Put Me In Coach

Tommy sat at the end of the bench.  He was all dressed, ready to go at a moments notice.  His uniform was clean (which was part of the problem), his pads were all on, and he even had his eye black smeared across his face just like the starting running back.  For cryin’ out loud my helmet is on and my chinstrap is buttoned, he thought to himself.  Tommy was used to the bench and somewhere deep down he was actually quite comfortable riding the pine, so they said.  Of course Tommy wanted to play.  Each game day would bring new hope the coach would see use for him on the field.  He knew he wouldn’t start – he wasn’t ready.  Just one play and I’ll show ‘em.

Tommy attended every practice, ran every drill, sweated just as hard, and worked just as hard.  Perhaps he complained a little more, grunted a little louder with each sit up, push up, high knees or ropes run.  Everyone grunted during those drills and Tommy didn’t feel he was much different.  Tommy looked down the bench and saw his boyhood friend Jason, who had a little sweat dripping from his nose and a beautiful grass stain on his left shoulder.  They made eye contact and Jason gave his old friend a wink and a smile.  Jason wasn’t a starter either, but he did touch the ball five or six times each game.  Though perhaps a little stronger than Tommy, he was shorter by an inch and at least ten pounds lighter.  Tommy smiled back, masking the pity-party he was having in his head, complete with streamers, disco ball and neon lights.

“Tommy!”  Tommy heard his name but it didn’t register just yet.  He was staring at the score board and noted his team was up by three touchdowns.  In the midst of his internal temper tantrum he hadn’t noticed his team crossed the goal line twice unanswered.

“Tommy, next time you better come runnin’ the first time I call your name!” the coach yelled.  Tommy could see that little vein on the side of his head that bulged out seemingly all the time.  But when he was mad the vein bulged and pumped.  “Next play, you’re in. Tell Jimmy to run red hawk, jackrabbit split two on one.  This is your chance, son, give ‘em everything you’ve got.”

Tommy couldn’t breathe.  He ran onto the field for the first time in his high school career.  Of all the sensory cues to take in, he only noticed Jimmy waiving him into the huddle.  Jimmy was the star quarterback and this was his senior year.  He was tall, strong and fast, and being chased by three universities and one college.  Tonight Jimmy was on fire.  He was reading defenses, making occasional audibles at the line, finding his man and laser-beaming the ball on the numbers nearly every pass.  He seemed unstoppable.

“What you got, Tommy?” Jimmy asked as Tommy pulled up to the ranks of the huddle.  Tommy barely heard the question – he was still soaking it all in.

“Red hawk, jackrabbit split two on one.”  Tommy was certain he got that right.  He knew what to do, where to position himself, and he knew he’d go on one.  This was a simple draw play – he’d hesitate, take the ball and hit hole number two.  He heard Jimmy give the play to everyone in the huddle and slapped his hands in unison with his teammates as they broke.  This was it!  This was his chance.  Everything was slowly getting more real to him.  He noticed the smell first.  While it was very familiar there was something altogether different about it.  He quickly decided that he loved that smell and didn’t care to figure out why it was somehow different.  He thought about looking to the stands to make sure his dad was watching.  He started to turn his head but it was too late.  Everyone in front of him was in motion.  He stood for two counts then extended his arms.  He cradled the ball and began leaning left… then he saw the wall of jerseys.  He expected this, but he didn’t expect the first wall to be the opponent’s jerseys.  The hit came hard and fast.  Tommy remembered the whistle but not much else.  When the dog-pile finally lifted and he was pulled up by Jimmy he noted they had lost at least six yards on the play.

“You didn’t hear my audible, did you?”  Jimmy was doing all the talking. “I saw the blitz coming on the left, so I sent you right.”

As Tommy jogged off the field Jimmy’s words were still ringing in his ears.  He looked toward the coach fully expecting a big frown of disappointment and a bulging, pumping vein.  But what he saw instead was a look of satisfaction and an inviting, two fingered hook telling him to come here.  Tommy headed for his coach.

“Son, look at me.  Study the playbook extra hard when you get home.  Listen to your quarterback next time and we’ll try this again.”  Tommy was on a permanent high despite his run having been the only negative yardage recorded for his team that night.  His team had won and he was a part of it.  It’s what he’d longed for but feared.  No longer.  He was a part of this team now.  He had stepped across that sideline and gotten dirty and bruised, and he had smelled that smell.  He was in the game.

As a Christian I’ve sat the sidelines for a long time.  I’d attend most Sundays with my family and read the bulletin, where I’d see different announcements of upcoming events geared toward men.  Like Tommy I felt I was doing my part as a Christian, and I didn’t understand why God hadn’t called me into the game.  I had the Bible open during church and I read along with the pastor.  I knew this stuff and I was ready.  One night I was called into the game.  I pulled a one-eighty on my plans and registered for a men’s retreat.  During that weekend I heard testament from other men of the strength of the Devil and his demons.  I saw what the Devil was capable of and I met men who were strong enough to admit they needed Jesus Christ in their life to help hold the gate closed against the demons.  It was very powerful and, sufficed to say, a life-changing event for me.  But I drove home that Sunday wondering what was wrong with the sidelines.  On the sidelines I wasn’t noticed by the opponent, so they left me alone.  Now I’m in the game and the opponent is starting to take notice, sending their wall against me to knock me down.  But just like Tommy, I love it.  I was finally in the game and it felt good.  My coach is God, my quarterback is Jesus, the huddle is my fellowship with other men in the game with me, and the playbook – the Bible is my playbook.  I’ve begun to study it, not just read it.  I’m starting fellowships with other men, discussing our walk with Jesus.  I can feel the opponent staring me down, but I’ve got my team – and what a powerful team it is.