“Look, they have open tryouts. It’s next door. Go talk to Coach Mattone and tell him you want to learn to play. Then you’ll look like a natural, and you’ll be playing against people your own size.”
“I dunno,” said Tom. “And I don’t have clothes that fit.”
“Come on,” said Jackson. “Middle schoolers don’t practice in gear. And we’ll raid their lost and found. Kids your age are always losing things.” He yanked the smaller boy toward the door.
“Jesus,” said Tom as they surveyed what was in the box that fit. “I’ve never seen so much neon Under Armour stuff in my life. You guys really want to stand out.”
“I outgrew that phase already,” laughed Jackson as he handed Tom shorts, a bright orange T-shirt, and some old Nike sneakers. Tom looked dubiously at them. “Are they clean? I need socks. And underwear.”
“I don’t know,” said Jackson, “but this is what there is. Wear your old socks and go commando.”
“I can’t go commando,” complained Tom. “Everybody will see my thing.”
“I hate to tell you this, but it doesn’t exactly stick out,” said Jackson gently.
“And these are all too small! I’m not a youth size! And why are these kid size shoes?”
“Yes, you are,” growled Jackson. “You better figure out quick that you’re not the big buff coach anymore. Now put it on and get out there.”
Two minutes later, Jackson steered the coach over to a large man with a considerable belly. “Hi Coach, this is my cousin Tommy. He wants to try out but he’s shy. Can he join the practice?”
“Have you ever played football?” asked the coach.
“Yeah! I was the quar—hey!“ Tom’s explanation was arrested by Jackson digging his hand into the smaller boy’s shoulder.
“Fantasy football doesn’t count, Tommy.”
“That’s fine,” said Coach Mattone. “Go over there with that group of sixth graders and start practicing the drill they’re working on.”
Tom walked over sheepishly to the group. “Hi, uh, I’m Tom.”
“Whoa! You’re big,” said a young Black bit. “Are you Samoan? Are you going to join us?”