Jackson glanced back through the rear window, watching as Tommy's car turned the opposite way. Mr Woods noticed the shift, and said: 'You won't be stuck with me for long, Jackie.'
'No, it's not that. It's just …' Just what? Even he didn't really know, but how could he?
'What is it, son?' Mr Woods's eyes kept darting back and forth between Jackson and the road; the streets were still quiet in their suburb, even at midday.
Jackson let his thoughts swirl around in his head before answering the question, needing time to figure out how to explain his conundrum. 'What would you do … if you felt like your best friend wasn't telling you something. Something that might be hurting them?'
'Have they said something?'
'I mean, kinda? Not really? He's said some stuff but nothing that's … I don't know.'
'What do you think's going on, Jackson?'
'I don't … I don't know. How can I know if he doesn't tell me?'
'Have you asked?'
'No, I—'
'Why not?'
'Because that's … it's weird isn't it? What if it's nothing and I'm overthinking it?'
'I don't think there's anything wrong with being concerned for your friends, but I know it's different sometimes with young boys. What's making you concerned? You're obviously worried it's something bad, right?'
Jackson frowned, glancing back again. Tommy's car, and Kenny with it, was long gone. He worried Kenny was in the same situation he'd been last year. But it sounded like Kenny's issue had been festering a lot longer … which could be worse, but could also mean he was handling it a lot better than Jackson. What if he really was overreacting? Was he overstepping his bounds?
'It's obviously weighing on your mind. My advice would be to talk with this friend of yours. You don't have to be direct, but just check in on them, ask if he's doing alright. He'll appreciate it even if nothing's wrong. And if you're still concerned, maybe tomorrow you can ask Ms Cotton what to do.'
He sighed, slumping back in his seat. Maybe he should. Though he didn't want to see Ms Cotton at all that year. Not that she wasn't a nice lady … he just thought he was beyond all that. 'Yeah, thanks, Dad.'
'That's what I'm here for, son.' Mr Woods reached over, firmly patting Jackson's shoulder. 'You know, I hope today's lesson might give you a better insight into what to do.'
'Really? How?' Jackson looked at him, brow furrowed in confusion.
'Haha, well I can't share the secret before you see it. You'll just have to wait and see.'
Grinning, Mr Wood turned the radio on, switching over to one of his CDs. The music of Kiss was like a shield that blocked any further conversation, especially once Mr Woods started singing along. The drive continued like that until they reached their destination.
It didn't take long to reach Saguaro Lake; pulling into the carpark, they saw a few other vehicles already there, though none were Tommy's.
The crystalline water was a mirror, reflecting the piercing glare of the sun. Slight ripples contaminated the otherwise flawless surface; a couple of boats occupied the vast lake, one speeding around the far reaches near a river mouth that wound out of view, whilst the other bobbed lazily in the middle of the water, a couple of fishing rods stood along it with their lines dangling over the side.
'Lovely day for it, even if it is a bit cool,' Mr Wood said. 'See that's the great thing about living somewhere warm, Jackie. Even in winter you can still find days to do all the great summer things.'
Getting out of the car, father and son took their fishing rods from the trunk. A few more lines lay in a pile. Jackson didn't know how a day of fishing would somehow count as training, but Tommy had asked for their dad's help, and this is what he'd come up with; Jackson trusted his dad.
'While we're waiting for the others, we may as well get started,' Mr Wood said, taking a tackle box from the car as well. Jackson sat down, fitting the thin fishing line through the loops spanning the length of his rod.
Threading the needle? Was that it? No. That was more of a QB thing. Maybe it was still a part of concentration. When going for a ball, you couldn't let anything distract you from your mission; focus was of utmost importance.
Soon the worms were on their hooks, and their lines were cast into the water. Jackson's mind continued to wander. (If the objective was about teaching focus, he was already failing).
Were DBs the worm, or the fish? He could see arguments for both. If you got your hook into a DB, you could lead them around however you want. But sometimes you needed to lure them in—with feints and trickery—then once they bit, you had them.
Maybe he was thinking too far ahead. Fishing was a solitary experience, even with Dad right beside him. There was nobody to help you reel in a fish, and nobody to beat. It was just a battle against yourself. Focus, that had to be the key.
