Purely Chasing a Dream

#. October 14, 2016

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, USA

#-2. Kahuku CDP, Honolulu

#-3. Kahuku High School

#-4. Football Field

OIA Division 1.

Otherwise known as OIA BLUE.

Today marked the first week of the OIA BLUE playoffs, and our opponents were Leilehua — the very team we'd faced in the season opener.

"Listen up! We'd better see an even better result than last time!"

"LET'S GO!!"

"Let's show those motherfuckers what happens when they act up in our house!! Red Raiders on three! One, two, three!!"

"RED RAIDERS!!"

The opener had ended 49–13. But today, we wanted more than that. Sure, Leilehua had grown over the course of the season too — but we'd improved past the point of recognition.

Beep—!

The game kicked off with Leilehua's kickoff. Elvis checked where the ball would come down, hauled in the catch, and managed to sprint all the way to midfield. That was more than solid.

Now it was my turn.

"Alright, listen up. Stay calm out there."

In football, each offense gets four downs. Within those four tries, you have to advance ten yards. Moving those ten yards is called a First Down, and converting one earns you a fresh set of four downs. In other words, that's the most fundamental goal of any offense.

And to get there, we run all kinds of schemes.

"Single back, right slot, left block, Y-stick."

"Got it. Let's go smash 'em smooth."

"Damn right. Let's Go!!"

You could feel the raw confidence spreading through the entire team. Yeah, we'd lost that game against Bishop Gorman — but we'd stood toe-to-toe with the best high school team in the nation. Which meant today, we had to show our true strength for certain. That we'd left carelessness far behind us.

"Green—80!! HUT!!"

Taking the snap from under center, I turned and handed the ball straight off to Harmon. And Harmon blew right past the D-line — everyone had executed the play to perfection. Thirteen yards on the very first down, and with us that much closer to the end zone, we lined up the next attack.

"Let's run something similar!"

"Let's roll—"

"Better roll it damn well!"

Once again, it was a running scheme. Today we weren't going complicated. We were keeping it as simple as possible — no need to show these guys our full hand.

In the stands, some Saint Louis people had shown up.

"White! White!"

The White Call right now was a warning to the defense: the opposing linebackers were loaded up and ready to blitz. I checked their D-line one more time, then started the play.

"HUT!!"

Again and again, the rushing attack ground forward. Leilehua couldn't stop us.

【"TOUCHDOWN—!!"】

Two minutes into the game, we'd picked up an easy six points. Now came the extra point.

In football, a touchdown is worth six, and on the following play you can kick for one more — or attempt another touchdown for two. Short of needing to tie or take the lead late, you always take the kick. The success rate is simply far higher.

For the record: a field goal with no touchdown is worth three.

Coming back to the bench after the drive, Coach John Morse greeted me.

"Nice work."

"Easy as gum, coach."

"Good. Take a breather."

"Yes Sir."

I passed Coach Morse and headed for an empty chair, set my helmet on the ground, and sat down. Out on the field now was the Special teams unit — the lineup that handles all the kicking. Every football team has one.

"Come on, Kep!! Put it right through, smooth!!"

These days, Sekope was doubling as our kicker. In a place like Hawaii, where rosters run thin, that was common practice.

Thud—

Sekope's kick sailed dead center between the uprights. I stood, thrust one hand into the air, then hurried out onto the field to greet the Special teams players who'd scored. A quarterback has to be diligent about this stuff — every little gesture like that is tied directly to team morale.

"Great job. Great job."

With seven points on the board first, we widened the gap at will.

First quarter, ten minutes in.

"Shotgun! X-block, quick slant."

A passing touchdown off Royce's route.

Second quarter, nine minutes in.

"Troll! Delta Blue!"

A quarterback sneak, punching it in right at the goal line.

And ninety seconds after ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that, Sioele forced the opposing quarterback to cough up the ball. The third Huamatu brother scooped it off the turf and, for once, it was the defense's turn to score — a 26-yard return for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠another six.

Before the first half had even ended, the lead had ballooned to 41–0.

Head Coach came straight over to me.

"Moi. Rest up for the second half."

