Date: Thu, 22 Mar 2001 13:43:39 -0700
From: tarantau tarantau <tarantau@hotmail.com>
Subject: Ryan's Odyssey Chapter 9

Here is Chapter 9.  Hope you all enjoy this one

As always E-mails are welcome

Check out my webpage at tdog505.tripod.com
and be sure and sign my questbook.

CHAPTER NINE

He was sitting underneath the tree, the sameone he had been sitting under
ever since we were freshmen.  He looked my way nodded his head and gave me a
coy smile.  I wanted to run over to the tree and just beat on his face, to
let him know I wasn't afraid of him, or at least not for myself. Kyle was a
different story.  I figured I could hold my own in whatever battles life may
throw at me, but Kyle wasn't as strong as me.  Physically he could hold his
own, but his mental state at the moment was standing on shaky ground.

"Ryan," he hollered, "don't forget what we talked about yesterday.  I'm sure
you'll make the right decision."

"What's he talking about?" Kyle interupted.

"Oh, nothing," I said, "He wanted to talk about the victory celebration
after the game."

"And you're so sure your gonna win," Kyle said, "Their suppose to be real
good this year."

I laughed.  "We are the best team in the state with the best runningback in
all of football leading the charge.  Namely Me."

"Well you better get a bigger helmet in order to fit that inflated ego of
yours, golden boy."

Just as Kyle had predicted, which I knew already, Miss. Timberwood gave me a
make-up Math quiz so I wouldn't miss out on the grade.  It was the easiest
test I had ever taken.  A fifth grader could have passed it.  As I answered
each question I was growing angry at the fact, people were treating me like
some stupid jock.  I knew they wanted a winning team, but to help me cheat
just in order to achive that goal was just wrong.

I raised my hand.

"Yes, Ryan," Miss Timberwood said.

"Can I speak to you after class," I said, "It's about this test."

The bell rang and everyone left.  Kyle headed to his next class, and after I
was done talking to Miss Timberwood, I would head over to the stadium for
practice.

"Miss Timberwood," I said, "I don't know how to say this without sounding
ungrateful, but the truth is I am ungrateful.  The make-up quiz you just
gave me, well to be honest with you a fifth grader could have aced it.  I
know it wasn't the same quiz you gave the rest of the class, and I don't
want to be treated any different then the rest.  Sure I'll pass the class,
play in the game, and maybe hopefully we'll even win the championship this
year, but when I graduate in a couple of years, I won't be ready for the
real world.   All I'm asking is for you to treat me like the rest of your
students."

"I appreciate your coming here and telling me how you felt," she said, "to
tell you the truth I thought the test was a little to easy, but when the
administration is bearing down on you to make sure their star athlete passes
at all costs, you tend to forget the real reason you got into the profession
in the first place."

"Can I take the real quiz tommorrow, and whatever grade I get on it, will be
the grade I get?" I asked.

"Be here by 7:30, and I'll have to ready for you," she said, "know you
better head to practice."

I walked into the fieldhouse to the whoops and hollers of my fellow
teammates.

"Hey, Stein," John Titan, our star quarterback yelled, as I walked up to the
locker next to his. "We're going all the way to the big dance this year."

"Yeah," I yelled back.  "Nothings gonna stop the Storm."

Everyone on the team called me "Stein" and no it wasn't for the reason you
might think.  It wasn't short for Einstein.  At a party when I was a
freshmen at Carl Vandenbergs house, who was the biggest kid in school, and
one of the main reasons I lead the district in rushing last year.  There was
a bet going around that nobody could out chug Carl.  Almost everybody on the
team had taken a chance, to only be shot down. I wasn't gonna do it, but you
know how peer pressure is.  When I put the glass down, or should I say beer
stein down, at least three seconds before Carl, someone started chanting
Stein, Stein, Stein...and the name has stuck with me since.

I changed into my gear and headed onto the field.  Coach Benson, gathered us
into the center of the field and told us to take a knee.  "Okay, boys," he
started. "I don't know how many of you have read the papers, but whatever it
says is a bunch of bullshit.  According to them we have already won the
state championship, and the whole season is just a formality.  I say
bullshit to that, we will practice hard everyday, be prepared for gameday
and play with all our hearts.  If you are not ready to give one hundred and
ten percent to his team, then I suggest you get your shit and get off my
field.  I have no time to waste with anyone who isn't willing to give their
all.  Any takers?" he asked.

Nobody moved.

"Good, know onto another form of business," he said, "as you all know Jim's,
family moved
to Texas over the summer and we are in need of another team manager.  If any
of you have a suggestion I would be more then glad to hear them.  A manager
is just as important to a team as the players playing on the field."

I had thought about Kyle, and was about to raise my hand, when Jarod beat me
to it.
"Yeah, Jarod," Coach Benson said, "who do you suggest."

"Kyle Thomas," he said, "He is one of our biggest supporters and I think he
would do a good job for the team."

"Doesn't anybody have a problem with that," Coach Benson asked.

Nobody did so it was decided that Kyle would be our new team manager, and I
was picked to tell him.

I knew Jarod hated Kyle just as much as he hated me, so I knew there was a
reason he had suggested him, and it probably wasn't good.

On the walk over to the field I came up with a plan on how I would get hurt
so Jarod could start Friday's game.  I felt like a piece of shit for giving
into his demands, but I didn't see any other way out of it.

On a simple sweep around end,  Jay pitched the ball back to me, I hit the
hole and turned to my left, I fell to the ground, gripping my knee, putting
on as best of a show as I could.  I withered in pain the way I had seen
other guys do when they went down with an injury.  Coach Benson and Coach
Lopez ran onto the field.

"What's wrong Ryan," Coach Lopez asked.

"My knee, my knee, " I said, through gritted teeth, "It hurts, It hurts real
bad."

They helped me to my feet and took me into the fieldhouse.  Coach Benson
headed back out to the field, well Coach Lopez examined my knee.

" I can't see any swelling in it," he said, "but that doesn't mean nothing.
Does it hurt when I touch it here, " he said, touching the inside of my left
knee.

"Yes," I said. faking pain on my face.

"I think you hyperextended it," he said, "I'll have to tell coach, to get
Jarod ready to start Friday's game.  I'm gonna get you an Ice pack  and do
you know anybody who can rush you to the emergency room to get it checked.

"Kyle can take me," I said, "It will be his first official duty as team
manager.

He called the main school building and told them to send Kyle Thomas to the
fieldhouse,  Told me to wait and then walked out.

I dropped my head when he walked out and started to cry, and not because of
the pain, as anybody who would have walked in would have thought.  I cried
because I felt like a fake.