New Jock Tales—The Beginning PT 5 GAME DAY
It was finally here. Game day. The school was going nuts. Cheers and chants filled the hallways. Blue and silver banners were everywhere. It was nearly out of control. I guess a hundred people patted me on the back walking down the halls during the day. All the players were in their game jerseys, so it was easy to spot us.
Three o’clock. School is finally out. Only 4 hours till kickoff. I was a nervous wreck. I went straight to the locker room. No time to go home. Some of the others were there as well, getting painted up. A few were working out some—getting pumped up. Most of the team had gathered now—time was flying. Four o’clock. Three hours now till game time. Mandy Johnson and a couple more cheerleaders show up with some sandwiches. Five thirty. “Aight dawgs, time to chill, and clear ur heads. Sit down, lay down—whatever. Just get quite. And no sneaking off to jack-off either—save ur nut for the game”. Most of them chuckle a bit as they chill out.
“Dustin—get ur managers and ur stuff and get on out there.
I finish getting dressed. I notice an envelope on the top shelve where my helmet was. Picking it up and looking, written across it was “go go Diamond Dillon” I smiled, thinking how cool. I showed the envelope to some of the guys standing around. “we got this dudes” .
Six forty. Suddenly there is a loud shout at the doorway. It’s Dustin and Hunter. “Mustangs—IT”S GAME TIME” !! All the boys light up in cheers and hollering, and do the traditional spitting of snot in each others mouth. (It’s a football thing—for luck)
From the press box come a loud cry—”Ladies and gentlemen—HERE COME YOUR MUSTANGS” !!!
The crowd goes into a deafening roar as we fly out the tunnel, and bust through the paper banner. Charlie, our horse leads the way, with his rider carrying a 6 ft American flag. The cannons sound off, and the fireworks fly high above the stadium. Un- rehearsed I make a turn to the left, with the team behind, and head straight for Mark Williams, the bands drum major. Seeing me coming, I hold my right arm up, and in passing, throw him a hard high-five. The rest of the team follows suite, and you could tell Mark was besides himself. It ain’t often the band gets recognition from a football team—but I decided they were part of the team too.
We run to the 20, then back to the 50 as discussed. Going immediately into the jumping-jacks, the managers come out to lead. The band starts playing drum cadences in sync with our jumping. The crowd starts clapping along as well. The four boys are grinning from ear to ear. The stadium is electric. I almost start crying—we were going to be either hero’s tonight, or go home in shame, looking like fools for our challenge of the Tigers. A three year winning streak was nothing to take lightly, and in spite of our hard work, it would take a miracle to pull it off. We finish up the exercises and head for the sidelines. The announcer comes back–”Ladies and gentlemen would you please stand, for our National Anthem” Removing our helmets, and turning to face the flag, the band begins. Ta ta daa daa da daaaa—you know how it goes. At the end the crowd goes up in cheers again, and the cannons fire off, along with more fireworks. I can tell looking across the field that the intimidation is setting in.
The announcers start up again “Welcome all to East Tyler-Chesterfield High. Are you ready for some Texas football “?? The crowd goes crazy, and the band goes into “The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You”. Then he continues, with the call for the quarterbacks to center field for the coin toss. As I approach the center, and the Tigers quarterback, my heart skipped a beat, and I went cold.
There stood Cole Parker, with an evil shit-eatin grin. If you read my story ‘The Tournament’ then you recall that Parker was the opposing picture for the Tigers baseball team back in Pony League just a few months ago. Per our last minute bet, right at home plate, Cole had to suck my dick after the game, which they lost. He owned up to the bet, giving me some awesome head. But it turned sour, and I ended up fucking his ass as well, and then beat the shit out of him. I beat him up pretty bad—he had to have 12 stitches. Staring him down hard, you could see the battle scar running across his left eyebrow. I thought it looked kinda sexy actually, but I knew he would be out for
b l o o d. Tigers win the toss, and opt to receive. I reach out for the traditional hand shake, but then Parker pulls the ‘snap back’ on me. The whole crowd goes into boos and ahhhs. Yanking his hand back, and then behind his head for the ‘ear scratch’ was pretty much the most insulting thing that one player could do to another in the world of sports. It was demeaning, and pretty much meant ‘fuck you’.
