Posts Tagged ‘football’

Football

4 Comments »

September 26th, 2022 Posted 7:41 am

Tennis came up yesterday so why not football today?

“Chisholm High, Chet.” Bernie took a deep breath. His eyes got a faraway look. “A kind of madhouse, in retrospect.”

What was that about? We were parked by a playing field that lay alongside a brick building, not tall but big and sort of heavy-looking. Madhouse sounded bad but nothing bad seemed to be going on.  All I saw was a bunch of boys in football uniforms, many of these boys on the large side, standing around a red-faced bald little dude with a whistle hanging from his neck.

“It can’t be,” Bernie said. “Coach Raker? Shouldn’t he be dead?”

All at once I was finding Bernie a bit hard to understand. I made up my mind then and there not to let him out of my sight for the rest of the day. We hopped out of the car – me actually hopping and Bernie not, although he can, as he proved beyond doubt the day a diamondback slithered out from under the driver’s seat and started wrapping itself around the gear shift – and headed across the field.

“Uh, a little space there, big guy?”

I tried to give him a little space.

 

Share

Football Returns!

3 Comments »

September 8th, 2022 Posted 7:13 am

First NFL game of the season is tonight. Football comes up from time to time in my work, going all the way back to Hard Rain, and it’s central to the plot of Reality Check, my YA novel that won an Edgar award. There’s also football in the Chet and Bernie series, in Bark To The Future, the most recent C&B, and in Heart of Barkness, and elsewhere I can’t remember at the moment. This is from Heart of Barkness:

We walked onto the field, mostly dirt with tufts of grass here and there. Coach Flowers had moved out from between the two rows of players, now stood to the side. We stopped nearby. Coach Flowers put the whistle in his mouth, sort of nudging the stogie to one side, and talked around them.

“On the whistle, potato heads. Not before, not after. All set?”

He blew the whistle, a sound I hate, but at least I’d known it was coming. The two rows charged each other, thumping together with lots of grunts and shouts, none of the shouts actual words, more like the kind of noise you hear on Animal Planet. The kids finished knocking each other around, picked themselves up, dusted themselves off.

“What the heck?” said Coach Flowers. Or something like that – he wasn’t easy to understand with the whistle and stogie in his mouth. “Call that hitting? Don’t look like hitting to me. Looked like hugging your sister.”

One of the kids said, “I’m a sister, coach.”

Coach Flowers turned to her. “Did I ask for your opinion, Taneeka?”

“Not yet, coach.”

“Take a lap.”

Share

Football (More)

10 Comments »

February 4th, 2022 Posted 7:55 am

Mrs. Publicist: What do you think of the new name for the Washington Football Team?

Pete: Commanders? Isn’t it a bit on the bland side? Why didn’t they push it a little farther and go with Commandos?

Mrs. Publicist: Too aggressive?

Pete: Maybe you’re onto something. Football could go the other way, sandbagging the opposition with names like … like Sloths.

Mrs. Publicist: Sloths?

Pete: “Sloths, second and eight on their own twenty … the play clock is winding down.”

Share

Football (More)

12 Comments »

January 29th, 2022 Posted 8:18 am

Another big football weekend. Here’s a little more football from Heart of Barkness:

We walked onto the field, mostly dirt with tufts of grass here and there. Coach Flowers had moved out from between the two rows of players, now stood to the side. We stopped nearby. Coach Flowers put the whistle in his mouth, sort of nudging the stogie to one side, and talked around them.

“On the whistle, potato heads. Not before, not after. All set?”

He blew the whistle, a sound I hate, but at least I’d known it was coming. The two rows charged each other, thumping together with lots of grunts and shouts, none of the shouts actual words, more like the kind of noise you hear on Animal Planet. The kids finished knocking each other around, picked themselves up, dusted themselves off.

“What the heck?” said Coach Flowers. Or something like that – he wasn’t easy to understand with the whistle and stogie in his mouth. “Call that hitting? Don’t look like hitting to me. Looked like hugging your sister.”

One of the kids said, “I’m a sister, coach.”

Coach Flowers turned to her. “Did I ask for your opinion, Taneeka?”

“Not yet, coach.”

“Take a lap.”

Share

The Books



powered by wordpress | site by michael baker digital