The Tourney Team

Jamison

"Jamison, pass the freaking puck!"

He rolled his eyes. Yeah, yeah sure it was the right move. He just didn't have an opening. And the second he did—

"Jamison!"

He hurled the puck at Sean who guided the flying object to the grass with practiced ease before juggling it on the flat side of the club head. He dodged an opponent before slamming the puck into the goal at the end of the field.

"Nice shot!" someone else shouted. He nodded with that stupid smug grin.

Jamison walked back to his position in the home third of the field with the rest of his teammates. He surveyed the grassy area. His team's side, then the kill zone, technically neutral… then the other team's field. The idea of the game was easy… get the puck from your side to the other's and into the goal. But the kill zone… that complicated things. The whole middle section of the field was a free-for-all for the frisbees.

He'd laughed at the idea of being hit by a frisbee, but the first time he was hit by the thin vulcanized rubber disc shot by a freaking cannon… he'd soon learned the kill zone was the hardest place to play.

His first practice, Josam and Aaron had been firing them from the sides. Josam was firing at him and Aaron was firing at Jamison's opponents. Jamison had been placed in the drive position, the position charged with getting the puck through the zone without getting pegged by the heavy frisbees.

"Hey! Open here!" He shouted to a teammate who made a beautiful pass to him. He juggled the puck on his stick, sprinting in a zigzag pattern to avoid the frisbees. He'd almost made it through when he felt like his shoulder had been torn out of socket. He hit the grass hard, no doubt swallowing some of the red and white painted field.

He struggled up seconds after the hit, and found the team laughing, but also cheering. "Nice Jamison," Michael slapped him on the other shoulder.

That's when the coach called him over.

"Coach?" he asked, jogging over, his shoulder aching, even after the shoulder padding had mostly cushioned the blow.

"Jamison, did you get hit by the disc?"

What kind of stupid question… "Yeah…?" He scratched the back of his neck, doing his best to ignore the pain.

"Direct hit?"

"I… think so." He took off the jersey, then the padding below to reveal a darkening bruise directly below his shoulder.

The coach shook his head once. Twice. "You know a hit like that…" Jamison wondered if everyone else had been poking fun, laughing at him for falling, taking that half second to wince, slowed by the pain— "A hit like that would take my best drivers out of the game. And you hopped back up on your feet as if it was nothing." The coach said with a laugh. "That. is quite impressive."

Jamison nodded his thanks, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up.

"But," the couch continued, "I think it is still very important that we work on your maneuvering skills so that you don't have to deal with injuries like that." He laughed, "get back in there."

Ron had tried out for the team and had made it… barely. He was fast and nimble, but he lacked the strength and coordination of the others. Jamison took it upon himself to tease Ron about that nearly every chance they got. "The backup goal keep," he joked, "Not bad."

"Oh shut up. You're just a running target."

The first practice had been unbelievable. But now… only a few weeks from the finals, after the party.

"You're only captain because your dad is the king," Sean shook his head. "You've done nothing but make mistake after mistake." Michael started to walk away, but Sean grabbed the corner of his jersey, "The B team scored a point on us. Specifically on you, defender." he emphasized the last word just enough to—

"Look I've had just about enough of your absolute—"

Before Michael could finish, Sean gave a shove to his shoulder, causing him to trip backwards over his shield. Aaron grabbed Sean before he could do anything else, Jamison helping Michael to his feet. It almost seemed like two sides were forming as Michael and Sean resumed their shouting.

"Cut it out!"

Every head turned in the direction of one of the coaches. "Unbelievable. Absolutely, incredibly unbelievable." Jamison grimaced as Coach Harrison wandered on the field, her ponytail shaking just like her head. "Markus steps away for a second, and you are already bickering."

Someone coughed, a few others shrugged. Sean and Michael still didn't seem to want to cooperate either. Jamison locked eyes with Ron who shrugged and mimed the ponytail.

Their assistant coach had left after his wife's new job brought them all the way to the other side of the continent, leaving a position empty. Where Harrison stepped in. Cassandra Harrison. There wasn't a problem when it came to the game itself. She was fully knowledgeable when it came to Tourney. It was the fact that most guys on the team were majorly crushing on her that made it a problem. There was a lack of respect, and frankly, that was the only thing needed for everyone to despise her as a coach. Almost everyone at least.

She scowled when a few other players blatantly ignored her, having their own side conversation the moment she began to speak again. Jamison bit down on his frustration. Most of the guys were here for the perks of the team, not the actual team. "Listen for a second," he hissed at someone behind him. He only snickered in response.

That was until Coach Markus walked back in behind her, Moses in tow behind him. The other two coaches Who'd had important phone calls to make. They'd seen less of Moses lately as his first grandson was due in a few weeks and his daughter had run into serious complications with the pregnancy. Moses was the one coach that every player got along with. His absences only made the end of the season more stressful. Especially with nobody respecting Harrison, and only half the team liking Markus at the moment.

He didn't say anything for a second, waiting for everyone to quiet down. "Good." he said finally, his expression making the word good sound more like a curse. Markus pointed to Michael and Sean. "You know the drill."

Jamison rolled his eyes… to himself of course. This had been the same as every practice this entire week since that party. They started practice with warmups, drills and then scrimmaged to practice, then someone got upset, and they ended with their coaches' personally tailored drills. Probably inspired from some torment in hell. Though it was usually the two captains causing the trouble… the whole team was invited to join them.

"You have to quit this," Jamison said to Michael as they walked into the locker room after some sprints and other exercises. "You and Sean are tearing this team apart."

"Coach is doing a fine job of that him—"

"No. See? That's your problem," Jamison said. If he weren't so incredibly beat, he would have practically tackled Michael. "You are responsible for your actions whether you like it or not. You are leading this team now whether you like it or not. This team has been following you since the beginning of the season. They voted for you and Sean as captains because they thought you would be the best at leading and tethering this team together." Jamison sat down beside him. "It sucks, but Sean isn't the one at fault, neither are Markus or Moses or even Harrison. Not where it matters. You can only fix yourself. But until then? This team is going to keep behaving this way, and we'll lose the first finals game, I guarantee it."

Unable to say another word without losing his absolute mind, he stalked off towards the shower leaving Michael behind, still unresponsive. It grated on his nerves how much the kids from the continent had no clue that they could possibly do something wrong. If they grew up their whole lives being praised for stupid stuff and never repremanded or told they were wrong, it made sense. Their parents hadn't done them any favors. But they were almost adults now. Michael would take the throne in a dramatically short time. He was being introduced to the court in a few months.

He shut the water off, definitely clenching the handle too hard. Usually practice calmed him down. Working out with people whose company he'd come to enjoy, but lately he dreaded it. Even more than math class. Michael was smart… Jamison knew he could figure it out. Fog didn't last forever. At least it shouldn't.