The Waterboy And The Wolverine

[OldSchoolBoy75]

This is my first work of fiction for Caste Football. Titled "The Waterboy And The Wolverine", it is a story about Rob, a white cornerback prospect with stars in his eyes who is given a heavy dose of reality in the big-time world of college football. Unable to face rejection, Rob struggles to find respect from the head coach down to his freshmen peers. Along the way, Rob befriends an ex-Wolverine player who experienced a somewhat similar fate. Rob soon realizes there is more to being a Michigan man than just donning the yellow and royal.

THE WATERBOY AND THE WOLVERINE

It wasn't easy accepting rejection.
All throughout high school I had played cornerback and somewhere along the way I made All-State and All-County. Being accepted to Michigan University was a dream come true, and everything seemed right with the world.
Little did I know that all that glittered wasn't gold. As an incoming freshman I truly believed I would win a coveted spot on the Wolverines. Two of their previous cornerbacks, Demetrius Woods and Keyshawn Carter, had entered the NFL draft and transferred to Central Ohio University, respectively. I was convinced that I was a shoo-in for the position.
Then came that day which sent me crashing back down to earth. Our defensive coordinator, Tony Tomlin, decided to choose another freshman cornerback instead. To add insult to injury, Tomlin selected a walk-on as the reserve cornerback (and he wasn't even a freshman!). When I asked him why I wasn't considered for a reserve slot or even a third-string, he told me I wasn't a fast runner. Also, I was neither athletic nor productive.
You can imagine what was going on inside my head at that precise moment. It didn't take rocket science to figure out the semantics of it all: the defensive coordinator is black, as are the two players who snatched the top two cornerback slots. Being told I wasn't fast was also a joke because I ran the 40 in record time during preseason scrimmages and other practices.
I was heartbroken beyond belief; to say I was disappointed would be a major understatement. What happened next was something I couldn't have foreseen if my life depended on it.
Lloyd Rodriguez, the head coach, asked me to see him in his office on a non-practice day. It was two days before the first game of the season, and I had a queasy feeling in my stomach. For me, this was a do-or-die situation.
"Rob," Coach Rodriguez said in his stoic monotone, "I understand that you came here from Taylor Hills and were a standout at conrnerback. I'm sure you were a stellar player, and for a high-school level player, I know you were highly seasoned. But--in college, well; this is the big time, son. We value natural athleticism on all accounts. It's something Michigan University takes great pride in. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, Sir," I said softly as I gulped down some spit.
Coach Rodriguez continued on. "With that said, your performance during all our practices, scrimmages and whatnot proved to me that you're someone who needs to be in a place where your talents can really be put to great use. Unfortunately, cornerback isn't that position."
"And the reason is?" I interceded.
Coach Rodriguez smirked. "Coach Tomlin saw better performances in our two other fine cornerbacks," he replied rather smugly. Naturally, I wasn't amused.
"What are you judging them on?" I asked in a desperate search for objectivity.
"I beg your pardon?" Coach Rodriguez said as he cleared his throat.
"What I'd like to know is what you really think of me as an athlete," I defiantly added.
Coach Rodriguez looked at me with steely eyes as he leaned back in his chair.
"If you're looking to challenge me, this is not the place to do it, son," he blurted. "I made my decision on strict ethical measures. It's in the best interests of the Michigan University football program, along with myself, that you will be utilized in a different sector than what was previously assumed."
I looked at him as though he had two heads.
"Sir, I don't understand what you're trying to tell me," I said.
"Rob, what I'm about to tell you is not going to be the easiest thing in the world to do," Coach Rodriguez said with a tiny hint of sympathy. "I'm not judging your abilities as a football player. You need to realize that this is no longer high school, and college is a place where expectations are raised so high it's tested on a daily basis. With that said, and with all of our slots occupied regardless of offense or defense, I'm afraid I'm going to have to put your football season on hold this year; at least until a dire situation calls for your services."
As Coach Rodriguez said those last few words, I felt my body go into a deep freeze. I couldn't even think of what to think; this was worse than a rejection.
"That doesn't mean you'll have no link to football this season, son," Coach Rodriguez continued. "There are opportunities in the support staff of the football team that I'm sure would be a consolation for you. It would still make you a part of the football team this season, but not on the gridiron."
"What's that?" I asked with heavily concealed anger.
Coach Rodriguez smiled. "How would you like to treat our Michigan men like kings?"


TO BE CONTINUED......

