Disclaimer: I do not own any Higher Ground characters. I made up the plot, and several characters (Toby, Jenny, Sarah, and Styner). I also don't own the song "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" by the Beatles. But it is a groovy song and one of my favorites.

The coach's whistle echoed through the locker room. "Why the heck aren't you guys on the field?" he demanded, striding in. "Fifteen minutes is plenty to get out of school and into your practice jerseys."

Several players mumbled apologies or excuses, scooting out past the coach and onto the field. Coach Styner put a hand on Scott's shoulder as he walked by.

"Yeah, Coach?"

"Stay a minute, Barringer. I want to talk to you."

Scott shrugged and sat down on a bench, watching his teammates stream by him. When the locker room emptied completely, he looked to Styner expectantly. A lecture, he knew, was forthcoming. A lecture that he did not want to hear.

"Scott, you've missed the last three practices," the older man said. "And when you're on the field, you're distracted. You miss easy plays; you talk trash. I don't know what's going on with you, but I don't like it."

"I'm sorry," Scott said mechanically.

"Yeah, I'll bet you are." His coach studied him. "You don't look a bit sorry."

"What do you want?" Scott asked, rising. "An official statement? I'm sorry, Coach, sir, that I'm a human being, and I happen to lose my temper occasionally, just like every other human being in the world."

"That's enough, Scott!" Styner pushed Scott back onto the bench firmly. "I expect good, sportsmanlike conduct from my players. And you are not displaying that. You show no responsibility, no caring, nothing! I need to see that you're committed to the sport!"

"It's just a game," Scott spat out. "It's just a game."

"This is your warning, Barringer," Styner said. "You get out there on the field and shape up. One more incident, one more missed practice or game, anything, and you're off of this team. Got it?"

"Whatever."

"I hope you'll make a good choice," Coach Styner continued, ignoring Scott's response. He started out to the field, then turned back. "And Scott?"

"What?"

"This is a drug-free team. You use, and you're off."

He left the locker room, and Scott stood up, throwing his helmet across the room and kicking a locker. His cleats left a good dent in it. Football. Just a game? It had been his life. His entire life. And now it was just a game.

Scott retrieved his helmet and went out onto the field. Time to play the game again.

When he got out there, he saw Jenny sitting in the bleachers, waving at him. He waved back. She beckoned him over.

"Wanna blow practice again?" she asked when he got over. "My folks aren't home."

"Nah," Scott said. "Coach just raked me over the coals. Gotta lie low for a bit."

"Huh," was her response. "I'll catch you later then, Scott." Without waiting for him to reply, she took off, leaving the bleachers, leaving the stadium. Scott watched her go.

"Barringer!" Coach Styner yelled. "Get over here! Come on, let's get going!"

Scott jogged over and practice began. It didn't go very well.

It seemed that every pass Scott received, he fumbled. Every interception he should have made, he missed. Every tackle he should have dodged, he was taken down. It wasn't a good practice. Every time he screwed up, Coach Styner would yell for him to concentrate on the play, and his teammates would exchange looks. It was those looks that did it for Scott.

He missed a pass that, any other day, he would have easily caught. Trying to ignore Styner's angry rebuke, Scott saw one of his teammates glance worriedly at another. In an instant, Scott was over there, throwing his helmet down and spitting out his mouth guard, grabbing at the boy's jersey, bringing their faces close together.

"Shut up!" he screamed. "I don't need your looks, your comments! Keep them to yourself!"

"Scott!" Styner grabbed him from behind and hauled him back. "Get over to the bench. Now!"

"No!" Scott shouted. He jerked himself free and spun on his coach. "Don't you tell me what to do. What the hell you know? You think football's all that? Huh? It's nothing! Nothing! None of you get it!"

"That's it," Coach Styner said, his voice tightly controlled. "I warned you, son. You're off the team."

"What!?" Scott looked startled. He backed away from his coach, away from his teammates. "You can't…I'm not…"

"You hear me?" Styner did not look happy. "Get off this field."

"No."

"Let me make this real clear to you, Barringer," Styner said, walking over to Scott. The team stared. "You're off. Now. I won't put up with your fighting, your disrespect. Get off the field."

Scott looked around. No one was coming forward to plead his case. No one said anything. Everyone was silent, watching, observing. Their eyes bore into him. Were these the same people who had comforted him when he dropped passes or had a bad game? Their eyes watching, silent and boding.

It was just a game. None of this mattered. It wasn't life. It was a game.

"Barringer, I said get off."

He turned and ran. Ran from the field, from the game. Back into life. The life he hated, even though it went on. Life went on.