Free A Life of Inches by Douglas Esper

beloved football team.
    “College football success is measured in vastly different ways than it is in the NFL. If there are any suspicions of one’s character, any bad grades, unfulfilled promises in big games, or even the shadow of a doubt regarding an ability to handle the big time, then you are branded a failure.”
    He fails to mention the effects of getting stabbed in the shoulder and being expelled from school, but I know all about that firsthand.
    “Tonight, a new class of rookies will be making their NFL debuts as the Cleveland Browns play the first of four preseason games. We’ll be joined after the break with one of them, rookie left tackle Dennis ‘The Menace’ Kramer, to discuss his unique path from college into the NFL. You’re listening to Tony Drizzle right here on your home for sports talk, WCLE.”
    The familiar smell of burgers on the grill welcomes me as I approach the park. Picnickers in Cleveland know how to enjoy the last few remaining warm days of fall. I head toward the basketball court with no idea what to admit to Woodie or Molly about my recently discovered secrets. I crave a simple game of HORSE with my friends. I just want to enjoy what this day could mean for Woodie. To be here, watching him get the call up to the Major Leagues, would mean a lot to all three of us.
    I stretch out my arms and test my shoulder with a few sets of circles. Woodie fidgets with a radio on the far side of the court. As I step toward him, he lobs a basketball my way without even acknowledging my presence. The instant the ball touches my fingertips, I’m ready to play. I push up the court toward Woodie as he tunes the radio to WCLE’s game coverage. Just as I pass the half-court line, Woodie pivots. Without making eye contact, He sizes up my advance and assumes a defensive pose while I feel out his technique.
    His strong build might intimidate strangers, but I know just how to handle Woodie on the court. The cold air chills the sweat escaping above my temples.
    I juke left.
    I cross the ball between my legs and then advance. Right now, I don’t need a new transmission in my car, my apartment isn’t dirty, and I haven’t gone four years without a date because on this court, nothing else matters. My breath remains steady, my eyes laser-focused, and the fear emanating off Woodie betrays his unease. Smart man, indeed, to be scared. At this moment, I can beat anyone. I spin, push forward near the foul line, and chuck up an ugly skyhook. Nervous to put extra strain on my shoulder, I don’t put my usual spin on the ball, but it falls through just the same.
    Still no words are exchanged as Woodie takes the ball out beyond the arch and dribbles toward me. Though basketball was never his game, his hands are quick. He fakes an advance and I’m almost pulled free of my shoes.
    As I beat myself up over the sloppy play, Woodie resets. I snatch at the ball knowing Woodie won’t bite at an amateur move like that. Before I regain my balance Woodie shifts his weight to the right. This time, once he bulldozes forward, he doesn’t stop.
    The radio broadcast announces the opening kick-off as we continue sparring, oblivious to the world around us. Though we aren’t going 100 percent, neither of us is giving up any easy points either.
    An hour passes. We don’t speak. We just play.
    Winded, sore, thirsty, and feeling the best I’ve felt in a long time, I make eye contact with Woodie.
    Breaking the purity of our game and the moment, he shatters our silence. “Let’s take a breather.”
    He must know after all these years that there’s no way I’m even close to quitting. I raise a challenging eyebrow rather than answer aloud, a little more winded than I realized.
    He waves me over to his radio. “Come on, I need to check my phone to see if my agent called and I want to talk to you anyway. Which drink you want, green apple or grape?”
    Catching my breath, I grab the purple sports drink my friend offers. “All right, tough