The Story of Us

Team

I had always know working on an oil rig was dangerous, I knew people died and got hurt. What I didn't realize was that the tragedy could happen to my family. My father wouldn't watch my next game. That in itself was worse than the fact the he wouldn't be returning home. He had never missed a single one of my games.

I slid off the wooden locker room bench and onto the cold cement floor with only my pants on. The picture in my hand mocked me and I turned it over and over again, willing to go back to when it had been taken. My father's blue eyes twinkled with happiness, even in the picture.

“He's mine.” He would proclaim loudly to anyone who would listen. I'd be damned if I wasn't proud of the man my father was.

“Morgan.” I tore my eyes away from my father's smiling face to focus on Coach. He was looking at me with an unreadable expression on his wrinkled face. “Son, I just need to ask you one thing.” I sighed.

“Yes sir?” Coach sat on the bench across from me, watching me closely.

“Are you gonna stick with this team?” The answer took some serious soul-searching. Did I want to stick with my team, my brothers? The answer came to me quickly. Yes, I did. I owed that much to them. Hell, I owed that much to my dad, he was the one who made me fall in love with the sport.

“Yes, I will.” Coach smiled at me sadly.

“If you ever need anything, Morgan.” He left me to fill in the blanks. Coach McKee had always been close with my father. I wasn't the only one affected by his death.

The locker room was silent after practice. The usual bull shitting was gone, in it's place was respectful silence for my loss.

“No one leave.” I said, running a towel over my hair. Coach McKee paused in his office at my words, but he resumed his paper work almost immediately. Everybody slowly made their way to my row of lockers, all dressed with their equipment bags over their shoulders.

“Sit.” I said offhandedly, laying my damp towel on the bench, mentally preparing myself for what I was going to say.

“I know y'all have heard what happened to my father. But I want you to hear it from me.” I spoke clearly, standing in front of my teammates, my brothers. “He fell off an oil rig not but,” I checked the clock above Coach's office. “five hours ago.” I paused, trying to gather my thoughts.

“I've decided that I owed it to y'all to stick with the team. My first thought when I entered this locker room was that my father would never see me play again. I'll be damned if it didn't hurt, a lot.” I looked at their solemn faces, all focused on me. “Do me one favor for the remainder of the season. Play for the father-figure in your life. Who knows when he'll be gone?” I finished, eyes downcast.

The sounds of numerous bags hitting the floor jolted me out of my silent misery. Levi and Gentry where in front of the crowd moving toward me. Seconds later I was in the middle of a massive group hug and dangerously close to an emotional break-down.

“I think I speak for us all when I say you're the best captain we've ever had.” Thomas said from the middle of the huddle. There were roars of approval from everyone. Hands were raining down on my back in support, making my heart swell.

“You're damn right he is.” Everyone looked around to Coach McKee who had been long forgotten in his office. “And you men are the best team I've ever had. I can't tell you how proud I am to see you like this in the face of your captain's loss. Just don't forget who y'all are. Yellow jackets!” We yelled in agreement.

Everything I saw reminded me of my father in some way. It didn't matter if it was the farmer's market or the man cutting corn on his John Deere. It seemed like everything was hell-bent on making me remember him. Keith Anderson's song “I Still Miss You” drifted softly through the speakers.