Returning to the sides, I tell Kelso and Patrino who the ¼ back was. They just said ‘oh fuck’. After the kick-off , and the ball comes to rest, the officials go crazy blowing whistles and throwing yellow flags. “Penalty—offense. Unsportsmanlike conduct, number 12. For performing the ‘snap back’, and refusing the handshake before the kick off—10 yards”. The game goes brutal—more like a civil war. By halftime, I had never seen so much b l o o d from a football game—and especially at freshman HS level. Each team had received several warnings. The score was 0-0. In the locker room I explain the story to the rest of the team. But, we had a secret weapon that no one had yet to catch on to. We started the game with the second string—giving the tigers time to ‘feel us out’ and hopefully deciding it wouldn’t be too hard to beat our asses. Returning for the second halve with first string, was going to be a surprise, cause my guys would be well rested, and ready for some football.
We return to the field as the the band marched off. We give them some high clapping and thumbs up, which I’m sure made them feel really good. The rest of the game went pretty much the same—a battle to the death. It’s the bottom of 4th quarter now, and still no score. The gun fires the 2:00 minute warning, and we are on the receiving end. No chance to score. And end of game with a tie at 0-0 meant that both teams loose, but that wouldn’t break the winning streak for the Tigers, cause it would be a tie.
It’s the last play. Only 45 seconds on the clock. Holy fuck—it’s Pony League all over again. The stadium is nuclear. The cannons haven’t fired the whole game. The drums banging from the band are deafening. The ball is snapped. Parker throws, hitting his receiver right in the numbers. He runs—and runs—and runs, from the 20 yard line on our side. It seems that all is lost. Then suddenly—the miracle. From nowhere came a V of runners, coming at an angle across the field. They looked like a flock of geese running towards the Tigers runner. They hit him like an arrow—9 of them at once, at the 7 yard line. The impact was so great, that the ball went flying straight up into the air, and it knocked the helmet off his head. Everyone hit the ground—save one. Jimmy Carlise, jumping nearly 2 feet in the air, came down on both feet, with the ball clenched
tightly in his chest. Spinning around a couple of times, trying to get his bearings, Carlise starts running—and running—running like a cheetah. The ‘V’ starts forming again, engulfing Carlise at the point. A wall of nearly the whole defense forms—two lines at a 32 degree angle. There is no way in. The crowd goes silent. Hardly moving—just standing in awe. Only the announcers voice—yelling into the mic broke the silence. Jimmy had 43 yards to run. “Tweny-five—twelve–TOUCHDOWN !!! OMG the Mustangs have done it—the Mustangs have won” !!
The stadium explodes. The cannons fire—boom—boom—boom. The fireworks are shooting high above the stadium—coke and pop corn are flying everywhere. The fans rush the field—elevating Carlise high above. TV crews and radio announcers come out of the woodwork—all heading towards me. I deflect them off—pointing towards Carlise. They seemed to understand, and rushed towards him. I head straight for the lockeroom. I couldn’t contain myself. As some of the team began coming in behind me, they all start in on me—asking me what’s wrong. Finally containing myself, I explain that nothing was wrong. Today was the greatest day of my life—and it was thanx to you guys. Teamwork, won this game.
As we began to strip down, and gather into the showers, I suds up pretty heavy—more than usual. I was filthy, even for me. There’s lots of yelling and whoops and hollering, but then it suddenly got quite. I turned around and looking towards the entrance doors to the locker room, there stood Parker. The room became quite. With a quick rinse, I walked out of the shower, dick waggin between my thick hairy muscled thighs. I approach Parker, as the teams starts surrounding us. I wave them off, to back up. Parker walks right up to me, still in his football pants and cleats, but topless. Damm that b o y was cut. He reaches out his hand. I just look at him for a moment, then reach my own, and we finally shake hands. Parker says he would rather it been me than anyone else. “You guys were badd ass Dillon. Im impressed. See ya in three weeks”.
Well Matthew—you done it again. Four page story, and you ain’t even got to the porn. Ya I know—sorry. I just get caught up in it sometimes. It was afterall, up to that day, the most important day in my life. But there was lots of jizz flying just a few hours later. For all the aftermath, if you ain’t pissed at me :), read on to chapter 6.