Free Shots on Goal by Rich Wallace

turns to me. “Suck it up,” he says.
    I let out my breath and nod.
    Joey comes over and punches me lightly on the arm. “Good hustle,” he says. “Keep it up.”
    Coach chews us out good at the half. We haven’t made a meaningful pass the whole game and we’ve made some blatantly stupid defensive errors.
    I haven’t played this badly since I was about nine.
    As we’re walking back onto the field Joey comes up beside me. “What gives, man?” he says.
    “Don’t know.”
    “You gotta get me the ball.”
    I nod. “And you gotta give it up sometimes.”
    “Right. Now let’s get this done.” He claps his hands and starts jogging. “Let’s get it done!” he shouts.
    But we never do get it together. Joey manages to score latein the third off a corner kick, but North gets it right back. We lose 3–1 and walk off the field shaking our heads.
    “This sucks,” Dusty says to no one in particular, although he’s looking my way. But he keeps walking. I slow down and drift into a pack with Hernandez and Herbie.
    “You know what’s really great about this team?” Herbie says after a minute. “Our sense of unity. The way we’re all pulling together.”
    I’m still pissed, but I can’t help but smile.
    “Total, unselfish dedication to the cause,” he says. “Eleven Musketeers.”
    “It sure is great,” I say, looking around as my teammates trudge toward the locker room with their heads down.
    “It’s a special kind of wonderful,” Herbie says, and I burst out laughing.
    We’ve reached the locker room and Coach is waiting in the doorway. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks. “We just got our butts whipped and you guys think it’s funny?”
    I turn solemn. “I wasn’t laughing about that,” I say.
    “You shouldn’t be laughing at all,” he says to me. Then he turns and addresses the whole team. “You guys were pathetic out there today,” he says, pushing the door shut with his foot. “What kind of a team is this?” His voice is getting louder. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re turning this season to shit. We’ve got two factions here—you know who you are—and they’re working against each other. If you can’t straighten it out, then the JV guys will move up and take your places.”
    He lets out his breath and slams his fist into a locker—not too hard, just to make a point. “Whatever’s going on, whatever personality conflicts you may have off the field, I expect you to leave it behind you when you step into your soccer uniforms. If you can’t do that, then you’ve got no business being on this team. Bones. Joey. Dusty. Whoever else is involved in this—I’ll bench your ass real fast if you play another minute the way you played today.”
    He turns and leaves the locker room, and we all sit there in silence. Mitchell is the only senior on the team and he’s the captain, but he’s just staring at the floor. Joey’s got his arms folded and he’s glaring at Herbie. Herbie raises his eyebrows at him, like he’s waiting for him to speak. Joey just says “Asshole” under his breath.
    “That’s helpful,” I say.
    “I wasn’t talking to you,” he says.
    “I know.”
    “I was talking to your girlfriend.”
    That’s so stupid that I just look away. Dusty stands and says, “Everybody shut up.” He steps out into the center of the room and looks around at us. He points a finger at Rico, then at me. “You guys aren’t getting us the ball.”
    “You guys don’t know what to do with it,” I say.
    “Bullshit,” he says. “You don’t wanna admit that we’re the reason this team is winning.”
    “Guess what, pal. We haven’t won a game in two weeks.”
    “Guess what, yourself. That’s when you stopped playing like a team.”
    Other guys start shouting now, throwing in their two cents. After a couple of minutes Coach sticks his head in and yells, “Shut up!” The room turns deadly quiet. “Everyone of you,” he says in a steady, angry