The Coach

Chapter 1
Just Say Yes

Chapter Description: Gabe knows taking steroids is wrong, but everyone does it and it just feels so right.

The game clock ticked down...45...44...43...and Gabriel Smith only ran faster, trying to outrun it. The score was 6-to-3, and he only had one shot left. If he could just get into position...he had to make this pass. It wasn’t just his reputation as the star quarterback that was on the line, it was the respect of his whole team: of his best friends, not to mention his coach, who’d invested so much time in him.

I’ve got to do this, he thought, pumping his legs faster.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel...Gabe, or “G” to those who knew him on any kind of personal level...saw Jackson, his wide-receiver, get into position, ready for the pass. He wasn’t ten yards away from the end-zone; all he needed was the ball, and all that required was for Gabe to pass it. Easier said than done, he huffed mentally.

Finally he got where he needed to be, and right before a beefy guy on the other team plowed him into the dirt, Gabe let the ball fly into the air. As his face smacked cold earth, he saw Jackson jump an inch or two into the air and scoop the ball into his hands.

Smiling, Gabe allowed himself to black out with relief.

Sometime later, he woke up. His head was still a little fuzzy from being knocked down. He was used to being tackled...what high school senior who played varsity football wasn’t?...but this guy must have been huge, because already Gabe could feel aches forming all over his body.

“Hey, you’re awake,” a voice said. It took him a second to place it, but then he realized it was Jackson. Swiveling his head around, Gabe realized two things: he was in the locker room laid out on one of the benches, and his shirt was off.

“Dude...where are my clothes?” he muttered. Jackson, who was standing to his right looking down on him bemusedly just laughed.

“Coach thought you might have cracked something, so he slipped it off ya so we could check.”

“And?”

“They said all you’ve got is a concussion dude...”

“Yeah,” Gabe said, grimacing. “It feels like I got run over by King Kong.”

Jackson smiled again. He lowered his voice to mock-conspiring whisper. “At least the doc we have didn’t find the needle marks.”

At hearing this, Gabe realized that that...his ?roid use...should have been the first thing to spring to his mind when he’d heard a doctor inspected him. But it was kind of hard for him to think of it as a secret when everyone there did it so openly.

“That’s great,” he said, nodding. “Now help me up.”

“Sure thing,” Jackson responded, lifting Gabe by his shoulders as they worked together to prop him up against the locker. Briefly, Gabe’s head spun and things got airy and out-of-focus.

Stupid concussion, he complained to himself.

“Coach is coming in for a meeting!” someone called out from across the room. It was Christian...the newest coach, whom everyone on the team insisted on calling by his first name since he was barely 22.

The locker room, which was previously in full bustling swing, quieted down the second the door swung open and Coach Taylor walked in.

He was taller-than-average, about 5’11, with a muscular build and a perpetually scruffy face. (He complained, half-jokingly, of his dislike of every-day shaving.) He had sunglasses on top of his head and the typical athletic-program polo tucked into his khakis.

Coach cleared his throat and began. “The first thing I’d like to say to you guys is, congratulations. Y’all played a hell of a game, all of you, and I couldn’t be more proud. We have some more work to do. But we’ve come a long way this season. And,” he paused, “I’d like to point out to everyone that our Gabe here got himself knocked flat as a pancake for that last touchdown.” Here his smile grows warm and wide as Gabe blushes under the scrutiny of the whole room. Coach walks over and clasps his shoulder.

“I’m proud of you kiddo.”

“Thanks Coach,” Gabe mumbled in response, feeling almost like a little kid flushing hot with embarrassment.

The room stalled in the moment as some of the players grew awkwardly anxious, but it only lasted for a second. Christian re-entered the room and walked up to Coach Taylor. Seeing what he’d brought, Coach addressed the room. “Ok boys: who’s ready for their shots?”

