Free Isolation Play (Dev and Lee) by Kyell Gold Page A

Monday, just says, “Hey, wonder if you’re watching this Miski press conference. Interesting stuff.” Nothing about me being gay. Nothing about me being in trouble. It doesn’t make me feel better. He’s my closest friend on the Dragons, taught me a ton about evaluating kids (he’s the one who’s got me calling them ‘kids,’ some of these athletes not two years younger than I am). If he knew, he would’ve said, wouldn’t he? He would’ve asked for a meeting.
    Tuesday, I try to get time with him, but he’s not in the office at all. So I sit at my desk, go over my evals, and wish I were back in Chevali. Don’t get me wrong; I love my job. I get to watch football pretty much 60 hours a week, and the Hilltown Dragons pay for me to fly to college games around the Northeast region. It’s the first year I’ve had a region all to myself. Last year, I was technically Morty’s assistant, but I went out with all the different scouts on some of their trips. Then Ferd, a coyote with a glass eye who’d scouted the Northeast for eighteen years, left to become director of scouting for Port City. Nobody wanted his region, so Morty got permission from Campbell, the GM, to give it to me.
    The Northeast isn’t the best region. The weather sucks toward the end of the season, and it’s common wisdom that the best players come from the Midwest and Southeast. But I like that challenge. It means I have to dig deeper to find the gems, I have to be a better evaluator not only of talent, but of ability to perform in big games and to make the transition to the pro level.
    All the other scouts played at least in college. Alex, the rabbit who covers the Southeast, is closest in age to me. He kicked for Lakewood State the year they played in a major bowl, and he’s three years out of college. He and I share an office and a lot of sensibilities. A pair of black bears cover the West and Southwest, and they both played on the offensive line. The Midwest is the territory of Vic, the coyote I met at the combine two years ago, a former linebacker. And Paul, the white-tailed deer who covers the South, is the senior scout and a college star at running back, though a broken leg kept him out of the pros.
    Wednesday is our big group meeting day. We keep a chart of all the players we’re tracking, and talk about what they did the previous week. Morty’s still tied up with the front office, so Paul starts the meeting. “Hey, rook, who ya got this week?” He rubs fingers over his antlers. He can’t stop touching them when they’re coming in.
    I rattle some names off my laptop. There’s a game in Chesterton, about forty miles from Port City, featuring three of my top ten prospects. That’s the one I’m angling to get sent to.
    As I talk, Paul nods, checking my list against his. While we’re doing this, Morty walks in and drops into his chair. Paul defers to him when I’m done, but Morty, looking distracted, waves at him to go on.
    Paul’s antlers dip, turning back to me. He asks why I moved one player over another. I talk about the games they had, what I observed. This player stepped up, this player remained consistent, this player made an extraordinary play. This one was practically invisible in his game, this one whiffed on two important plays.
    “ Though I think he’s hurt and not letting on,” I say, finishing up.
    “ I saw the end of that game,” Paul says. “That faggot better be hurt or he’s not goin’ anywhere.”
    Morty rumbles. “Hey, you can’t say that now, y’know.”
    “ What?”
    “ Faggot.”
    Paul stares at him and then laughs. “Oh, that tiger, the Firebirds guy?” He waves a hand. “You see him anywhere around?”
    I can feel Morty looking at me. I don’t meet his eyes. I’m just about sure that’s going to be all that’s said when Alex pipes up. “There was a gay guy on my team.” Everyone looks at him. He shrugs, scratches behind one of his long ears. “No big deal.”
    “ What, the punter?”