First & Girl, page 39
Copyright © 2025 by C.W. Carpenter
All rights reserved
No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means–electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or other–except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without prior permission of the author.
Hardcover ISBN: 9798318809705
Paperback ISBN: 9798318809712
eBook ISBN: 9798318809729
Table of Contents
Acknowledgement
Take Her Seriously
Nineteen Minutes Older
Brief the Boss
It’s Homer’s Town
The Lion’s Den
A Girl!
A Woman Who Understands Football
A Decoy
Stick Around?
Who Wants to Know?
Silent Endorsement
A Lover
So Much to Catch Up
You’re Not Listening
Touchdown Trophy
I Achieved My Goal
Noticeable Absence
Data Analyst
Maybe Some Other Time
Are You Saying…
The Rose
Who Broke the Promise?
Prompting Scrutiny
It’s Complicated
Springer!
Poison Ivy Shoes
Barbie Doll
Love of the Game
Always Albuquerque Bowl
Marilyn. Kelly. Collene. Sheryll. Marilyn. Sheryll.
The Pest
Still a Pest
Start the Second Half
We Have a Situation Here
I Do
Underlying Rivalry
Still a Novelty
Weekend Pass
No Need to Search Anymore
Everyone Got What They Wanted
About the Author
Acknowledgement
Childhood friends from Henderson, Texas, the fictional town of Revelee
Marilyn Perryman
Mark Roskus
Gary Crawford
Glen Deason
Pete Owens
Clay Newcomb
Character Characteristics
Hank Dickenson
Randy Axtell
Jo Ann Ballantine
Katherine Curry Hopkins
Nancy Kimmey
Sharman Cooper Kummer
Vicki Shelton Land
Donna Trammell
Becky Davis Turner
Jane Wilson Hashop
Darlene Young
Take Her Seriously
A
late afternoon meeting delayed Phil’s normal departure time. While waiting for the rush hour traffic to subside, he scrolled through the web page of his hometown newspaper. Catching up on the latest gossip was a welcome reprieve from the evening bumper-to-bumper routine.
Fortunately, his office was ten stories above the congested North Dallas freeway, partially muting the sounds and confusion of the anxious commuters below.
Phil Curry grew up in the small East Texas town of Revelee where 5 pm was considered Rush Minute. Over time, Phil had adapted to the inconvenience but still missed the serenity and slower pace of the Piney Woods. There was also a special acquaintance there; he had been anticipating an article in the Revelee Gazette.
Although required to navigate an advertising obstacle course, Phil was pleased with the headline that eventually appeared on his computer screen. The metaphoric caption justified an emotional wager.
Cinderella Season: In her first year at the helm, Coach Kelly takes undefeated squad of rookies to the Pinecone Bowl.
Fortunately, there was no mention of Kelly posing in nothing but a football jersey, an incident that caused quite a stir around town many years earlier. For now, the local news media was taking her seriously.
Phil retrieved a Snickers Bar from a recent golf game and sat back. “Oh, man, that seems like a whole other lifetime.”
The adage that Football is King in Texas was valid, and then some. The Piney Woods semi-pro league was a good example.
Beginning as a company-sponsored team, the Revelee Raiders were one of eight franchises that provided entertainment every spring for an ardent group of pigskin fans across East Texas.
Known for its lush forests and tranquil waters, this quadrant of the state was a riparian paradise. Revelee was an isolated, hidden gem.
Phil managed the Raiders during a prolific three-season run that lifted the team from proverbial floor mat to respected powerhouse. A rag tag assortment of blue-collar amateurs became a dominating force in the Piney Woods League.
Nearly twenty years had passed since Phil left Revelee; a flash of vivid memories from that other lifetime bubbled up in Phil’s mind.
Regrets and poor choices are inevitable during young adulthood. Pondering the colorful characters and uncanny events that spotted his palette, questions lingered. Had Phil learned from past mistakes?
Nineteen Minutes Older
W
hen Phil graduated from college, he had a brief career as a junior executive in Dallas. Although promising, he became disillusioned after a failed marriage. Phil went back to Revelee to heal.
Homer Bryson owned a varied portfolio of successful business interests; he was also the majority stockholder of the local football franchise. Homer loved East Texas, especially his hometown.
As was his nature, Homer created a job for Phil in the clay products division at Bryson Industries. He basically ran errands out in the factory.
Although Phil was on the payroll of Bryson Industries, his primary duties conveniently included serving as operations manager for the football team. Assuring compliance with league rules and dealing with unpredictable athletes kept his mind occupied and, for the most part, free of the regretful memories of his married life. Phil immersed himself in the role.
Both of Phil’s parents were deceased. His father had been Homer’s personal accountant.
When Phil came back to Revelee, he moved into the original family home where his twin sister, Phyllis and her husband lived. They had two children.
He and Phyllis had always been close. Phil was stable, reserved and sensitive; she was an outgoing and protective sibling. Phyllis never left Revelee; she married right out of high school. Her husband was a local firefighter.