Before anyone could respond, a whoop was heard by the far wall. Everyone laughed, recognizing the sound. “I guess that means Mack wants to be first,” Jackson said. Soon enough he was proved right, as a 17-year-old, about 5’8 and 180-pounds bounded forward like a puppy, his stylishly-mussed blonde hair looking none the worse for wear.

“You know the drill Mack,” Coach said. Mack nodded and began unbuckling his pants. Shucking his plaid boxers below his knees, he quickly bent over as Christian passed Coach Taylor a syringe. He quickly stuck it in, and then patted Mack on the shoulder. “There you go, Mackie.”

“Thanks Coach,” Mack said in response, as he pulled his jeans up.

What followed was a parade of exactly the same thing: players would saunter up from their position in the room, drop their jeans and boxers (not a single one of them varied...it was plaid, plaid, plaid, with the occasional, semi-abashed, boxer-brief-wearer), receive a quick injection, and saunter back to where they came from before heading off to the showers.

With each new player, Coach Taylor never wavered in his treatment: he was warm and supportive, but firm...paternal, but with a teacher’s bent. With every new kid, he’d offer some advice, or admonishment...“Work on those routes, Billy” or “Try and do a few more reps, okay, Tyler?” or “I don’t want to see another slip up like that next week, kiddo”...before sending them to get cleaned up.

Finally, only Gabe and Jackson were left. Seeing this, Coach laughed.

“The Dynamic Duo,” he said, eyeing them jokingly.

“You know it Coach,” Jackson shot back with a smirk.

“Jackie, you’re up first,” he said back. Nodding, Jackson patted Gabe on the shoulder and walked over to the two older men.

In a moment, he was finished, and as Jackson refastened his belt buckle, Coach Taylor spoke. “You did real good out there tonight, Jackie, catching that pass like that. The two of you are going to be our ticket to state, y’hear?”

Jackson practically beamed at the compliment. “Thanks Coach.”

“Anytime, Jackie,” the older man said. “Now go hop in the shower...you’re starting to stink up my locker room.” With that, he smacked Jackson once firmly on his butt and grabbed a final injection.

“Ready G?” he said. “Always,” Gabe said.

This had been going on now for about two weeks. At first the whole had been wary about the injections. “Steroids are bad for us,” had been on the lips of more than one player. But their loyalty to Coach was ironclad, and he soon had them convinced that this wasn’t like normal steroids: “All the pros with none of the cons,” is how he had explained it. Well-bonded as the whole team was, the routine of these continual injections was soon established. In fact, Gabe knew that some of the coaches...like Christian...were even getting injections, although, maybe to maintain their privacy since they were mature adults, these were always done away from the team.

For his part, Gabe had really thought nothing of doping. It seemed to help his performance, and he hadn’t really felt any worse these past weeks. If there had been moments...increasing in frequency...where he felt light-headed and stuffed with cotton, he’d attribute it to the heat of these early-fall workouts; and if he and the guys...including the junior staff, like Christian or Mark...were all acting a bit boyish, with the coaches swatting their butts now more than yelling at them as a common form of reprimand...Gabe hadn’t noticed.

“Underwear off, please, G,” Coach said, breaking into his thoughts.

“Sure thing,” Gabe replied, pushing his striped boxers to the floor. For the first time, Coach was sitting as he prepared to give Gabe his injection. Awkwardly, he wondered where he was supposed to bend over. But then Coach Taylor patted his knee once, and though it seemed a bit strange, he obliged, and bent himself the older man’s knee.

“Relax kiddo, it’s going to be ok...you’ve done this over and over again, remember?” Coach said, trying to loosen Gabe’s newfound anxiousness about his physical position.

“Oh...umm, yeah, you’re totally right. Sorry.” He worked to loosen up, and as he concentrated on Coach Taylor’s deep, reassuring voice, it actually became easier. Right before the needle went in, Gabe even felt somewhat comfortable.

“Ok now, all you’re going to feel is a little prick...”