Free Goal-Line Stand by Todd Hafer

fish. He shifted his weight from left foot to right, like a rhythmless man trying to dance for the first time.
    “Uh,” he said, pausing to dab his moist forehead with a handkerchief, “this is a big game for us tomorrow. And, uh, we would appreciate your support. Please show up tomorrow. In full force!”
    The students filling the bleachers roared their approval. As if energized by their support, Coach Smith threw his fist in the air, which raised the noise level even more.
    As one of the team captains, Pork Chop got his chance with the mike, too, and he handled it like a seasoned game show host.
    “Coach is right,” he began, nodding deferentially at Coach Smith. “This is a huge game for us. In fact, it’s the biggest of our lives. So, if you don’t cometomorrow and scream your heads off for us, I’m gonna eat all your lunches on Monday!”
    A burst of laughter and applause erupted from the stands. Pork Chop basked in the admiration for a moment, then raised both hands and began lowering them slowly, as if conducting an orchestra. When the throng was quiet again, Chop brought the mike to his mouth.
    “One more thing,” he announced, “all you students, as you know, get in to our games for free. Well, you better enjoy it while you can. Because someday, when I’m playing for the Broncos, you’re gonna have to pay big bucks to see me in action!”
    The students cheered again before breaking into unison chants of “Chop! Chop! Chop!”
    Before practice that afternoon, Cody found himself next to Pork Chop in the locker room.
    “Hey, Chop,” he said, “great speech this morning, but I have a question. How many school lunches do you think you could eat, without throwing up, I mean.”
    Pork Chop shook his head in mock disappointment. “Code,” he said, “I wasn’t threatening to eat anybody’s lunch literally. It was just a figure of speech. C’mon, dude, catch up. If you’re gonna be my best friend, you’re gonna have to work to stay with me intellectually.”
    With that, Chop belched contentedly and walked to his locker, his rubber cleats clicking like tap shoes across the hard floor.
    Friday’s practice was designed to be easy, to conserve players’ energy and avoid injuries. But Pork Chop twisted his ankle during agility drills and got into a shoving match with Berringer over the ownership of a cup of Gatorade.
    After the final practice ended, Cody and Pork Chop walked to the locker room together. “So, Chop,” Cody said, “you think we have any chance against East?”
    Pork Chop stepped carefully from the field to the cracking asphalt of the parking lot, apparently favoring his tender ankle. “I don’t know, Code. It’s hard to imagine how good they must be. I mean, they handled Central twenty-zip. They pitched a shutout on a team that smoked us. It’s scary.”
    Cody whistled through his teeth. “You’re scared? You didn’t sound that way at the pep rally.”
    Pork Chop muttered something Cody couldn’t decipher.
    “Huh?”
    “Nothing, Code. Look, I’m not scared. I’m just sayin’…it’s been a long season. I’m tired. I’m hurting. And I’m sick of Berringer and his big mouth. Don’t get me wrong. I’m bringing the war for thirty-two minutestomorrow. It’s just that—I don’t know. I guess I’ll be glad when the season’s over.”
    Cody slapped his hand on Chop’s left shoulder pad. “Come on, Chop. You’ve had a great season. It’s not your fault we’re not very good this year. But it’s just one game—let’s go for it. Let’s hang a loss on those hot dogs. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
    “Yeah, it would. But I don’t know.”
    “Come on, Chop. If you get fired up, most of the other guys will too. You’re our captain.”
    “Yeah, but a good captain wouldn’t lie to his troops.”
    “You really think we have no chance? I can’t believe what I’m hearin’.”
    “I’m not saying there is no chance. There’s always a chance. That’s why they play the