All of the players had regular day jobs; the team practiced at night. Phil eased in the back door, careful not to wake his niece and nephew. Phyllis was on the living room couch; the TV screen flickered with the sound muted.
“You sure are getting in late.”
“It was our first session on natural turf,” Phil said.
“Yeah, they sure can’t have practice without you.”
Phil dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. “I thought Jimmy Fallon would be on.”
“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Coach and I were discussing a couple of prospects at Navarro College. We’re wicked thin at the receiver position. I think we misjudged Keith Hardy’s wrist injury.”
“Oh, my gosh, and Keith is such a dominant part of the offense.”
“Yeah, it’s a bleak forecast if we don’t have a speedster downfield.”
“You can’t do anything about it tonight.” Phyllis pulled an assortment of plastic food containers out of the refrigerator. “I made a roast. The kids were all stirred up; there’s plenty left over.”
He yawned and scratched his stomach. “What, and ruin the taste of nutrient bars?”
She loaded a plate and set it in the microwave. “Someone called on the house phone earlier. She asked for you but didn’t want to leave a message.”
“Probably the office.”
“We’re talkin’ four hours ago; most normal people would have been home by then.”
Phil popped open a beer. “How’s it going with the job search?”
“Nothing that can cover the cost of day care. I’ll probably just stick with the flower shop for a while.” Phyllis tied an apron around her waist.
“You look tired. How are you holding up?”
“Hey, I’m not the one with two kids. I should be asking you that.”
“I’m not talking about your so-called job, Phil. You can’t hide anything from your own sister. I’m nineteen minutes older than you.”
She placed her hand on her hip. “I believe you’re still upset about Sheryll leaving you.”
“Aw, I left all that back in Dallas.”
“And trying to escape reality here will mend things?”
“Come on, Revelee has always been home.”
“You earned a college degree so you can wash jock straps?”
“Hey, it’s a job. Bryson is a big company. I’ll eventually move up the ladder somewhere.”
Phyllis sorted through the silverware drawer. “Oh, do you remember Kelly Kingman?”
“Sure, the Kingmans lived across the street. We played football in their front yard.”
“Kelly is in Tyler now. She just got a divorce.”
“Oh? When did you see her?”
“She was in the flower shop this morning.” Phyllis gripped his shoulder. “Phil, she wants to get together with you!”
“Kelly? She used to beat me up when we were little kids.”
“She probably still can; Kelly’s a personal trainer. But let me tell you, she’s turned into quite an attractive woman.”
Phil tugged on the heel of his shoe. “Maybe after the football season is over.”
“You’re not
getting any younger, Phil. You need to think about something other than football.”
“I don’t have time for anything else right now.”
““Well, you better find the time.” With a fist on her hip, Phyllis waved a spatula.
“We’re meeting Kelly at the Lion’s Den this Friday night.”
Brief the Boss
C
areer opportunities were limited inside the greenbelt. Bryson Industries was the largest employer in Revelee.
The front office was a modest cinder block structure with cheap paneled walls, linoleum floors and bulky metal desks. With a door resting horizontally across a pair of small filing cabinets, Phil’s desk was in a storage room.
Homer had an executive suite on the fourth floor of a bank downtown; he often stopped by to check on things at the brick plant. Homer was especially interested in his football team.
The Piney Woods League played in the spring; practice began in early March. Hours were long; the work was unconventional. Fanning optimism and squelching rumors dominated Phil’s briefings with the boss.
“Good morning, Phil.”
“Homer! Hey, I just picked up the promotional materials for the kickoff rally. What do you think?”
Adjusting his bowtie, Homer examined the colorful notices. “Good job. You included the Memorial Day contest.”
He sat down on a stack of boxes next to the copy machine. “You know, we should find you a real office.”
“I’m not here that much,” Phil said.
Homer continued to scrutinize the crowded space. “I believe you have a couple of burned-out ceiling lights.”
Phil squinted at the florescent tubes. “Oh, yeah. I thought I changed those.”
Homer pulled out a neatly pressed handkerchief and wiped the lens of his black horn-rimmed glasses. “There’s a lot of expectations around town.”
“We’re ranked second in the preseason polls,” Phil noted. “Like every other team in the league, we’ll just have to get past the Texoma Trojans… again.”
“We almost beat Texoma in the final game last season;” said Homer.
“I sure wanted to play them in the Pinecone Bowl.”
“They are big, but we’re a lot faster. In my opinion, Gray’s a better quarterback.”
Homer swept his hand across his pants. “Crawford Gray, has he committed to return this year?”
“Crawford looked in shape at practice the other night. We’re still in sweats, just running drills.”
“What’s the status of Keith Hardy’s wrist?”
“We believe it’s all healed. Rod Payne is another deep threat; he showed a lot of promise last year.”
“All right then, tell me about our ground game.”
