Chapter 13: Girlfriend
Saturday, August 26, 1995
Matt sat on the home bench, kitted out for the game, frustrated that he would not be playing. It was time for kickoff. MCU’s eleven starters took their positions on the field. The five extra teammates who hoped to get game time joined him on the bench.
The referee blew his whistle.
MCU had won the coin toss, so they kicked off, lobbing the ball downfield, their three forwards charging into Saints’ territory, trying to dominate the game from the start. Coach was trying a new formation this year: 4 defenders, 3 mid-fielders, and 3 forwards (4-3-3). For years MCU had stuck with a 4-4-2 formation, heavy on the defense, with only 2 forwards.
Saints’ wingback stopped the ball, passed it to their midfielders, who kicked it back to MCU’s side of the field.
“Guys, check out the spectators,” said Roger, a junior who had long ago earned the right to be called by his given name. He sat on Matt’s left, leaning forward.
Matt peered at the spectators. There were maybe twenty to thirty people spread across two sets of bleachers on the opposite side of the field, seventy yards away. The only thing that caught his attention was Simon Sparrow strutting like a rooster. Wrong species of bird.
Matt shrugged. “What’s to see?”
“Dude!” Roger said. “The hot girl standing on the far right. See the chubby girl holding a posterboard sign? The hot one is beside her. Tight silver and purple top. School colors.”
“She’s in one of my classes,” said Idabel, who was sitting on Matt’s other side. “Ruth. That’s her name. She must be here to watch me play.”
Roger laughed derisively. “In your dreams, dude. She’s here for me. That’s the future ‘Mrs. Eberhardt’ you’re disrespecting.”
Matt hated this chest beating ritual that straight guys aped from their gorilla cousins, marking their territory, warning off rivals. Admittedly, in the recent past, he would have half-heartedly joined in just to burnish his hetero creds. Not anymore. Women’s body shapes—wide, horse hips and swaying, pendulous teats—was the stuff of nightmares. He was tired of pretending otherwise.
He ventured a look across the field, if only to see Roger’s fantasy future wife. (Matt had news for her: her future husband had room to spare in his jock strap. Just saying.)
Matt recognized the girl now, recognized her friend as well: Ruth and one of her Naomis. Shit! They were here for him. He’d underestimated Ruth’s determination.
Matt distracted himself by watching the game and its fierce competition between two church-affiliated schools, each claiming to represent true Christianity.
Saints University, in Topeka, Kansas, was affiliated with the Society of Friends, aka Quakers, a twig on the Protestant tree dating to 1650 England.
ThefCOC was 200 years younger, with its roots in Ireland.
The last thing either of these sects had gotten right was their support for the abolition of slavery, which was ironic considering that all the players on this field were Caucasian-ish. In other words, slavery bad, segregation good.
Saints overpowered MCU’s midfielders, pressing MCU’s defenders to scramble. Matt saw the defensive hole, anticipated that Saints’ winger would pass to their striker, which he did. Goal!
Saints dominated the first half of the game, holding their one-point lead. This was not supposed to be happening. In the six previous matchups between the schools, MCU had won five.
During halftime the Sparrows congregated around the bench.
Matt surrendered his seat to guys who had been on the field, offered to get them water or Gatorade from the Igloo coolers. He felt his ears reddening with embarrassment as everyone talked about the one topic that fascinated them: his hot girlfriend and the posterboard sign.
The sign linked Ruth to him. It had big letters proclaiming: “LET MUSTANG RUN!”
Coach had been on the sidelines during the first half, running with the ball, yelling at his players. Now he hovered around the bench. “I need you idiots to quit acting like hormonal thirteen-year-olds and get your heads in the game,” he growled. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re losing. Losing an exhibition game on our home turf. I’d be embarrassedif I were you.”
Coach looked at Matt. “Mustang!” he barked. “Follow me.”
Matt followed Coach to an area on the sidelines, out of earshot of any of his teammates.
“That’s a chickenshit move,” Coach snarled. Off the field, he respected MCU’s injunction against profanity. On the field was a different matter.
“Sir?” Matt was confused.
Coach glared at him. “Using your girlfriend to pressure me to give you game time. Did you think I wouldn’t add two and two and come up with four?”
