we were doing simple calisthenics, row upon row of us, bending, breathing and stretching, instructing our collective soul in the disciplines necessary to make us one body, a thing of ninety legs. Two of the coaches, George Owen and Brian Tweego, walked through the ranks, bestowing1 their shrill2 blessing3 on prince and dog alike. At Tweego's command we switched to squatjumps. Automatically my teammates groaned4 and just as automatically I became elated. My body surged and dropped; my mind repeated the process. The indifferent drift of time and all things filled me with affection for the universe. I squatted6 and jumped and jumped and squatted. Life was simplified by these afternoons of opposites and affinities7. Eventually we headed toward the far goal posts for the first of two laps. I ran in a group that included Buddy8 Shock, Tim Flanders and Howard Lowry. When we were finished we watched the offensive linemen charge the blocking sled. These were Tweego's people and he screamed at them as he rode the sled, reviling9 Bloomberg and Onan Moley in particular. Creed10 himself stood about twenty yards off to the side, arms folded, eyes very busy beneath the peak of his black baseball cap.
"Coach is a man of destiny," Tim Flanders said. "They're a vanishing breed. My grandfather was a man of destiny. On my father's side. His whole identity was dominated by some tremendous vision."
"Identity," Buddy Shock said. "An equality satisfied by all possible values of the variables for which the standardized11 expressions involved in the equality are quantitatively12 determined13."
"What happened to your grandfather?" I said.
"He was killed in an industrial accident," Flanders said. "He was burned beyond recognition. Selective ordnance14. You know what that is, don't you?"
"You're not saying that was his destiny. To get burned beyond recognition."
"Of course not."
"Then what was his destiny?"
"He never attained15 it, Gary. It was the accident that prevented him from attaining16 it."
"Then how do you know he was a man of destiny?"
"Same way I know Coach is a man of destiny. He sits up nights. He has piercing eyes. You never see him in a phone booth."
Garland Hobbs strolled over to join us. He was tall and solidly constructed, about sixfour and 215, goodlooking in a blank way, faintly impressive, like a tall motel. He had a quarterback's gait, slack and expensive.
"What's your comment on the big move?" I said.
"What move is that?"
"Switching Taft Robinson to quarterback. We'd like your comment."
"Switching shit," he said.
"It's the truth, Hobbsie," I said. "Coach is going over to a whole new offense17 just for the Centrex game. He wants a quarterback who can run. Sprintouts, rollouts, options, bootlegs. You see, he wants a quarterback who can run."
"I'm the quarterback."
"It's just for one game."
"I'm the quarterback."
"But you can't run, Hobbsie. He wants a quarterback who can run."
"We're undefeated in three games," Hobbs said. "I've got sixtytwo percent completions. I've been intercepted18 just once and that's because Jessup broke the pattern and he'll tell you that himself. I've been concentrating. I've been taking command in the huddle19. I've been reading the blitz just like Coach taught me."
"But you can't run."
"I can throw, damn it. Can he throw?"
"Sure he can throw. He can do anything. You know that as well as I do. Coach thinks with Taft at quarterback we'll be able to do a lot more with our offense. It's a total offense concept. It's a reordering of priorities."
"I don't understand it. We've been doing real well up to now."
"We've been playing leprosariums and barbers' colleges. Coach wants something special to spring on Centrex."
"He's putting you on," Buddy Shock said.
"Is that right, Gary?"
"That's right," I said.
"You son of a bitch," Hobbs said.
Vern Feck ran around blowing a whistle and each player reported to his respective coach. The six running backs formed a circle around Oscar Veech. He was trying to think of something to say. Finally he focused on me.
"Button up when you get hit, Harkness. You haven't been buttoning up. You lost the ball once against those people and you almost lost it two other times."
"I was running with reckless abandon."
"Run with reckless abandon until you're hit. When you're hit, button up."
"Right."
"Button up. Become fetal. Hug that ball. Hug it. Hug it."
