Johnny wasn’t the type to talk much. On the field, he was a monster— a tough-as-nails center on offense and a brick-wall nose guard on defense. Off the field, he was calm, respectful, almost quiet. But the kids in the neighborhood knew something else: Don’t mistake his quiet for weakness. A few did. They learned fast. And never tried again.
That afternoon at practice, he stood near Derrick and Marcus, shaking his head as they recapped the first week of school at Bryant.
“Man, it was wild,” Marcus said. “Fight before first period even started.”
“Somebody stabbed EJ,” Reggie added.
Tony held up both hands.
“Seriously! Jason brought a pocket knife and—”
Johnny let out a breath, cutting in with the sort of calm truth that made everyone listen:
“See… that’s the exact reason my parents made me go to Folwell,” he said. “Y’all be going crazy at Bryant.”
The whole crew laughed because… well… he wasn’t wrong.
By now, King Park’s football season was rolling. They had blown out: K-PAC and WESAC, two other light midget teams. The letters in both of the teams’ names meant something, but no one knew what. Nor did they care. All of the games in their division were played at Pearl Park on Thursday nights, under the tall field lights that made everything look almost bright as day.
The bleachers were never packed, but the neighborhood always showed up— a few parents, teenagers, little siblings, and older folks who remembered watching park board football since the ’50s. The team was now 3–0, and they were feeling themselves. Too much, maybe. The coaches noticed it. Even Tasha teased him about it:
“Y’all winning too easy,” she said. “You better not get cocky.”
He laughed it off. But she was right.
Next up was McRae Park, over on 46th and Chicago—a park with just as much history and just as much pride as King or Phelps. The kids all knew each other from the neighborhood. Some kids who played for McRae went to Bryant. Most went to Ramsey Jr. High. A few even went to Folwell. There was rivalry energy in the air all week. Every time the crew walked through Bryant’s halls, they heard it: “Y’all ain’t ready.” “McRae gonna stomp y’all.”
“Wait till Thursday. Watch what happens.” Marcus fired back.
Tony ran his mouth. Leon stayed chill as usual. Derrick didn’t say much, but inside? He believed they’d win. Why wouldn’t they? They’d already had a scrimmage McRae earlier in the season. And they’d beaten them pretty soundly.
“Easy W,” Tony said confidently.
“Guaranteed,” Reggie added.
Marcus nodded.
“They ain’t got nothing for us.”
Johnny shrugged.
“I told Duane,” who was McRae’s quarterback and went to Folwell with Johnny, ”I’m gonna be in their backfield all night.”
Thursday night came fast. Pearl Park was cold. Windy. Damp. The kind of night where the ball felt like a brick. But King showed up smiling, and laughing, like they were undefeated NFL players. McRae didn’t come smiling. They came angry. They came focused. And most importantly: They came prepared.
From the first snap, something felt off. McRae hit harder. Ran faster. Blocked better. Played tougher. Tony got stuffed at the line—again and again. Loco kept getting gang-tackled by three guys at once. Marcus missed a read. Leon slipped on a route. Reggie dropped two passes. Even Derrick—solid, dependable Derrick—got blown off the line by Jerry Simms, a kid who must’ve grown three inches since summer.
This team didn’t play like the same McRae team they had beaten in a scrimmage a few weeks earlier.
It was ugly. Real ugly. The score piled up fast. McRae: 6. McRae: 14. McRae: 20. McRae 26. McRae 32. King: 0. Everyone watched in disbelief. Kids whispered in the bleachers. The King guys tried to rally, but everything fell apart. By the fourth quarter? It wasn’t about winning. It was about just trying to finish the game.
With less than a minute left, King tried one more play. A simple sweep. Tony got hit late—way late—and went down hard near the sideline. He jumped up instantly, furious.
“HEY! That’s dirty!”
A McRae player, Tollie, shouted back,
“Quit crying! Y’all trash!”
Marcus sprinted over.
“You ain’t gotta hit him like that! The play was over!” Another McRae kid pushed Marcus.
“Back up then!”
Loco rushed in. Leon tried to pull Marcus away. Reggie jumped in between them. Kids yelled from both teams. Then— somebody shoved someone too hard. Nobody would later agree on who started it. But suddenly? The benches cleared and both teams were swinging. Helmets thrown. Boys grabbing jerseys. Coaches shouting. A ref blew his whistle so hard it sounded like a fire alarm. The two teams kept going at it. It was chaos. Derrick found himself in the middle—pushing people away, trying to keep his teammates from getting stomped. He grabbed Marcus’s jersey.
“STOP! STOP!”
Marcus was yelling incoherently, trying to reach the kid who pushed him. Johnny—usually quiet—threw two kids aside like rag dolls to help Tony, who was pinned against the chain-link fence. Leon got punched in the shoulder by some random kid. Reggie tripped and fell sideways into the pile. Loco grabbed a McRae kid by the back of the pads and threw him on the ground. Coach Jimmy waded into the mess.
“ENOUGH! GET BACK! GET BACK!”
Slowly—very slowly—the fight broke apart. Coaches held players apart. Referees blew whistles until their lungs hurt. McRae players were pulled away by their coaches. King players were dragged to their sideline. The score didn’t matter anymore. The game ended in embarrassment. In anger. In frustration. And in a reminder: Winning is easy. Losing reveals who you really are.
After the game, and after the ride back to King Park, the crew walked home quietly. No jokes. No bragging. No trash talk. Just heavy steps. Marcus finally said,
“Man… we got stomped!”
Tony added,
“We didn’t just lose. We got HUMILIATED.”
Leon just shook his head.
“That was ugly.” Reggie sighed softly.
“Coaches are gonna kill us Monday.”
Johnny walked beside them, arms crossed.
“Yeah, we got our butts kicked ’cause we got big-headed. It happens.” he said simply. “Now we gotta decide who we wanna be next week. How we gonna come back.”
Derrick didn’t say a word. He felt it all—the shame, the anger, the disappointment. But somewhere deep inside? He knew this. This was the moment that would define their season. Not the wins. Not the blowouts. But this. What they did next. Like Johnny said. It was not that they lost. It was about how they gonna come back next week.