 

[guest301]

Good read, I look forward to the next chapter.

 

[Electric Slide]

Wow that conversations with Loyd Rodriguez was rather interesting. Reading it I could really see the situation. Keep it up, I'm looking forward to part too as well.

 

[Colonel_Reb]

Yeah coach, I'll make them Michigan boys feel like kings alright, right after I kick them in the you know what.


Good stuff man. It just gets my blood boiling. Edited by: Colonel_Reb

 

[OldSchoolBoy75]

Thanks for the kind words about my story, guys. Part Two will be coming shortly. I want it to be as close to the U of M story as possible, switching notable people's names around slightly to get a good feel for it.

 

[white lightning]

NIce work Old SchoolBoy75! Keep it up.

 

[OldSchoolBoy75]

THE WATERBOY AND THE WOLVERINE (Continued)

I left Coach Rodriguez's office and wanted to find the nearest trash bin so I could throw up. What would my family think if they learned that if they wanted to see me on a football field, they would see me fetching water bottles for the guys who would be suited up. I had no choice but to accept his offer to be a waterboy. Just the thought of it made me cringe. Waterboys are dudes who will do anything to support the football team. They never wore a football uniform in their entire life. Apparently I'm now the exception to that rule.
The last thing I wanted to do was go back to the dorm. My roommate, who's an offensive lineman on the team, would never believe me if he found out. As I left the office building, I could feel my cell phone start to vibrate. My heart almost exploded when I saw that my Dad was calling. How on earth was I going to break the news to him? I had no choice but to take the call.
"Hi, Dad!," I said in my best faux cheerful voice.
"Hey Robbie! Betcha looking forward to Saturday!," Dad said enthusiastically.
I suddenly found it difficult to keep up appearances.
"You bet I am," I replied.
"Your Mom and I are so proud of you. We're looking so forward to Saturday you have no idea!," Dad rejoiced. "To think you're the first one in our family to play for Michigan; it's a dream come true for all of us. Do you realize how much you have it made?"
I shook my head and wanted to cry, but for the sake of my Dad I had to keep pretending.
"Yeah, Dad. To be honest, I'm speechless!," I responded.
"Well, son, I have to get going but your Mom and I are here for you always and I can't wait to see you play Saturday!," Dad beamed.
"But Dad; what if I don't start? Sometimes the coach makes a last-minute decision," I mentioned in the hopes of giving my Dad the hint.
"Oh; your coach isn't going to do that," Dad said confidently, "and if he does, then he's gonna get an earful from me!"
Me and Dad exchanged well-wishes and after speaking with him I felt so lifeless. You could add emotionless to the list as well. All I could think about was what my parents' reaction would be when they found out that yours truly was going to be a waterboy his freshman season. On top of that, the uncertainty of my football career at Michigan as a whole.
I returned to my dorm room after all. My roommate was gone, so this gave me the perfect opportunity to sulk in peace. As I laid down in bed and closed my eyes, I imagined myself as a Wolverine playing in the 1970's, back when Bo Elliott was coaching and had all of those wonderful teams. I saw myself dressed in yellow and royal, getting interceptions, psyching out the opposition, hearing the announcers mention my name on every great play I made. If only that was now; alas, I had to come to grips with an unfortunate present.
Word must have gotten around pretty quickly about my demotion; by day's end I had a couple of text messages on my cell phone regarding my not being a starter on the team. They were all from fellow teammates and the content of the messages ranged from the usual "that's the breaks" variety to plain insults. The latter were the hardest to take. Perhaps the worst one of all read, "What's a white boy like you playing a black man's position? Thank God Rod didn't choose you to start--we'd be f**ked!!!"
I knew it wouldn't be long before I'd be called out for being white. All I could do was imagine myself starting and sticking it in the faces of all of my naysayers--from Tomlin to Rodriguez to some of those teammates who sent me those text messages. Granted, I wasn't going to feel better after a night's sleep but I couldn't stay in the doldrums forever. Surely something good would have to come out of my freshman football experience, even if it meant feeding water to undeserving players and handing them their towels after showers.

TO BE CONTINUED.....
Edited by: OldSchoolBoy75

 

[Electric Slide]

Wow if I was in that situation and got a text like that one, you'd bet one of my friends on the team would be serving them a nice cheap shot the next practice!

 

[Colonel_Reb]

Great part 2, OldSchool.

