Cory's in Goal by Chris Hampton
Chapter 3
The next day, Coach Quinn had a team meeting.
“Bad news, boys,” he began quietly. “I spoke with Mr. Pritchard last night. Gray has a fractured ankle.” The team seemed to groan in unison. “He’s out for six weeks. Maybe the whole season.”
Quinn, the rock of a man, who had been a fullback in his day and as tough as they come, couldn't hide his disappointment. One of his top players, now out of commission. It changed everything. Everyone knew the cost of losing Gray. None of this disappointment escaped Cory’s awareness. He felt the heaviness in the room settle like a dead weight on his shoulders. Coach Quinn continued.
“So, we regroup,” he said, looking up at Cory. Cory was sitting on the back bench, hoping to go unnoticed. The boys shifted their attention. “Cory will tend the nets now.” No one said a word, and Cory's face flushed. “He’s a bit inexperienced but knows our system.”
Quinn looked hard at Cory, apparently wondering if he was up to the task. Cory felt awkward, not liking the scrutiny. At five-feet, six-inches tall, 140 pounds, he was shorter than Gray, but stockier. His light blue eyes looked back at Quinn, then darted down. His hands fumbled with one of the goalie gloves.
“We’ve got a long road ahead,” Quinn said, raising his voice. “Let’s get to work!”
The locker room exploded into activity. Boys gathered gear, slammed lockers, and poured through the doors leading to the soccer field. Cory quickly pulled on his jersey, picked up his bag but then froze next to the bench he'd been sitting on. When the room was nearly empty, Cory followed a few feet behind Tim and Jeff. Tim was the team’s sweeper. A loud and sometimes rude kid who played the same way. As he and Jeff crossed the track onto the soccer field, Cory overheard Tim.
“Guess I’m gonna have to babysit now,” he said sarcastically.
“Aw, give the dude a break,” answered Jeff.
“Whatever!” Tim laughed. “Towson ain’t gonna replace Gray, no way! We’re gonna have to cover our butts with him back there.” Tim kicked at the grass. “Damn, I wish Gray hadn’t busted his ankle.” It was Tim's last year in high school and he wanted a championship as bad as anyone.
“Give ‘im a chance,” Jeff said. “Towson may work out.”
“Yea, sure,” Tim shot back. “And I’m the Easter Bunny!”
For the next hour, it was practice as usual. Quinn had the boys do a light workout, focusing on speed. Cory was one of the fastest on the team and showed it during sprints. But Cory knew that quickness alone would not be good enough to stop shots on goal. He needed some help, some kind of ‘keeper coaching.
Finally, Quinn separated the offense from the defense. Cory went in goal with four defenders in front of him. From half field, three forwards and three midfielders attacked the defense, going for goal. Both teams worked on positioning and adjusting in the game-like drill. For Cory, it was test time.
The first run had Jimmy, the right wing, dribbling down the flank. As he entered the attacking third of the field, he faked to go inside, shifted his weight back outside, and shot by the outside fullback. Manny Varela, the center forward, flashed his hand to signal a cross. From the goal line, Cory watched him glide to the post on his left and at the same time watched the wing too, to see when the cross would come. Cory drifted towards Manny, thinking he might cut him off and intercept the cross. It was a mistake. The wing drove a hard cross over both Cory and Manny to the back post. Plug had sprinted in from the back side and easily headed the ball into the open net.
“Towson!” Quinn shouted his midfield perch. “Don’t commit until the ball is crossed. That way you know where it’s going!”
“Yes sir,” answered Cory, feeling foolish. Manny had made it look like he was the target. Cory never even thought about the back post. Manny just smiled at Cory and trotted back to midfield.
“Okay,” Quinn barked. “Do it again!”
Cory at least showed some improvement over the next few runs. He actually had one shining moment when Tim tried to tackle the ball away from Manny at the top of the box. Manny had dropped his shoulder left, shifting Tim to that side. Then, he quickly pulled the ball back to his right with the bottom of his foot. Another two steps and he fired a rocket at goal.
Cory had watched the challenge, standing four yards off the goal line. Unsure, he decided to stay put. Not commit. When the shot came, Cory was all instinct. There was no time to think. He dove left and just tipped the ball beyond the goal post, out of bounds. He felt good as he picked himself up. Nobody congratulated him, though. He hid his disappointment and repositioned in the goal mouth, not sure but thinking he caught a quick smile from Coach Quinn. It was enough. A beginning.
