Game Plan

Chapter 3 (Part 1 of 2)

“Game Plan” 

2013 Copyright All Rights Reserved 

Chapter 3 (Part 1 of 2)

Dirk gave it one more good heave and grunted out loud.

“Aw, come on man, you can do better than that.”

Staring up at Ryan, the Supernova's team trainer, he scowled.  “That’s fifty in a row.  I’m thinking that’s pretty damn good,” he gritted out between his teeth.  If he had to hear one more smart remark from the pretty boy standing over him he was going to shove his foot deep into the one place on his body where the sun don’t shine.

“Come on man, don’t be such a baby.  Ten more.  Ten more reps and we’ll call it a day.”

“Ten more… my ass.”  He pushed the two hundred pound bar up and settled it on the rack.

Lying there on his back, his shirt drenched in sweat, he stared up at the ceiling.  “I’m getting to old for this shit.” 

Ryan tossed a water bottle at his chest.  He caught it with both hands and rolled to his side, pushing himself into a sitting position.  Twisting off the top, he guzzled half the bottle all at once.

“You’re only as old as you think you are,” Ryan said, staring down at his clipboard. “Dirk, you need to be more positive.  Think of yourself more as,” he paused and looked up from his paperwork, “Vintage.  Aged.  Like a fine wine meant to be savored.”

Using the hem of his shirt, Dirk wiped the sweat from his brow.  “Are you kidding me?  What kind of advice is that?  It sounds more like your trying to hit on me.  Is that what you’re doing, Ryan?  Cause I have to be frank, I don’t swing on that vine.”

“Hell, no!” he exclaimed, looking completely affronted by the accusation.  “I’m a happily married man, thank you very much.  I’m trying to give you some words of wisdom so you don’t wind up flushing the rest of your career down the crapper.”

Standing up, Dirk peeled off his sweat drenched shirt and tossed it over his shoulder.  “Well do me a favor and keep your words of wisdom to yourself.  I for one don’t need them. Me and my career is doing just fine on our own.”

Ryan started to shake his head and then laughed.  “And that’s where you’re wrong.  Somebody needs to tell you something so you’ll pull your head out of your ass. Every day you come in here grumbling and only putting half ass effort into your training while the newbie’s out there are putting in one hundred and ten percent.  They want it so bad that they can taste it.  You have it but the real question is for how long?”

“I put in the effort,” Dirk protested, leaning up against the weight bench.  “I put in just as much effort as everyone else on this team, if not more.”

He snorted.  “Not hardly.  I’ve been working with you for years now.  I know your best Dirk and you aren’t anywhere near that right now. You’re barely making the grade.  It’s a wonder the coach hasn’t benched you yet.”

Dirk lifted the water bottle to his parched lips and gulped the rest of it down in three swallows.  “He won’t bench me. I’m worth too damn much.”

“Yeah, you keep thinking that superstar and watch what happens. Mark my word, the second you become a liability he’ll have your ass sidelined.”

“Please,” he rolled his eyes.  “You don’t know what you’re taking about.”

“Oh, you think I don’t? Keep going the way you’re going and see what happens. It always comes down to the all American dollar.  You need to think long and hard about what you’re doing and where you want to go.  If you’re done with football, then be done with it.  Retire.  Don’t go out like this.  If you want to keep playing and Dirk, the way that I know you can then you need to get your head back into the game because time isn’t standing still, waiting around for you to make your move.  It keeps going and if it passes you by then you’re just shit out of luck.  You feel where I’m coming from?”