By the second week of August, the summer heat had settled heavy over the city. Days were hot, nights were sticky, and everybody knew what that meant: Football season was here. Phelps Park—usually buzzing with kids running wild—had a different energy today. A purposeful energy. The kind that came with structure, whistles, and boys trying to prove something. The grass looked freshly cut. Orange cones lined the field. A long rope marked the running lanes. And a pile of beat-up footballs sat beside an even more beat-up equipment bag.
The guys walked up together—Tony leading the way like he always did.
“Y’all ready?” He asked, flexing dramatically.
Marcus groaned.
“Man, you flex like that again and somebody gonna call the doctor.”
Leon snorted.
“Look at him—he think he Gale Sayers.”
“I am Gale Sayers,” Tony declared loudly.
Reggie shook his head.
“You more like Gale SORE-ers.” The boys laughed, bumping each other lightly as they took their spot on the field.
Derrick smiled quietly. He’d missed this. He loved this.
“All right, fellas —let’s line it up! Let’s go!” They scrambled into two rows, still laughing, talking, teasing each other. Coach Jimmy blew the whistle again. “FELLAS! It’s practice time, not social time!” That didn’t help. They just snickered harder. Derrick kept his smile tucked inside. It felt good being back on this field. Coach Jimmy looked over the group and nodded to Coach Stuart and Coach Lenny.
“Good turnout.” He said.
The three coaches were Jimmy, Stuart, and Lenny. Jimmy was the head coach. He would push the team hard, but he also liked to have fun. He had grown up right in the neighborhood. Stuart was laid back, but he could get on your case when needed. As laid back as Stuart was, Lenny was just the opposite. He was excitable and good for trying to light a fire under the team.
The first part of practice was always the same: Jumping jacks, push-ups, running in place and then hitting the ground on the whistle. Then after all of that came the dreaded wind sprints. Groans erupted instantly.
“The more you complain, the more we’re gonna do!” Stuart shouted.. Derrick thought to himself, “What do you mean we? Coaches ain’t the ones who’re gonna be running.”
They all lined up on the goal line. On the whistle, the whole team sprinted to the 40 yard line, and then on the next whistle, they would sprint back to the goal line. After doing those for what seemed like forever Jimmy told them they were now going to do what was known as Fifth Quarters. The whole team groaned.
“Man, this is cruel and inhuman.” Winston complained.
“You’re gonna be cruel and inhuman sitting on that bench is you keep complaining.” Jimmy said.
Fifth Quarters consisted of sprinting, on the whistle, to the ten yard line, and then touching the ground with your hand, then sprinting back to the goal line and touching the ground with your hand, then sprinting to the twenty, touch the ground, and then back to the goal line, touch the ground, then the same to the thirty yard line and then finally the forty yard line. Derrick always tried to complete each set as quickly as he could. That way, he would have more time to rest as the slower guys finished up.
“Ok. On the line.” Jimmy yelled. Then came the whistle. The whole team took off. After they finished the first one, they all stood at the goal line waiting for Jimmy to blow the whistle again.
“If I die… tell my mama… I love her.” Tony said.
Leon rolled his eyes.
“You ain’t dying. You just slow.”
Reggie gasped,
“I should’ve—never—had that—extra sandwich.”
The whistle blew again, and off they went.
Finally after four more Fifth Quarters, they got to rest for a moment.
“Ahhh, we took it easy on you today.” Lenny said. “Now let me ask y’all a question!” He yelled.
“DO HAVE THE SPIRIT?”
“YEAH!” The team yelled, still breathing hard from all you the running.
“DO YOU HAVE THE POWER?”
“YEAH!”
“DO YOU HAVE THE DETERMINATION?”
“YEAH!”
“Alright.” Lenny exclaimed. “Looks like we have us a team.”
After they did all of that running, they broke out into positions, and position drills. Offense was first. The coaches put Derrick at guard on the offensive line. That meant he had to block. He had wanted to be a receiver, but the coaches thought differently.
Stuart was in charge of the offensive linemen. They went through a bunch blocking drills, they hit the sled, and they did drills to improve foot quickness.
Next it was defense. On defense, Derrick was put in as a linebacker. He loved playing linebacker. More drills. Ready, stance low, eyes forward, feet shuffling across in the grass. Coach Lenny, in charge of the linebackers, blew the whistle. “Hands! Quick feet! Marcus was also playing linebacker, and was really in his element—quick, fierce, attacking the tackling dummy with intensity. Even Coach Jimmy nodded in approval.
After the drills were over, Jimmy blew the whistle to get everyone’s attention.
“This is it,” he said. “We gotta do it this year. We gotta win that city championship this year, and I know y’all expect to win it this year. We definitely have the talent to do it. We just have to make sure we put it all together. We will. We’re gonna make sure that we do. Ok now. Time for a scrimmage.
They split into two teams: Derrick and Marcus on defense at both of the linebacker spots, Tony running the ball, Reggie at wide receiver, and Leon wherever the coach pointed. The first play, Tony took the handoff and ran wide left. Derrick shed his blocker and chased him down. WHUMP.
“AGH! Man, you hit too hard!” Tony yelled, rolling on the grass.
Derrick grinned.
“Run faster then.”
Everyone got louder, more energized, more hyped with every play. The sun dipped low behind the trees, the field turning gold as they tackled, blocked, caught passes, shouted plays, and fought like this was a championship game. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t pretty, but it was a start.
At the end of practice, Coach Jimmy blew the last whistle.
“Bring it in!” The guys crowded around him, helmets tucked under arms.
“This year,” the coach said, “Phelps is going to be the team to beat. But only if you work. Only if you play together. Only if you believe it.” He looked right at the crew. “And I know some of you already do.”
They nodded—serious now, ready.
“Phelps on three,” Coach Jimmy said. “One, two, three—” “PHELPS!”
The shout echoed across the whole park.
After practice, as the guys walked down Park Avenue toward 41st Street, still sweaty, still full of adrenaline, Tony grinned huge.
“Man, that was fun.”
Leon clapped him on the back.
“It’ll be real fun as long as we win.”
“We gonna be monsters this year.” Reggie added. “Nobody beating us.”
And Derrick? He walked with that quiet smile—the one he only got during football season. He felt strong. Focused. Hopeful. And proud of his team. This was their last ride at playing park board football, and they would be ready.