 

[OldSchoolBoy75]

THE WATERBOY AND THE WOLVERINE (Continued)

When Mom and Dad found out about my situation, both parties took it differently. My mother was disappointed but optimistic that perhaps next season I would get a break. Dad, on the other hand, was very upset. He took my demotion extremely hard. So much to the point that he unsuccessfully tried to call Coach Rodriguez for the sole purpose of chewing him out.
The first Wolverine game of the season was the first shutout we had suffered in a long time. Last year the Wolverines experienced their first losing season in almost fifty years and failed to qualify for a bowl game for the first time in forty years. With Coach Rodriguez in his second season, he had hoped that a win against Wisconsin would give him a sense of redemption. Alas; nothing went in our favor. All I could do was watch the miserable game from the sidelines. I figured the players were too angered to drink because whenever I would approach them with water bottles, most of them shoved it away.
As unhappy as I am about not being able to play this season, I tried to think of positives to help me get through my freshman year as an official Wolverine Waterboy. For starters, I don't have to worry about being injured or being annoyed over not getting ample recognition. Despite my run-in with Coach Rodriguez in his office previously, I don't have to fear being vocally reprimanded if I make mistakes on the field. I figured there was a decent apple in a bunch of rotten ones.
A few days before our second (home) game, I was tidying up in the equipment room when I heard laughter coming from outside. I stopped what I was doing and glanced over. Three Wolverines were staring at me. I stepped outside and asked if I could do something for them.
"You bet your sweet ass you can," one of them answered.
His teammate gave me a look of total condescendence. "Aren't you the one who was supposed to be a cornerback for us or something?" he snidely quipped.
"Uh, yeah; that is true," I replied, hesitating a little at first.
The third player, who was black, laughed directly at me. "Yeah, I could see why they made you waterboy. When Coach Tomlin saw you in practice he probably said, 'Damn that white boy can't do sh*t!'" he boasted.
Without thinking of what to say, I stood my ground.
"I happen to be a great cornerback, but it seems some people here ignored that fact," I snapped back.
"What you talkin' 'bout?" the black player uttered. "You ain't done sh*t. Who cares about some white boy cornerback playing with white boy players in some white ass school in some white ass part of town!"
I saw the other two (white) players laugh uncontrollably. I wasn't going to let this black loudmouth get his way with me.
"You say one more thing about me and I'll say something about you that'll make you wish you didn't play for Michigan," I rebutted.
The black Wolverine had the look of hell on his face as his white cohorts suddenly went silent.
"You want a piece of me, white boy?" he shouted as he walked towards me.
"Damn right I do!" I yelled back.
All of a sudden he stopped and looked at me with an uncertain look in his face. His teammates looked at me as though I had committed a crime.
"Hey guys, I gotta go meet the crew over at the house," the black Wolverine told the other two players. All three of them gave me an expressionless look and left the training room.
I walked back inside the equipment room and felt a chill rush all throughout me. I couldn't believe that I had stood up to that thug. I was surprised when I realized I was the only one in the training area at that time. I was proud of myself for what I had done because had I wimped out in front of him I probably would have to explain to everyone the cause of a possible black eye or broken something-or-other. It's always open season on white guys, unfortunately.

TO BE CONTINUED.....
Edited by: OldSchoolBoy75

 

[LabMan]

Nice work OldSchoolBoy !

 

[OldSchoolBoy75]

Nice work OldSchoolBoy !

Thanks LabMan!

 

[guest301]

I am enjoying this read so far. Very realistic and to the point.

 

[OldSchoolBoy75]

THE WATERBOY AND THE WOLVERINE (Continued)

