Breeding

I raise my beer and knock it against his. “Here’s hoping my first year as a high school football coach is a winning season.”

I had been talking to Phil one day, telling him how much I missed being a part of the sport, even though I didn’t have the urge to play anymore. He told me his local high school was looking for a new head coach and I would be a perfect fit. Not soon after, I interviewed, got the job instantly, and made the move. Only my new house wasn’t finished so Phil offered to let me crash with them this summer while I waited.

“I’ll drink to that. Oh, and to your house being finished next week,” he laughs and we clink bottles.

“Remind me never to build again. It’s taken them a month longer than they said, but they’ve guaranteed it by next Friday. Either way, I appreciate you letting me stay with you this summer. It’s clear those boys needed me here as soon as possible; they were a fucking mess. I thought I was going to have to do three a days if that’s even possible.”

Phil l