His vision honed in on the float bobbing on the surface. If your mental lapsed for even a second while fishing, you could miss your chance. You could lose your bait, your hook, and most definitely the fish. The same could be said for football; blink and miss your opponents opening, and it'll be gone forever.
He wouldn't miss his shot. If there was even a slight tremor along his line, he'd feel it and see it. As soon as that fish had its mouth around his hook, he'd reel it right in.
'Loosen up, Jackie. It's not a competition,' Mr Woods said.
'Huh?' Jackson looked over.
The moment he took his eye off his line, the fish bit. It was like the fish had been watching him as intently as he'd been watching it. Once it latched on, it darted down powerfully, almost pulling Jackson off his feet in his moment of lapse.
'Shit!' He braced himself, wrenching back on the rod, cranking it desperately as he tried to reel the heavy fish in. It was too much, and the line couldn't handle the tension. There was a "twang" as the line snapped. Jackson plummeted back, rolling ass over head.
Mr Woods calmly reeled his line back in. 'Language, Jackson. You won't get anywhere if you're so tense. You have be to loose and relaxed, or else that tension has nowhere else to go except for your line, and that's not good for anyone.'
Jackson shook the cobwebs from his head, standing and dusting himself off. 'What? But then, what are we doing out here?'
Mr Woods looked over. 'Get another hook on your line.'
Jackson opened his mouth to point out how that didn't answer his question, but decided against it. He crouched by the tackle box, getting one of the spare hooks, tying it into place.
'Life has a delicate balance, Jackie, every part of it,' Mr Woods said.
Jackson's confusion kept growing. Before he could say anything, Dad gestured behind him. He turned, seeing Tommy's car pull up beside Dad's.
Kenny was of course in the front, but coming from the back seat was first Rudy, then Shane. Despite what he already knew, Jackson waited for Freddy to come out after them. Alas, he did not. Unfortunately, Freddy had tutoring on Sundays—Rudy somehow thought this meant he was blowing them off to go hangout with a secret girlfriend.
Speaking of Rudy, he glared at his surroundings as if a camera crew were about to jump out from behind one of the other cars and tell him he was being pranked.
'Grab a rod and come on over!' Mr Woods shouted.
Tommy opened the Dad's trunk back up, grabbing out the spare rods and handing them along. Rudy was still full of suspicion as he took his. When the others had joined Jackson and his dad, Rudy finally spoke up.
'Can someone tell me what the hell this has to do with football?'
'Who said it has anything to do with football?' Mr Woods said.
If looks could kill, Rudy would've been charged for Jackson's murder. Jackson tried his best to look bewildered, which—admittedly—he was a little bit. 'Uhh, I did? I mean, I thought this was supposed to be part of our training?'
'It is, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's about football, does it? Look around, boys. Does any of this look football related?'
Rudy stared straight ahead as the others looked around for anything vaguely football shaped. Shane smiled and said: 'You'd be surprised what can be related to football, Sir.'
Mr Woods smiled back. 'Shane, was it?'—Shane nodded—'I'm interested to hear how you think this'll loop back around to football.'
'Well, Sir, at the moment, I don't have a clue. But once you tell us what we're doing here, I'm sure it'll become clear.'
'Hm. Interesting.' Mr Woods was still smiling when he cast his line back into the water. 'No point wasting anymore time boys. Get a worm on your hook and find a spot to cast. I want everyone to have caught a fish before we leave.'
Shane's smile faltered for a moment, Tommy shook his head as he went to the tackle box, confusion and intrigue were fighting a stalemate on Kenny's face, and Rudy was incredulous. Yet he still went along with it. It's not like anyone would've given him a lift back home at that moment, and he sure as hell wasn't walking.
Though he still carried a scowl, soon even Rudy had found his place along the pier. Spread out enough so the lines wouldn't get tangled, they cast them; though the boys, bar Shane, kept looking over their shoulders at Mr Woods.
Small talk was had, as were nibbles from the fish—none were yet caught—and minutes passed by, though there didn't seem to be any training happening.