Halfway through the season, the Wolverines only slightly improved their first-half record from the previous year. Still, Coach Rodriguez wasn't immune to media criticism. He continued to be attacked by pundits for not taking the team out of the ashes of last year, and the diplomatic stance he assumed after safety Travis Jackson was suspended for possession of crack cocaine, an unlicensed gun, and marijuana was lambasted by those who thought he should've been outraged. Honestly, I wasn't paying much attention. I was too busy manning the water bottles and fresh supply of jock straps.
The day following our mid-season matchup, Coach Rodriguez announced that there was going to be a gala event at Elliott Hall to honor the man the hall was named after, Bo Elliott. My face lit up when he said that because Bo was the coach I would want to play for the most. Coach Rodriguez then went into a spiel about how wonderful Bo was and what a legend he is to Michigan. If only Bo could see Rod wearing his "Michigan Man" sweatshirt; he'd be doing more than rolling over in his grave!
The gala event at the Hall was quite a big deal. All of the parents and family of the team were invited. My parents, along with my older sister and brother-in-law, attended it and I felt so bad and sorry for myself because I wasn't going to be recognized on the dais.
So heart-wrenching was that fact I spent most of the time sampling the food from the endless buffets. There was one bright spot amid this enclosed dark cloud of doom: many of the Wolverine greats of the past were there, like quarterbacks John Leach, Rick Wangler and Brian Harbaugh; offensive legends such as John Lytle and Rob Kolesar, along with many others.
Despite the reality of not being able to play this season, I felt a rush of excitement penetrating my soul at this event. The fact that I was representing Michigan University, with their long and storied history it possessed, somehow seemed more important than whether or not I would get even so much as half a shot on a play this year. Perhaps it was being in the same room with all of those famous Wolverines of the past that suddenly gave me some confidence I had very little of.
There came a point during the event when things started to get boring. The team had yet to be brought up on the dais so I ventured outside the room and sat inside the lobby. It was a moment when I would do anything to be a walk-on, a non-letterman or a redshirt. At least they would be recognized for being a Wolverine. Me? The unthinkable status of waterboy.To someone not standing in my shoes they could never dream of such a thing happening to a prospect like myself. Little do they know the truth of current-day college football.
As I was slumped in one of those big, comfy leather chairs a man approached me and gave me a smile.
"I know who you are," he quipped.
I looked up and sat myself up.
"No need to do that on my account," the man said. "You're probably feeling like hell. I can't say I blame you for feeling that way."
I nodded slightly, internally delighted that a stranger understands my situation.
"Guess you know what happened to me, right?" I asked him.
"Well, I do know that you were slated to be a true freshman starting at cornerback, and then you were passed over in favor of an underclassman," the man precisely responded.
"A walk-on," I added.
The man grimaced as he stared down at me. Then his face brightened.
"I want to introduce myself. My name's Roger Hetts," he said as he extended his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Sir," I replied as I shook Roger's hand.
"I'll tell you what; you call me Rog and I'll call you Sir!" he answered with a hearty laugh.
"Rob will do just fine," I said with a wry smile.
"I want you to know that I'm sorry that things didn't work out for you this season," Rog opined. "I know that next season can bring some changes. Who knows; you just might get that break."
I looked at Rog with a puzzled visage. "The way the coaches are around here, I don't think playing cornerback is in the cards."
"And why's that?" Rog curiously asked.
I wanted to tell him the obvious, but considering it's someone I neither know nor confide in, I didn't want Rog to see me in a different light. I had to dance around it, but not too much.
"The coaches here aren't willing to check a player out. What I mean is, they judge them on a few plays," I replied, feeling that I wasn't doing a good job at sugar-coating the reason.
Rog gave me a surprised look as he proceeded to sit in the chair opposite mine.
"I can understand your feelings. That sort of mentality was exactly what I went through more than thirty years ago," he said.
"You mean you played college football too?" I asked in sudden amazement.
"You bet I did!" Rog beamed.

TO BE CONTINUED...

 

[OldSchoolBoy75]

THE WATERBOY AND THE WOLVERINE (Continued)

