I thought we’d killed him. I was afraid we’d have to carry him back.
“Fuuudge,” Max moaned. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”
We toned it down after that and just jogged back to the football stadium. I didn’t want to have to explain how one of them got hurt goofing off with me.
◊◊◊
One of the students associated with the football program was waiting for us. He hustled us in, and Wes and I were taken to meet Coach Hightower, who was in charge of the passing game, which included quarterbacks. As we came in, we were introduced to all the coaches. I think they only had one guy under the age of fifty. We were taken to a conference room, and Coach Hightower had us sit down.
“I think you know each other. What you’ll learn here at Michigan is that we are the home of champions. To get there, we compete at the highest level, and part of that competition is getting the absolute best players we can. Our philosophy is that success breeds success. That is why we wanted the two best quarterbacks in their respective classes to be here this weekend. We feel that if both of you came to the University of Michigan, you would both benefit from the experience and become better football players because of it.”
“Or one of us would win the starting job, and the other would never get the opportunity that he deserved,” Wes said.
“Sometimes the cream does rise to the top, but I expect with the two of you it would be hard to keep you both off the field.”
“So, are you saying that you wouldn’t pick one of us to start? We’d split playing time?” I asked.
“That sucks,” Wes said. “I’m by far a better pure quarterback than David is.”
He said what? The competitive monster raised its head at the challenge that had just been thrown down.
“Yes, you’re pretty if everything’s perfect, but as soon as you have to make a quick decision, you go to shit,” I said.
“You’re not good enough to carry my jockstrap.”
I knew that Wes was competitive, but it must have been eating at him that I was better. He surely realized they had favored the seniors at Elite 11. If it had been a fair competition, I was the one who had won the seven-on-seven tournament and had beaten the guys who were real competition. It was time to straighten him out.
“Is that right? I say we go right now and see who’s better. Winner gets first pick of college.”
By now we were standing, and our noses were only inches apart. I’d added the ‘first pick’ part because Wes wanted to go to Alabama. If we weren’t in the heat of the moment, we would probably agree it was stupid for us both to go to the same school. Right now I wanted to be able to take his top choice away from him.
Coach Haber picked that moment to open the door. I guess he had gotten concerned when he heard the shouting.
“You’re on. They should have never let a junior into Elite 11. You hadn’t put the time in that the rest of us had. Then you go and play some lightweight and set the national passing record. How lame is that? As soon as you get to a real school, you’ll be unmasked for the fraud that you are,” Wes said.
“You’re all talk. Let’s settle this. Are you sure you don’t have a hangnail that you can blame when you go down again?” I asked.
That was when Wes shoved me. I got a big smile on my face because I’d gotten him to lose his cool. I was sent with Coach Haber, and Wes went with Coach Hightower.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had two recruits go at each other like that.”
“You never had the two best on a recruiting weekend, either,” I said. “Let’s show Wes who the best is so he can finally see that I’ve always been and always will be better than he is.”
“Can this wait until Sunday?” Coach Haber asked.
“I’ll end up kicking his butt before then. You’re better off letting us figure out who the top dog is now, or we’ll settle it on our own, and it won’t be pretty.”
◊◊◊
The showdown occurred thirty minutes later. It was just Coach Hightower, two student managers, and the two of us. Coach Hightower took us to the Al Glick Field House. They had a setup where there were targets for us to throw at. This favored Wes because he was better at just standing and throwing, but I wasn’t backing down.
“First we’ll have you run the forty-yard dash. When you’re ready, line up together,” Coach Hightower said.
“Don’t you want us to run them separately?” Wes asked.
“No. This is a head-to-head competition.”
I grinned at Wes’s discomfort. At the start line, Wes stood straight up. He obviously hadn’t worked with anyone on speed training. I dug my cleats in and started with my feet staggered and both hands on the starting line. On the start, I exploded out low and dug to get my speed up as I slowly came up. Once I was running full-out, I remembered to relax and concentrate on picking my feet up and putting them down correctly. I began to laugh after I’d finished and found Wes on the ground about five feet from the finish line.
“What happened to him?” I asked one of the student managers.
“He tried to dive to catch you. I wish that had happened tomorrow when we’d’ve had the video equipment running.”
I noticed Wes had a good case of road rash. Artificial turf was not something you wanted to dive on. The next contest was throwing the football at called-out targets. Like I predicted, Wes did well at this, going ten for ten. When my turn came, I sighed in relief when I matched him. Then we were tasked with hitting moving targets. This time I went first and hit nine out of ten. I’d left the door open for Wes. On the last ball, he got excited and overthrew it, which caused him to tie me. It all came back to my argument that he wasn’t good under pressure or in new situations.
“Looks like David has the edge. Let’s give you one more chance and see how you do on the deep ball,” Coach Hightower said. “Since you’re behind, Wes, you get to pick whether you go first and set the standard, or watch David.
“Okay, I want you to do a five-step drop, and then throw the football as far as you can.”
We were lined up at the 50 yard line. I could throw further than that. Wes dropped back, and his pass sailed to the goal line. One of the student managers put a ball towel down where it landed.
“Beat that! That was fifty-seven yards in the air,” Wes boasted.
“I’ll stick it into the back left corner of the end zone,” I told Coach Hightower.
“Bullshit!” Wes called, which made me smile.
I dropped back, and the ball felt good as it came out of my hand. I started my touchdown dance before the ball was three-quarters of the way there. I didn’t have to look when I heard Wes.
“Aw, shit!”
We both knew that Wes would never hold up his end of the bet. We also both knew that Wes still thought he was better than me.
◊◊◊
When we got back, warm-ups were beginning. They allowed all the recruits on the sideline to see how they ran their practices. Coaches Hightower and Haber found us.
“So, who won?” Coach Haber asked in front of everyone.
“Dawson,” Coach Hightower announced and handed Coach Haber a five-dollar bill.
“What did you win?” Alan asked.
“I’ll tell you later.”
It was one thing to show Wes who the top dog was; what I didn’t need to do was ridicule him in front of everyone. He and I were very much cut from the same cloth in that we were both super-competitive. Despite that, I liked Wes as a person. What had been said earlier was just two top dogs clashing to see who the dominant one was. Now that we knew it was me, I could be generous.