"Yes sir."
"Lee Roy, what am I talking about, Lee Roy?"
"I wasn't listening, sir," Lee Roy Tyler said.
"Typical," Veech said. "That's typical of the whole attitude around here. You people are a bunch of feebleminded shit fanners. You're lazy, you're selfsatisfied, you're stupid. In my considered opinion, you're a bunch of feebs. If you can't concentrate, you can't play football for this team. Awright now. What was I talking about, Hopper?"
"Buttoning up."
"Lee Roy, what are you supposed to do when your quarterback calls trips right and you're parked out there in the slot ready to fly and suddenly it dawns on you that they're in a zone? What do you do, Lee Roy?"
"Sir?"
"Lee Roy, you're a dung beetle20. Shit is your proper environment. You do nothing, that's what you do. You run your damn pattern."
"Yes sir."
"Let's get real basic here. Deering, who do you take out on a weakside sweep against a fourthree?"
"Sir, I take out the linebacker."
"You take out the end, feeb. Your wide receiver cracks back on the linebacker."
"It's coming back to me now," Jim Deering said.
"If you had half a brain you'd be dangerous," Veech said. "Come on, let's get out of here before I hemorrhage."
We went over for a joint21 conference with Tom Cook Clark and his three quarterbacks, Garland Hobbs, Terry Madden and Byrd Whiteside. Then Vern Feck brought his linebackers over and we got Randy King to center for us so we could practice defending against the blitz, two setbacks and the center against blitz variations by the three linebackers. It was a timing22 drill really; we were wearing pads and headgear but there wasn't supposed to be any real contact. Madden was at quarterback. Bobby Hopper and I were behind him. On the first snapback, Champ Conway slipped and fell before he even reached me. Vern Feck was all over him in a second.
"Shitbird!" he screamed. "Shit, shit, shitbird. You got dumb feet, Conway. Messages from your brain must get clogged23 up somewhere around your kneecap. We got people ready to take your place, shitbird. Now you remember that."
"Audibilize," Tom Cook Clark was saying to Madden. "When you see them leaning like that, get ready to audibilize."
"Awright, awright, awright," Oscar Veech shouted, clapping his hands for no apparent reason.
"What are you, Conway?"
"Shitbird, sir."
Later a fight broke out between Randy King and a reserve linebacker, John Butler. King got Butler in a headlock and tried to spin him quickly to the ground. He ended his spin holding Butler's helmet. He caught a forearm from behind, then got spun24 around himself 'and kicked in the leg. He went down, grunting25, and Butler jumped on him and they wrestled26 for a while, making dust. King, on the bottom, tried to pull Butler's jersey27 over his head. Finally the coaches stopped it and we got going again. Several plays later the blocking got sloppy28, and Hobbs, at quarterback now, ran out of the pocket a bit prematurely29. A whistle blew, rather softly, as if reluctant to call attention to itself, and we watched Creed come walking across the field. Hobbs put his hands on his hips30 and looked at the grass. Creed, taking his time, began speaking while he was still ten yards away, very quietly though, with forbearance.
"You've got to stay in the pocket, son."
"Yes sir, I know."
"You bailed31 out too early. You've got to stand firm even with all that meat coming in at you. If you can't do that, you can't play for me. Now that's a fact."
"Yes sir."
"Gary, that blocking was dreadful."
"Yes sir," I said.
King and Butler were fighting again. Creed heard the noise and turned slowly to watch. Since both of them wore linemen's facemasks, it was extremely difficult to draw blood, the unannounced purpose and only real satisfaction of such a fight. So they started kicking and wrestling again, pulling at each other's equipment, not tactically but in frustration32, the pads, the faceguard, the helmet itself. King down now, John Butler kicked him in the stomach. Somebody pushed Butler away. King was through for the afternoon. They had to help him off. Butler stood alone near the sideline. Creed walked slowly across the field toward the offensive linemen, who were running wind sprints33. I watched Bloomberg for a moment. Then we went back to our blitz drill. Everybody ignored Butler. He stood off to one side, watching. Five minutes later (you could feel it), we forgave him.