"Oorah."

Any ordinary high schooler would have refused to come out of a game like this — a golden chance to pad your stats. But I'd learned to see further ahead.

"Alright, boys. From here on out, you follow my orders."

"Kuk kuk. Funny, coach."

"Oh, I'm funny, am I?"

"Pahah! What's that supposed to mean."

The second half, after halftime. I swapped my helmet for a headset and took my place at the Head Coach's side.

"Jay! Jay!!"

Toward Sol-Jay, who'd taken over at quarterback for the second half, I called in plays mixing in hand signals. My friend used to miss what the Head Coach was saying sometimes, which inevitably earned him a barking rebuke — and left him cowed. So I stepped in to help. Think of it as interpretation services.

And thankfully—

"He broke through!"

"Goood—! That's it, GO GO GO!!"

Sol-Jay carried out his assignments faithfully. He'd just chewed up thirty-one yards on his own legs. I bounded down the field toward the spot of the ball, shouting at the top of my lungs.

"That's exactly it, Jay!! Exactly like that!!"

It had only been a few days, but the extra studying was clearly paying off. The kid was reading every single hand signal.

"Damn it, Moi."

"Yes Sir."

"What on earth did you do this time?"

The Head Coach and the other coaches, of course, knew exactly what we were up to — the three-times-a-week sessions locked in the weight room, and the three-times-a-week film study too. So I just shrugged and answered.

"Just out here having fun, coach."

"Haha. If that's what fun looks like, you're welcome to it any day."

"Yes Sir."

"Good. Stay right by my side."

"Oorah."

We were simply enjoying football.

* * *

#. October 16, 2016

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, USA

#-2. Kahuku CDP, Honolulu

#-3. Kahuku High School

As you probably know, I trained in two sports from a young age: track and baseball. They were the ideal disciplines for learning how to properly run and throw, so when I decided to attend Kahuku, both the track and baseball teams came knocking with offers. It was a perfectly natural development — high schoolers juggling two or three sports is common enough.

But I turned them both down to focus on football. I wanted to do well in my studies, too.

"I know all that."

"Sorry, but I really don't have time."

"Then how about this?"

Haa—

I let out an internal sigh. Makanui Hookano, captain of Kahuku's track team, was a relentless man.

"Just compete in the one meet."

"Just the meet?"

"Yeah! There's no football in May anyway, right? Just register with the track team, then run in the one meet and that's it."

"Does it really have to go that far?"

"Please. I'm begging you."

"…"

Makanui was right about one thing — May was a light month. Training and a scrimmage at most? Honestly, it was when the coaches got busy, since recruiting season was upon them.

"Help us out just this once. Our track record is truly a disaster."

"You've never won it?"

"Thirty years. Pretty impressive, right?"

Thirty years without a champion in a place as small as Hawaii. That was, in its own way, genuinely remarkable. Then again, the talent pool really was narrow. Just as football talent funnels into Kahuku (public) and Saint Louis (private), I'd heard most of the fast kids in track ended up at schools like Seabury Hall or Baldwin.

Makanui looked desperate right now.

"Just the meet, right? You promise?"

"Of course. I promise."

"Haa— fine. I'll fill out the registration form tomorrow."

"You're literally our savior!"

I lightly pushed Makanui back with one hand as he tried to hug me in the middle of the hallway. Shoved aside so easily, he seemed startled by my strength.

What, over this much? If I'd pushed you for real, you'd have been hurt.

"See you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah! You're really signing up, right?"

"I don't say two things with one mouth!"

So somehow I'd ended up joining the track team. I'd have to break that news to the Head Coach separately — he might not like it. But then again, I was a little curious myself.

If I ran the 100m right now, what time would I put up?

I searched on my phone. The Hawaii high school boys' 100m record stood at 10.80, set back in 1999.

Slow. That's slow.

Polynesians clearly had explosive power and raw strength, but the high school track records were further proof that their endurance beyond 50 meters lagged behind. This was exactly why I'd done track first, back in the day — I knew the strengths and weaknesses of this new body inside and out.

"You joined the track team?"

