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Training Program

GERALD SIEGEL

"H IT THAT dummy again!" The coach's voice cracked through
the chill November dusk like an overseer's whip.
Tony's weary legs protested as he dragged himself back across
the sodden football field. He glanced at the coach, who was now pac-
ing back and forth near the sideline. "Slavedriver Slick" they called
the coach, and, outlined against the bleak gray sky, he looked every
inch the part. Slick's bulky form moved closer to the line of blocking
dummies stretched across the field.

"Coach ... " Tony began. But his voice had given up hope even
before the chunky center had begun his protest. In his heart Tony
knew that it would be useless to voice a complaint, that Slick would
keep him there until it was too dark to see.

The others had left the practice field hours before, but just as he
had done every since practice had started, Slick had told Tony to
stay late. Then, just as he had done all the other days, Tony began to
run extra laps around the field. Tired from practice, Tony found the
first times around the cinder track only slightly difficult, but soon each
lap began to seem miles longer than the one before. Next came the
calisthenics-pushups until Tony thought his arms would fall off from
exhaustion, kneebends that seemed to drain off his energy-exercises
and more exercises, and all the while Slick sitting there watching,
with that strange smile on his lips as he had Tony hit the blocking
dummy once more. The ridiculous little straw man seemed almost
to be laughing as Tony staggered a little from exhaustion.

Tony tackled the dummy again, harder this time, seeing in the
mocking stuffed sack the coach's impassive face. This vicious tackle
ripped the dummy from its moorings. Slick straightened with a start.
He walked toward the boy, and as the two looked at each other, tears
of fatigue and hate began to well up in Tony's eyes. He hated the
coach, hated him as only a youngster who feels hurt can hate.

"Go home, kid." The coach's form shuffled into the darkness as
Tony headed for the locker room.

Slick got into his car and drove into the night. He drove for
several minutes, then stopped beside a little church and thought-
thought about Tony, the blond, grey-eyed center with more potential
at twenty than many pros have. Maybe he had worked the kid too

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