The next day, Coach Quinn had a team meeting.
“Bad news, boys,” he began quietly. “I spoke with Mr. Pritchard last night. Gray has a fractured ankle.” The team seemed to groan in unison. “He’s out for six weeks. Maybe the whole season.”
Quinn, the rock of a man, who had been a fullback in his day and as tough as they come, couldn't hide his disappointment. One of his top players, now out of commission. It changed everything. Everyone knew the cost of losing Gray. None of this disappointment escaped Cory’s awareness. He felt the heaviness in the room settle like a dead weight on his shoulders. Coach Quinn continued.
“So, we regroup,” he said, looking up at Cory. Cory was sitting on the back bench, hoping to go unnoticed. The boys shifted their attention. “Cory will tend the nets now.” No one said a word, and Cory's face flushed. “He’s a bit inexperienced but knows our system.”
Quinn looked hard at Cory, apparently wondering if he was up to the task. Cory felt awkward, not liking the scrutiny. At five-feet, six-inches tall, 140 pounds, he was shorter than Gray, but stockier. His light blue eyes looked back at Quinn, then darted down. His hands fumbled with one of the goalie gloves.
“We’ve got a long road ahead,” Quinn said, raising his voice. “Let’s get to work!”
The locker room exploded into activity. Boys gathered gear, slammed lockers, and poured through the doors leading to the soccer field. Cory quickly pulled on his jersey, picked up his bag but then froze next to the bench he'd been sitting on. When the room was nearly empty, Cory followed a few feet behind Tim and Jeff. Tim was the team’s sweeper. A loud and sometimes rude kid who played the same way. As he and Jeff crossed the track onto the soccer field, Cory overheard Tim.
“Guess I’m gonna have to babysit now,” he said sarcastically.
“Aw, give the dude a break,” answered Jeff.
“Whatever!” Tim laughed. “Towson ain’t gonna replace Gray, no way! We’re gonna have to cover our butts with him back there.” Tim kicked at the grass. “Damn, I wish Gray hadn’t busted his ankle.” It was Tim's last year in high school and he wanted a championship as bad as anyone.
“Give ‘im a chance,” Jeff said. “Towson may work out.”
“Yea, sure,” Tim shot back. “And I’m the Easter Bunny!”
For the next hour, it was practice as usual. Quinn had the boys do a light workout, focusing on speed. Cory was one of the fastest on the team and showed it during sprints. But Cory knew that quickness alone would not be good enough to stop shots on goal. He needed some help, some kind of ‘keeper coaching.
Finally, Quinn separated the offense from the defense. Cory went in goal with four defenders in front of him. From half field, three forwards and three midfielders attacked the defense, going for goal. Both teams worked on positioning and adjusting in the game-like drill. For Cory, it was test time.
The first run had Jimmy, the right wing, dribbling down the flank. As he entered the attacking third of the field, he faked to go inside, shifted his weight back outside, and shot by the outside fullback. Manny Varela, the center forward, flashed his hand to signal a cross. From the goal line, Cory watched him glide to the post on his left and at the same time watched the wing too, to see when the cross would come. Cory drifted towards Manny, thinking he might cut him off and intercept the cross. It was a mistake. The wing drove a hard cross over both Cory and Manny to the back post. Plug had sprinted in from the back side and easily headed the ball into the open net.
“Towson!” Quinn shouted his midfield perch. “Don’t commit until the ball is crossed. That way you know where it’s going!”
“Yes sir,” answered Cory, feeling foolish. Manny had made it look like he was the target. Cory never even thought about the back post. Manny just smiled at Cory and trotted back to midfield.
“Okay,” Quinn barked. “Do it again!”
Cory at least showed some improvement over the next few runs. He actually had one shining moment when Tim tried to tackle the ball away from Manny at the top of the box. Manny had dropped his shoulder left, shifting Tim to that side. Then, he quickly pulled the ball back to his right with the bottom of his foot. Another two steps and he fired a rocket at goal.
Cory had watched the challenge, standing four yards off the goal line. Unsure, he decided to stay put. Not commit. When the shot came, Cory was all instinct. There was no time to think. He dove left and just tipped the ball beyond the goal post, out of bounds. He felt good as he picked himself up. Nobody congratulated him, though. He hid his disappointment and repositioned in the goal mouth, not sure but thinking he caught a quick smile from Coach Quinn. It was enough. A beginning.