For the #fridayflash crowd, and a little limbering up before doing some “stunt fiction” at the British International Comics Show.

As always, I started off with some random factors from http://shortstoryideas.herb.me.uk. Today’s kicker was “A School is the location, anticipation is the theme. A deckchair is an object that plays a part in the story.”

From this we get … Football Town.

He had been at the school as long as anyone could remember. Some people in the town even joked that he’d been out the field, already shouting at some long forgotten quarterback, as they built the school around him. Some people didn’t even know his real name. He was simply “Coach”.

But this was a football town, and being called “Coach” was second only to being called “God”.

This year however, had been different. The team had been knocked out of two cups already and had had to resort to friendly games just to fill the schedule and keep the people in the bleachers on a Sunday evening. This was a football town. It’s team didn’t get knocked out before the quarter finals, and they didn’t play friendlies. Ever.

Some people in town were starting to say that maybe, just maybe, Coach was past it.

That was why the team was out on the field for the sixth night in a row, running drill and drill, with Coach sitting in is quirky old deck chair, shouting instructions through a rusty megaphone. The voice of God commanded, but the flesh of his flock was undoubtedly weak.

“Come on you weaklings!” he roared, the megaphone crackling. “Pick your feet up!”

Bryce, the new quarterback, fumbled yet another throw and tripped himself up running to pick up the lost ball. The Coach sighed.

It was true, he had been here a long time, maybe even too long, even by his standards. He had to admit though, he loved football, and he loved to win. He had hoped this year that he might be able to do it without calling in any favours, but another crop of weaklings like these and he would be finished. Thankfully, second to coaching, the other thing that the Coach was good at, was favours.

“Come here, Son,” he said, a rare note of compassion entering his voice as his no-star quarterback limped to the touchline. “You know what kind of life you could have, with a football scholarship? You know how they treat a star quarterback in this town?”

“Yes Sir!” replied the boy.

“Then tell me,” asked the Coach, getting out of his deckchair, “What you give to have that life?”

“Coach,” the boy replied, “You know I’d do anything. Anything …”

“Good,” said the Coach, “Then I think we can make a deal.”

In this town, being called “Coach” was second to being called “God” …