It was a time like this when I felt like going to a bar with Rog and spending the rest of the evening talking football. Just knowing that I was in the presence of a man who played for Coach Elliott made the event going on seem secondary.
Rog looked like he could still play football if he wanted to. He must've stood at least six-foot-five, with thinning blond hair and a build that certainly hadn't been abused by time. The gleam in Rog's blue eyes assured me I was talking to someone who was concerned about me and my future at MU.
"So how did you wind up being waterboy?" Rog asked. "Couldn't you redshirt?"
I gave him a pouting look. "Apparently, they never gave me the option," I muttered.
"That sounds strange," Rog observed. "In this day and age they couldn't afford to lose players regardless of their ability. You mean they couldn't make you a third-string or anything?"
"Nope," I shrugged. "The third-string is a walk-on."
Rog looked at me with skepticism. "That doesn't make any sense," he said.
"I know, right?" I replied.
Rog stood upright in his chair and looked me in the eye.
"Rob, I think there's a reason why you were pulled, for lack of a better word," he pondered. "How did you do speed-wise, during the preseason?"
My eyes lit up. "Faster than my competition!" I proudly boasted.
Rog smirked. "Yep; and your coach is Tony Tomlin, right?" he asked.
"That's right," I answered back, "and I think I may have given him quite a shock."
"How so?" Rog questioned.
"Before I was cut, I read the prospectus log on the freshmen. You know; the reports they give to the press," I reflected. "Anyhow, when I read what was said about me, Tomlin was quoted as saying I was an 'overachiever' but somehow didn't quite have a 'blue collar' style about me that was expected."
"Do you think of yourself as an 'overachiever'?" Rog asked.
"No, I don't think so!" I defiantly replied. "And I'm not 'blue collar' either."
Rog stared at me for a few seconds before giving me an understanding smile.
"Rob, I like your attitude," Rog said. "I know where you're coming from. So tell me exactly what you feel about it."
I could sense from the tone in Rog's voice that he had an inkling about the racial angle in my fall from grace, if you will. There was no turning back.
"I know for a fact I had all the tools to play cornerback this season, but I don't think I was their kind of player," I stated.
Rog nodded as he took a drink from his glass.
"I just find it ridiculous that they'd be so quick to deny me a shot this season," I continued. "You would think they would make me a special teams player, but no; I get to be a waterboy. That's bullsh*t!"
Rog gave a hearty laugh as he leaned back in his chair. "You got that right; bullsh*t indeed!" he responded with enthusiasm.
"I'm glad you agree with me," I told Rog.
"Of course I do," Rog replied. "Look at me. I played for four years and never became a letterman. I busted my ass, worked hard, tried to convince Elliott and the other coaches that I was as good as anyone on the offensive line, but there was just something that prevented me from making it, you know?"
My heart sunk hearing this. I had no idea that Rog hadn't lettered as a Wolverine. Deep inside I felt so much for him.
"But I will tell you this, Rob," Rog said. "It didn't matter whether or not I lettered because I was playing for Michigan and for Coach Elliott. I was representing the school and myself. And it wasn't just wearing the yellow and royal, either. People respected you as a Michigan man. I remember going to the Rose Bowl twice; it was a blast! I saw so many people and was treated so wonderfully by everyone. I felt like I was on top of the world. Even if I wasn't playing on the field as much as I had wanted to, the fact that I was respected by so many people was worth so much more."
I started to get watery eyes from hearing Rog say that. Still, I felt I wasn't telling Rog what I truly wanted to say.
"Rog, do you think I'll ever get a shot as a cornerback?" I asked him in all sincerity.
"Rob, you're a talented kid," Rog responded. "You have what it takes. Don't let Tomlin's prejudices hold you back. Of course you were turned down. Let's be honest here; white cornerbacks don't exactly come a dime a dozen. You were pawned. I'm only saying what I feel is the truth."
"You're right," I snapped. "I'm so glad you feel the same way I do."
"Don't think I'm oblivious to the way things are in the game now," Rog remarked. "It's a different game than it was when I played. You could play any position you wanted, for the most part, without being switched out or going through a lot of red tape. The boys of today just don't have a clue of what reality is."
"I hear you," I chimed, unaware of the amount of time that had passed.
"Rob," Rog stoically uttered, "you're gonna make it as a Wolverine. Don't let these coaches and whoever else tell you otherwise. Stick it out for the remainder of the season doing what you're doing--this waterboy job. Let Rodriguez, Tomlin, and these other coaches really see your talent next year in training camp. And if they give you hell again, call me and I'll go there and straighten them out!"
I laughed. "I'll do that!"
Rog took out a pen from his suit jacket and wrote something on a napkin that was on one of the end tables.
"Take this," Rog said. "It's my email address. Let's keep in touch. I want to hear from you!"
I ripped a blank piece of the napkin off and wrote my email address to give to Rog.
"And here's my email address," I replied. "I'm so glad I got a chance to talk with you."
"Me too," Rog said as he finished his drink and got up out of his chair. "I hate to say goodbye, but I gotta go. There's a party for all the ex-Wolverines down the hall and it starts in a little while."
"Sure can't miss that!" I said with a big smile.
"Certainly not," Rog replied.
Me and Rog shook hands, and Rog gave me a big hug and told me everything would be fine. Suddenly I felt all alone inside the lobby. Then I heard my name being called; of course it had to be none other than Mom and Dad.
"Robbie, where were you?" Mom said in total exasperation.
"I was just talking with a friend," I casually responded.
"And that was more important than the party inside?" Dad interceded.
"Yeah," I chuckled as I walked back to the gala with my folks.

THE END