Initiation Read Online Free Page A

“Coach Ware’s so black that if he had a red light, he’d be a motherfuckin’ pager.” The kids laughed.
    “I got one,” Dwayne said with a grin. “Coach Ware’s so black that the oil light turns on when he gets out the car.” They laughed with bright white smiles.
    “No, no, no,” Mike said. “Coach Ware’s so black when he goes outside the street lights be comin’ on.” Laughter erupted.
    Dwayne shook his head with a smile and said, “Coach Ware’s so black Oprah Winfrey says, damn you’re purple.” Raucous laughter ensued.
    Dwayne eyed Carter.
    “Hey, white boy,” Dwayne said. Carter looked over. “That Jane Fonda shit ain’t gonna help you today.”
    Carter nodded, still stretching.
    A whistle blew. A handful of coaches marched onto the practice field. The players sprinted to arrange themselves neatly along the white lines. Carter stood in the back, white jerseys all around him. They spelled Marauders with jumping jacks and performed various stretches to a ten count. Head Coach Cowan and the offensive coordinator Coach Ware paced between the lines, inspecting players for defects.
    “It’s awfully quiet today, huh, Coach?” Cowan said.
    Coach Cowan was broad, above average height, with a salt and pepper mustache.
    Coach Ware smiled. “I heard a lot a trash-talkin’ these past three days. Ain’t nobody got nothin’ to say now, huh?”
    “Today we separate the men from the boys.”
    The players weren’t exaggerating – Coach Ware’s skin was as dark as his shades. He was tall and muscular, his hair cut tight to his head.
    Coach Ware erupted, stopping the stretch. “Townsend got two buckles undone. That’s twenty pushups for everyone. Count ’em out!”
    The team groaned and assumed the pushup position.
    After stretch, the lines converged and they did fifteen yards of high knees, butt kicks, shuffles, bounding, and backpedals. Halfway through, Coach Ware flipped out.
    “I’m tired of watchin’ this lack of effort! Do it over,” he said. “We’ll stay here all day if we have to.”
    After three tries, Coach Ware finally seemed satisfied with his team’s efforts. Coach Cowan blew his whistle.
    “Eye openers, everyone to the bags,” Coach Cowan said.
    Six soft rectangular bags, each the size of a man, were laid on the ground about three yards apart. The team huddled in front of Coach Cowan.
    “Now listen up, because I’m only gonna explain this once.” Coach Cowan looked around at his players, his Bike shorts tight to mid-thigh. “Runners make a line behind the bags, and defenders make a line here.” He pointed in front of him. “It’s simple, runners will pick a hole and defenders will fill it. This is one hundred percent live, full contact. Let’s see good hard tackles with your heads up. We’ll do this drill first thing every morning through camp. We call it eye openers because, well – ” The coach smiled and looked around. “’Cause it’s gonna wake you up.”
    Lines were formed on both sides of the bags. Three identical drills were set up ten yards apart to accommodate the mass of players.
    “Let’s go. Even those lines up,” Coach Ware said.
    Runner after runner picked a hole and sprinted through, their shoulders lowered. Defenders crashed through, meeting them in between the bags. Some were stopped cold to the sounds of ohhhs, ahhhs, and damns. Others were planted by the runner, run over like roadkill.
    Some players, Ben included, jockeyed for a “favorable” position in line. They counted their position, then the corresponding position in the opposite line to find their opponent. If they’d drawn a particularly intimidating opponent, they switched places in line. The brave or foolhardy would always end up with the toughest adversaries. Carter was destined to face all two hundred and seventy-five pounds of Zach Goodman. He made no attempt to switch places.
    Carter stood facing Zach across the bags. He watched Zach’s waist as he moved. Carter mirrored