"Not yet — I'm filling out the form tomorrow."

After-school practice. I told Coach Benjamin Carter about joining the track team before going to the Head Coach — I wanted to gauge the reaction first. If the team pushed back hard, I'd have no choice but to change my story. Either way, football came first for me.

"That's great, Moi."

"Really? You actually think so?"

"Yeah. I think it's a good call."

"Wow. Honestly, I expected you to be against it."

Unexpectedly, Coach Benjamin was extremely positive — and I hadn't even mentioned the "just the one meet" part yet.

But as it turned out, there was a reason.

"Ahem. So, Moi."

"Yes Sir."

"You know the girls' track coach, right? Ms. Quiana Kekoa — you know her."

"Soo… what about her?"

"Ahem. It's nothing, really. It's just, watching her teach the girls, she comes across as passionate and, well, charming. Ah — don't get the wrong idea. I don't like her, she's just charming, that's all."

"…"

Oh my goodness. Could anyone be more transparent?

Wait — was Coach Benjamin single?

I glanced at his hand. Nope. No ring.

Ah. So that's how it was. No wonder he agreed so readily.

"Coach."

"Uh, yeah?"

Want me to hand you a shovel, so you can keep digging?

From everything I'd seen of him so far, Coach Benjamin was a good man, and though his hair was on the thin side, with a cap on he looked reasonably handsome. So I'd decided to say my piece.

Coach Benjamin panicked spectacularly. His face went crimson in an instant. One of the weaknesses of white guys, I suppose — there's no hiding a blush.

"No, no. That's not— that's not what I meant."

"Come on— don't be like that. Be honest with yourself."

"Haa— talking to you, sometimes I feel like I'm talking to a guy my own age. Just like right now."

"Haha. Probably because I grew up around adults?"

"You mean your mother's restaurant?"

It had even made the news — how I'd been helping out serving customers at my mom's restaurant since I was four. The customers interviewed back then happened to all be slightly cheeky characters, so people reacted with things like, "Growing up in a place like that, he must have matured early."

In reality they were all good people, and plenty of them were quiet types. But it had worked out in my favor, so I never bothered correcting anyone — I just enjoyed letting people think what they liked.

"If it works out, right?"

"Yes Sir."

"Dinner's on me. At Giovanni's."

"No backing out — that's a promise."

"Kuk kuk. Deal."

Monday afternoon. We were now preparing for the second round of the playoffs.

* * *

#. October 25, 2016

#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, USA

#-2. Kahuku CDP, Honolulu

#-3. Kahuku High School

#-4. Football Field, Video Analysis Room

Football is a tremendously rough, masculine sport. But at the same time—

"Now, if you look right here…"

Click.

—it's also the most complicated, most cerebral sport there is. That's why we hold meetings so often.

So. Incredibly. Often.

Once the weekend passed and Monday rolled around, we trained to shake off the fatigue and minor nicks from the weekend game. Tuesday brought light position work, and come Wednesday, things got serious.

School. First meeting. Practice. Second meeting. School. First meeting. Practice. Second meeting.

Every single day, in the analysis room or at position-specific stations, we spent well ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over an hour reviewing film and drilling the team's schemes. Today was no different. The second meeting had just wrapped up.

But even after all that, the hardheaded ones stayed hardheaded.

Kang— Kang—

Yeah — the kind of kids whose heads make that sound.

The friend sitting in front of me right now was one of them.

"Damn it, this is way too hard."

"It's Max Protect. Ring a bell?"

"Ah. So Max P was that one?"

"What did you think it was?"

"Dunno, figured it was something new or whatever."

"Good grief, Fred."

Sophomore offensive lineman Fred Prescott was teetering on the edge of losing his spot next year. Roughly half of any high school football roster gets whittled away every season, and Fred — despite a magnificent body — had a head that refused to keep up, putting him squarely on the chopping block. If this year's roster were 60 players like last year's instead of 50, he'd have been cut already.

Which was exactly why I felt for him.

6'4" (193 cm). 360 lbs (163 kg).