'You're probably all quite mad at me, probably at Jackie, too,' Mr Woods said.
'Hey, this isn't— I've nothing to do with this!' Jackson proclaimed.
'It's alright, Jackie. I understand. There is a reason I brought you all out here, and despite what I said earlier—whilst it is true it's not specifically about football—it does still relate to football, as it will with everything. I wanted to teach you about balance.'
'We practice balance all the time,' Kenny said.
Mr Woods laughed. 'I'm sure you do, but I mean balance in all things, not just physical. Today will be more about an overarching balance. I've noticed some things since the start of the new year. If you're all like Jackie, here, then you're all focused on football; obsessed one could say. So today I want you to learn how to relax.'
'I think we all have plenty of downtime,' Shane said.
'Do you? All of you? Then why are you so antsy to get to more training? What's the rush? Look at this beautiful day. The world is your oyster, yes, but it's not going anywhere. Sit back, take a deep breath, enjoy it. It's important to find that balance between life and football, training and leisure. Going forward you need your professional and personal life to be in sync, otherwise it'll all come crumbling down. This'll be a good lesson for ALL of us.'
The boys listened to his words, absorbing them. There was wisdom in them. Mr Woods had to know what he was talking about. Even so, what was one day spent fishing? Rudy sighed, shoulders slumping. It's not like Grant would be training every day—if he trained at all.
Then Rudy got a bite. 'Oh fuck. I felt something.' His rod bent down, the line unravelling rapidly. 'Oh fuck!'
'Reel it in, Rudy!' Kenny yelled.
'It's a marathon, not a sprint,' Mr Woods added.
The others stopped and watched as Rudy wrestled with the creature on the end of his line. He had such a strange, horrified look on his face. They'd seen him stare down so many defenders stoically, even in the face of defeat he looked angry at times, but never scared; Kenny and Jackson couldn't contain their laughter.
Eventually, Rudy's line came out of the water, a fish dangling off the hook on the end of it. It was a little over a foot in length, slim—it'd been a quick little bugger—and with a set of thin whiskers on its face. Rudy stared at the catfish as if he'd just caught an alien. 'Wh-What now?!'
Mr Woods carefully stepped over and unhooked the fish. 'Good catch, Rudy. Do you want the honour of letting it go?'
'I can't keep it?'
'Haha, not this time, son.'
Rudy's hand trembled slightly as he reached out. 'Yeah this is is fucking weird.'
Mr Woods let the language slide for the moment as he showed Rudy how to hold it, firm but not hard enough to damage it, supporting it all the way down as they leant over the edge and slowly dipped it into the water.
Rudy flinched back as it darted off like a bullet shot out of a gun. He watched a trail of bubbles disappear beyond the water. 'Holy shit.' He laughed. How couldn't he?
Perhaps there was some luck in the water, maybe it was the vibes after that first catch, or Mr Woods' lesson about being relaxed and balanced and how any tension would spread through the line, because it wasn't long after Rudy's catch that Tommy had one; he reeled his catfish in without difficulties, and released it after showing it off to the others. It was slightly shorter than Rudy's.
After him came Mr Woods, Jackson, Shane, Mr Woods again, then—finally—Kenny got one after struggling and failing a couple of times; his turned out to be the biggest and fattest, almost two feet in length.
Mr Woods pulled his line back in after Kenny's catch. Everyone had caught at least one by that point, and that was the goal he'd set out before. The faces around him were much brighter. Already the tension had melted away. There'd been such a strange sensation in the air before. A weird nervousness regarding what potential training they might've had. Football meant so much to those kids.
He remembered similar experiences from his own time in high school. Not just winning State, but being the star of the team as well, had meant everything to him back then. Looking back, after getting married and fathering three wonderful children, it seemed so small and insignificant. Like the children's game it was.
Still, it was important to the children. And as much as he wanted those pleasant smiles to remain, he knew they wanted to win, wanted to be great. He could help them, and he could do so in a way that was healthy and balanced. Balance, that was the key to it all.
'Good work, boys,' he announced, his elevated tone drawing their attention. He let himself grin. '… But I hope you didn't think that's all we came here to do. Put those rods away. We've got some training to do.'