Sixty seconds passed before the scrap ended, as quickly as it had begun, with the shriek of a coach’s whistle. All went silent. The players froze. Every eye went to Hermie Tucker, who stood in front of the chalkboard, his whistle clenched between tobacco-stained lips.

“Knock off the goddamn ass-grabbin’!” he said.

The players were sluggish coming off the floor until Coach Hickham marched into the room seconds later and stepped up to the pile of players.

The players leaped to attention. Those who were standing quickly hoisted up those who were not.

“We got some kind of problem here, gentleman?” Hickham asked.

The question was met with a smattering of uninspired no sirs!

“Does it mean more to us now to hurt each other than to hurt our opponents?”

A few heads shook.

“What!” Hickham yelled. Every person jumped.

“No, sir!”

“I asked you a question!”

“No, sir!”

The coach circled around them, gazing into every pair of eyes as he passed. “Gentlemen, we have a job to do tonight. I can assure you that you will all achieve greater heights and suffer more crushing defeats in life than what is reflected by the score of tonight’s game. But tonight it matters. This team matters, and this game matters. It is a night that will stay with you for the rest of your lives. So I want you men to think about what you want to carry off that field when the final whistle blows. Will you be satisfied knowing that you played with fear and hesitation? That you played carrying a grudge for fellow teammates … for your coach? Or are you prepared to walk off the field knowing that you played with pure hearts and minds?”

He stepped up to Shane Butler, who was still trying to stanch the blood streaming from his nose. “Mr. Butler, do you think we have players on this team performing beneath their potential?”

“No, sir!”

“I didn’t think so. We are not a team of individuals, gentlemen. We are a unified body … a chain, held together by equal links. Is that understood?”

Some players nodded. Others locked elbows. Hands came up to teammates’ shoulders. A wave of restlessness passed through the group.

“I know there is talk right now,” Hickham continued. “I know there are those who may question the decisions I make for this team. To that I will only say that if anyone has a problem with any choice I make as your coach, he is free to walk out the door right now. That is all, gentlemen.”

“Let’s do it, boys!” yelled Phil Meekin, following the coach’s exit.

The players broke into a frenzy of foot stomping and pad slapping.

“Who are we?” shouted Marvin Bumbgardner.

“Jackrabbits, Jackrabbits … fight, fight, fight!”

“I can’t hear you!”

“Jackrabbits, Jackrabbits … fight, fight, fight!”

Again, Coach Tucker silenced them with his whistle. “All right, goddamnit, let’s circle in for a prayer!”