Inside that enormous gut that made his T-shirt ride up and bunch around his chest hid muscle — a wellspring of tremendous power. He had the ideal physical build for a guard, of all O-line positions, and yet Fred was one of the most notorious problem children in school. The reason was simple: he refused to study, full stop. He'd barely scraped together a 2.5 GPA — and that was with every shortcut imaginable.

"Fred, keep this up and you're seriously getting cut."

"You tell him. I don't care."

"What? You can't say that!"

"Why not? Everyone already knows I'm getting cut anyway."

"Come on. You can turn it around whenever you want."

"Whatever. I'm going home."

"Fred! Fred!"

In moments like this, the pity genuinely stirred in me. Call it a head coach's instinct. If the kid would just study and put in a little more effort, that body alone would guarantee him a college scholarship.

But in the end, that was his choice to make — even if he'd be the one regretting it later.

As I watched Fred disappear, a voice came from behind me.

"Moi! You hitting the weight room later, right?"

"Yup! Hey — food?"

"Packed a lunch. You?"

"Was about to go grab something."

"Want me to come along?"

"Seriously?"

The one kindly offering to tag along was Harmon. He'd recently joined the Muscle Men too — THE MUSCLERS. That's what we called ourselves, the crew holed up in the weight room three times a week.

After picking up takeout, I sat down on a big rock with Harmon and we ate. Few people passed by, and it was nice and quiet — perfect.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"The coaches are already getting busy."

"Recruiting?"

"Yeah. Because of you."

High school recruiting is very different from the NCAA's. With no professional recruiters on staff, the coaches themselves go hunting for talent — each coach recruits the players at the positions they're responsible for. Coach John Morse handles quarterbacks, the offensive coordinator takes the O-line, the defensive coordinator takes the D-line. That kind of thing.

But unlike the mainland, where all fifty states are fair game, Hawaii high schools recruit strictly within the islands. Nobody comes from the mainland to play high school football. That only starts at the college level.

Anyway — that's why we were always starved for talent. And with a limited population splitting an already thin pool of athletes, we public schools were at a disadvantage against private Saint Louis. Better facilities. More funding. And being private, a lower ratio of problem kids.

"Honestly, I keep wondering why you didn't just go to Saint Louis."

Oh, that? That's just because of the head coach.

Cal Lee, Saint Louis's head coach, was a legendary tactician with no equal in Hawaii — meaning I'd never have been able to do things my way there. word was the man was a genuine old-school hardass. What I'm doing here would have been a pipe dream under him.

Besides, with a brand-new body and starting football from scratch, I'd judged Kahuku's environment to be just right. I'd recruited myself in with real diligence, too. And my family preferred this place.

"Moi? You listening?"

"Yeah."

I couldn't exactly say I'd come to Kahuku to do whatever I pleased, so I looked up at the sky, fishing for something to say. And then, suddenly, an honest answer surfaced.

"You know how it is."

"?"

"Taking the easy road just felt like it'd be boring. But the brutal road didn't appeal either. I guess I liked that this place was right in the middle — a spot where you could actually accomplish something."

Back in my previous life, when I was head ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠coach of the New York Jets, I never clung to free agents. Of course I fought to lock down my core players, but I'd developed so many homegrown talents that keeping them all under a limited cap was impossible. Naturally, the players I'd developed became my enemies. And they threatened us badly. Sometimes they even made me cry in the Super Bowl.

But I was never discouraged. If anything, I used it as fuel. Maybe that was because football was all I had left back then — but to prove my reason for existing, I ultimately had to break through those kinds of challenges.

The euphoria of conquering them.

Apparently, that was etched into my DNA.

No emotion to it at all. And besides—

"I just like the color red."

"Haha. What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm telling you, it's true. Saint Louis's uniforms are straight-up ass."

"Kuk kuk kuk. Can't argue with that."

The truth was, that wasn't really what I wanted to say. In my previous life, football had been everything — but now I had more. Football wasn't my whole world anymore. I could simply set it down as the first thing, with so much more waiting behind it.

"Harmon."

"Yeah?"

"Let's stomp the playoff finals while we're at it."

"Obviously."

Right now, I was purely chasing a dream.

* * *