Sam Trammel, who coached the receivers, called the starting offensive and defensive34 units together for a dummy35 scrimmage. Vern Feck jumped in and out of the defensive huddle, checking on his boys, little pink face halfshady under the baseball cap, whistle bouncing off his wet Tshirt. I went through the motions; the motions seemed to reciprocate36. I blocked, I carried the ball, I ran pass patterns. Out on a deep pattern I watched the ball spiral toward me, nose dropping now, laces spuming, my hands up and fingers spread, eyes following the ball right into my hands, here, now, and then lengthening37 my stride, breaking toward the middle, seeing myself on largescreen color TV as I veered38 into the end zone. The afternoon went by in theoretically measured stages, gliding39, and I moved about not as myself but as some sequence from the idea of motion, a brief arrangement of schemes and physical laws abstracted from the whole. Everything was wonderfully automatic, in harmony, dreamed by genius. Cruising over the middle on a circle pattern, just loafing because the play was directed elsewhere, I got blasted for no reason by the free safety, Lenny Wells. I rolled over twice, enjoying the grass, and then got to my feet and patted Lenny on the rump.
"How to hit, baby," I told him.
It ended as it had begun, two laps around the goal posts. On the first turn a tackle named Ted5 Joost, who was Randy King's roommate, bumped John Butler right into the goal post and kept on going. Butler ran after him and jumped on his back. Joost shook him off and they started swinging. I jogged past them and by the time I made the far turn and headed back it was all over. I walked toward Staley Hall with Bing Jackmin.
"I can't take much more of this," he said.
"Of what?"
"The antiquated40 procedures."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"All the procedures around here are antiquated. Blocking sleds are antiquated whether you know it or not. Agility41 drills are antiquated. We even have to bend down and touch our toes. Gary, this is the second half of the twentieth century. That stuff went out with the gladiators. We're using antiquated procedures and we don't even know it."
"You said yourself that we hark back. We hark back, you said. You're the one who coined that dumb phrase referring to the connection between then and now."
"Hyperatavistic," he said.
"I don't think that was it."
"Whatever it was, I still think football is antiquated. And you want to know what else it is? I've already given you a hint."
"What else, Bing?"
"It's gladiatorial," he said. "They fatten42 us up and then put us in the arena43 together. They tram us to kill, more or less."
"Lead a revolt," I said.
"Coach would break me in half."
Howard Lowry was walking ahead of us. Howard was known as Boxcar. He was a starting tackle on defense44 and one of the few men on the squad45 who had normal human flab around his middle. He went about 265, packed low and very wide, and he was considered immovable.
Howard roomed with Billy Mast, a reserve back on defense. Billy was in the process of memorizing Rilke's ninth Duino Elegy46 in German, a language he did not understand. It was for a course he was taking in the untellable.
收听单词发音 |
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bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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7
affinities
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| n.密切关系( affinity的名词复数 )；亲近；（生性）喜爱；类同 | |
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buddy
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| n.（美口）密友，伙伴 | |
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9
reviling
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| v.辱骂，痛斥( revile的现在分词 ) | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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standardized
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| adj.标准化的 | |
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quantitatively
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| adv.数量上 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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huddle
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| vi.挤作一团；蜷缩；vt.聚集；n.挤在一起的人 | |
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beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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timing
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| n.时间安排，时间选择 | |
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clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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bailed
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| 保释，帮助脱离困境( bail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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sprints
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| n.短距离的全速奔跑( sprint的名词复数 )v.短距离疾跑( sprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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reciprocate
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| v.往复运动；互换；回报，酬答 | |
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lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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fatten
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| v.使肥，变肥 | |
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arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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45
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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46
elegy
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| n.哀歌，挽歌 | |
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