“It’s his sophomore season, but Archer Lee will get most of the snaps. Honestly, we don’t have a true reserve at running back.”
Gripping his fist, Homer scowled. “That’s not good.”
“It’s a skill position,” Phil said. “A couple of seasons is all the pounding anyone can take at this level.”
“Make that a priority. Now, how do we stop our opponents?”
“Pete Owens and Luther Smith will anchor the defensive line. Dickie Boyd will stay in the middle. And you won’t find a better edge rusher than Bert Cherry.”
“Can you keep him out of a bass boat for three months?”
“Bert was the first guy to sign on. He’s still hacked about losing to the Trojans in overtime last season.”
“What about the secondary? Are Glen Springer and Avery Jordan confirmed?”
“Those two are the iron dome of the defense,” said Phil. “I think Avery is on pace to match his interception record from last season.
Plus, we have the most versatile kicker in the league, Cameron Fox, but he hasn’t been to a practice yet.”
Homer placed his hands together. “Oh yes, Cameron, that cocky little lawyer kid. Who are the hold outs?”
“We lost a couple of players to the Longview club, including our other running back. We’re one-platoon on both sides of the ball. We don’t have much depth.”
“I understand, son. No one with any talent, or brains, wants to risk injury when they have to be at their real job on Monday morning. But there may be an added incentive this year.
Phil, we need to boost the local economy. I want our folks to be proud of the community, give them something to cheer for. I believe that’s why they continue to support the team.
My colleagues with the Piney Woods League want to take advantage of the enthusiasm generated through the championship game.”
Homer stood and buttoned his coat. “I believe we have a deal worked out with some of the area oil and gas companies to sponsor the Pinecone Bowl. They’re offering a generous purse for the winning team.”
He tapped the door desk. “Bring me that trophy and I’ll pay everyone a bonus.”
It’s Homer’s Town
T
he Piney Woods League gave a handful of former high school athletes an opportunity to fulfill dreams that never panned out at the next level. In Revelee, collateral amenities were limited, especially compared to the larger clubs in Longview and Tyler. The Texoma Trojans, based in Sherman, were well-funded and recruited most of their talent from the Dallas area. Player compensation was limited and equivalent, regardless of skill or position. Lack of hard resources and inconsistent personnel from season to season hindered effective performance.
Football pulsed through the veins of the Raider fanbase, however, and There’s always next year remained the hopeful mantra.
Mark Penland was a childhood friend. He divided his time between head coach of the Raiders and high school history teacher. He took the job as a favor to Phil. Both understood the unique dynamics of the community.
A cagey strategist, Milton “Crow” Campbell ran the defense. He was perpetually somber and ill-tempered, but Phil respected his intuition.
The offense was coordinated by LeMonte Kincaid. He was a productive wide receiver in college, but blew out a knee his senior year and was deemed too uncertain for the pros.
Whether bearing the brunt of losing seasons or limiting the red ink on the operations side, Phil juggled his own axes.
When not field dressing some form of wildlife or casting a fishing rod, claiming victory was the pinnacle of success for the players. Many were Lunch Pail Joes employed at Bryson Industries. They were immune to pain and rebellious by nature. At least it was legal to hit somebody.
The uniforms were hand-me-downs from area junior colleges. The variety of helmet colors and styles resembled the top of a Christmas cookie.
The team had no official practice facility. They typically used one of the soccer fields at the local YMCA, and even then, the youth league had priority.
Mark checked off on a clipboard as each player arrived. They were still waiting for the soccer games to finish.
Hands on his hips and forehead wrinkled, Crow wandered impatiently on the sidelines. LeMonte huddled with Crawford Gray sketching pass routes.
Responsible for bringing the footballs, Phil served as the team quartermaster. Thanks to Homer, he now had a basket of carrots.
“Did everyone show up tonight?”
“Most of ‘em,” Mark replied. “I think Payne may have just come from the bar. We’ll see how he does when LeMonte has him run routes.”
“Just curious,” said Phil, “does Crow ever smile?” Mark glanced around nonchalantly. “Yeah. He’s smiling now.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
Mark gestured with the clipboard. “Crawford looks sharp. He didn’t lose much velocity during the off-season.
I’m not confident that Keith’s wrist will hold up the entire season. Rod has soft hands and can usually get open, but he doesn’t have Keith’s speed. We need another deep threat.
What about that Falco kid from Athens?”
“I couldn’t sign him. He’s gonna try to walk-on at UNT.”
Phil continued to stare at Crow. “So, that a smile?”
Footballs with all the trimmings and a case of Gatorade were duly allocated. Phil checked his watch then propped his arm on a blocking sled.
“Homer dropped by the office this morning.”
Mark shoved his cap back. “Is that a good, or a bad thing?”
“Well, like all the league owners, he wants to bring the Pinecone trophy to Revelee this year.”
“Yuh think?”
“I believe he’s prepared to pump some money into club operations.”
