybe run one or two series before I'm called to end the game by kneeling.

-.-

Kyle's POV

-.-

The punt, from what Stan's taught me about football, is beautiful. It tumbles end-over-end, hanging in the air JUST long enough for Ryan to be surrounded by tacklers when he hauls it in. He doesn't get very far from the twenty yard line, which means David's going to have a bit of work to do. I know Stan's not going to expect them to score again, but he probably WOULD like something more than a single touchdown. One mistake from David or a receiver would send this game into overtime. It's already gonna take all night to calm him down and relax him from this…

Oh! There goes David, trotting onto the field with the offense, Ryan out as a tight end…it's so strange how our kids are so similar to us in looks, but our complete opposites personality-wise. David's the jock I never was, and Ryan's the academic Stan never could be. Like somebody cloned us but got the personalities switched, really. It's damn strange…

OK…Stan's decided to use a running series to try and eat up the clock. Well, it's working…another twenty seconds and we can go home, and I can start work on de-stressing my poor husband. He's going to lose more of that wonderfully soft hair of his…wait, why's the whistle blowing? The game's not over yet…oh, wait, Middle Park called a time out. Well, it's third down and short on our…twenty-nine. I bet they're gonna try something sneaky to try and get a last-second touchdown and send the game into overtime…I WISH I could get into contact with Stan!

I'd call his cell, but there's no way he'd answer it in the middle of a game. He's too professional for that, even if it IS a pee-wee game, which tends to be a little more relaxed than the CHSAAwhen it comes to taking cell phone calls during the game. I'd run down to the sidelines, but the huddles are breaking up and I'm in the middle of the bleachers.

Well…I guess all I can do is watch and hope whatever they're planning fails. Hmm…interesting. David's calling out a passing play. But why would Stan go with a passing play with less than thirty seconds on the clock? Maybe he just wants David to get rid of the ball before he can be sacked. Yeah…that must be it. No other explanation for it.

"HUT!" shouts David, and I can tell instantly this won't end well. Especially because NONE of the receivers are able to get beyond the line of scrimmage, brutally knocked down, and, Oh FUCK! They're out cold! Their little heads bounced when they hit the turf! And there's NO one between David and the same fate! Oh, God!! Oh God Oh God Oh GOD!!

He manages to draw his arm back and make forward motion just as I hear the VERY audible crunch that accompanies a series of savage hits that drive David to the turf as time runs out and four yellow flags fly.

Even as the referee announces the extensive list of penalties on the play, I'm working my way out of the bleachers and running for the field, just like Butters, Stan, and the trainer.

"The following penalties were conducted on the play," the ref announces. "Unsportsmanlike conduct, number 53 black. Unsportsmanlike conduct, number 24 black. Unsportsmanlike conduct, number 73 black. Unsportsmanlike conduct, roughing the passer, number 66 black. Each infraction is a fifteen-yard penalty. Time expires. South Park wins the game."

Scowling, I run ahead of the training staff, and even Stan, to drop to David's side as he groggily wakes up.

"Wha' 'appened?" he asks.

"You got sacked as time ran out, but you made forward motion with your throwing arm enough to incur a penalty against Middle Park. You won."

"Good," he says, satisfied, before passing out again. I rise, full of silent fury, and walk over to where Stan is having similar words with Ryan. Seeing me coming, he rises and turns to face me.

"It's not my fault!" he immediately proclaims. That doesn't stop me from punching him hard in the shoulder.

"Be lucky that's not your face. My boy's unconscious and I have no idea if he has a concussion because he won't stay awake long enough for me to check. Consider your Kyle-time for a week revoked," I spit, pivoting on my heel and walking back to David, ignoring the objections of the trainer and removing his helmet, picking him up and walking to the car, leaving a gaping Stan behind me to follow with Ryan.

It's a silent car ride, and an even quieter week.

-.-

Author's Notes: Phew!! That was a long one!! Poor Stan though, he lost a week's worth of Kyle-time!! I think I'd rather lose a stupid football game than my lover's trust and a week of sex, and I think Stan would too…but still, it's a pretty effective punishment from Kyle, huh?