I've been writing Fourth and Forever for more than twenty years. It's been rejected by over 400 agents - none of them read it, they just thought the idea of a forty-four year old man quarterbacking a Division I college football team was TOO far-fetched.
I never bought into that idea. Here's an excerpt - decide for yourself if its far-fetched.
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“How was practice?” I asked, as soon as Bobby came through the door.
Grinning from ear-to-ear, Bobby replied, “It couldn’t have been better. I caught everything. I couldn’t drop one. It looks like I have a good chance to make the team. If all the practices go like this one, I can’t miss. I even ran the forty in four-two.”
“That’s great. I knew you would do it. Did you get a chance to talk to the coach?”
“Only for a second or two,” Bobby said, as he started up the stairs with Flexible hard on his heels. He stopped so quickly the dog almost ran into him. “I’m glad you asked about the coach. I’d almost forgotten. He wants to meet you.”
“Did he say why?”
“No, he just said that he had seen us practicing and he’d like to meet you.”
Bobby started up the stairs again. This time Flexible stayed on the step he’d abruptly stopped on seconds before, and watched Bobby carefully. It was a smart move. Bobby only took a single step then stopped, “Oh yeah, he asked me how old you were. When I told him you just turned forty-four, I’m not sure he believed me.” Bobby resumed the trip up the stairs, with Flexible in cautious pursuit. He paused at the top to shout down, “After he saw you on the practice field, he probably thought you were a lot older.” He ran into his room, neatly dodging the football that I threw up the stairwell.
Practice started at noon the next day. I walked over to the practice field at one. The players and coaches were all deeply involved in the session. I was surprised when the man who was obviously the head coach, stopped talking to one of the trainers as soon as he saw me, and began striding intently toward me. ‘Maybe he thinks I’m someone else,’ I thought.
However, it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity. Coach Jenkins came to me and stuck out a big calloused hand. “You must be Bobby’s father. I’m Brent Jenkins.”
I shook his hand, “Josh Edwards,” I said. “How did you know that I’m Bobby’s Dad?”
“I saw you two on the practice field one night last week. It was dark and I thought you were both new kids that I hadn’t met. It’s hard for a coach not to notice someone who can kick a fifty-yard field goal. Did you play football in college or the pros?”
I laughed, “No, in fact I didn’t go to college. That’s one reason I’m here with Bobby. I just retired from the Army and I figured it would be a good time to go to school and get to know my son better before he heads out into the world.”
Coach Jenkins almost shouted, “You mean you didn’t play college football? Where did you learn to kick like that? High School?”
I laughed, “No, I didn’t play high school football either. Just a little sandlot football when I was a kid. I started playing football about four years ago when Bobby first went out for his high school team and didn’t make it. I told him I would help him if he was serious. We decided it would be best to work on kicking, since there is always a need for a good kicker. We got some books and videos and we studied them. Then we began practicing. Bobby put on some weight and gained speed and agility. Before we knew it, he had turned into a good wide receiver. He gave up kicking, but I was hooked on it. I’ve been doing it two or three times a week since then. It helps my other athletic interests.”
“What are those, Josh?”
“I run almost every day and I do some biking.”
“How far do you run and bike?” His curiosity was turning the meeting into an interrogation.
“Ideally, I like to run at least fifty miles a week and bike a hundred.”
“That explains the leg strength. You are a natural kicker who just happens to work at it. Which brings me to the reason I wanted to meet you, I need a favor if you’ll consider it.”
“Sure, Coach, I’ll consider it. In fact, I’ll do it if I can.”
“Oh, you can. I just lost my starting placekicker and now the only kicker I have is my freshman punter. He’s young, and he has no experience placekicking. To complicate matters, I don’t have a kicking coach. I know you can kick and from what I’ve seen of Bobby in the last two days, you can coach, too. Would you take some time to work with our kicker? You might be just what he needs.”
“Coach, I don’t know if I can help him or not, but I’m more than willing to try. When do you want me to start?”
Brent smiled, “I was hoping you’d say that.” He looked at me closely. “Since you’re dressed for a workout, why not start now?”
Without waiting for a reply, Coach Jenkins turned back toward the field and shouted, “Hey, Jimbo, JIMBO! Bring Thompson over here.”
Sammy Thompson, a freshman, was tall, lean, and slightly stoop shouldered. As he trotted across the field with the trainer, I knew that his issue wasn’t placekicking but an extreme lack of self-confidence. Something I had seen too often in student pilots.
I quickly confirmed Brent’s suspicion. As the punter for his high school, in Butte , Montana
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Finally Sammy said, “Mr. Edwards, I know you mean well, but the truth is, I’m just not a placekicker and I don’t want to be one. I want to punt and that’s it.”
“Didn’t you know this might come up when you signed your scholarship agreement?”
“It never crossed my mind, Mr. Edwards. Coach Jenkins had a great field goal kicker who was a junior. Last week he called the Coach and said he was going to have to drop out of school for a year for personal reasons. I can see how that puts the Coach in a bind, but I’m not the answer to the problem.”
After practice, Coach Jenkins walked off the field with me. “Well, what do you think, Josh? Is Sammy going to our placekicker?”
“Coach, I suggest you talk to Sammy to get the details. However, I will tell you this, he won’t be your placekicker until he decides he wants to do it…and even then it’s going to take a lot of work.”
“Thanks, Josh, I appreciate you taking the time to work with him, and I appreciate your honesty.” Coach Jenkins started to walk away then stopped and turned back. “Josh, would you mind coming to practice tomorrow?”
I’m sure I had a puzzled look on my face when I answered, “No problem, Coach, but I’m not sure there is anything else I can do.” In the back of my mind I thought the coach must have another player with some kicking experience that he wanted me to work with.
He confirmed my suspicion when he said, “I know, Josh, but I may have another solution and I would like to discuss it with you then.”
“Sure, coach, I’ll be here.”
When I got to practice the following day, I saw Sammy Thompson, in the corner of the field, practicing punting. Then I noticed Coach Jenkins standing on top of “the tower,” a twenty foot tall framework of pipe and steel channel iron with a wooden platform on top. From the top of the tower, the Coach could see everything that was happening on the practice field. I started across the field toward Thompson and I heard Coach Jenkins shout, “Hey, Josh! Josh, can you come over here for a minute?” I reversed my direction and jogged around the edge of the field toward the tower as Brent began climbing down. I arrived just as he stepped off the ladder. We shook hands and Brent said, “Now, Josh, don’t interrupt me until I’m through. I want you to hear my whole plan. I talked with Sammy last night, and you’re right; he isn’t going to be our placekicker. There’s no one else on the team who is even close to being qualified for the position. There is no way we can go into the season without a placekicker. It’s bad enough that I don’t have a backup quarterback.” That thought made him pause; almost cringe. He continued, “I’ve got the answer. It’s been staring me right in the face all the time. Josh, I want you to be our placekicker.”
I was too stunned to say anything. Finally I recovered, laughed lightly and said, “You’ve got to be kidding, Coach. I’m forty-four years old. I’ve never played anything except sandlot football. I’ve never kicked the ball from a snap, much less with a line rushing me. Coach, I’ve never even had a football uniform on…”
“Josh, I know all of that, and on the surface, it doesn’t make sense. However, I’ve been watching you and I know you can do it. Age doesn’t matter and we can teach you everything you need to know about the technical end of the game. Josh, you flew helicopters in Vietnam
Before I could respond, Coach Jenkins added, “At least, give it a try. If you don’t do it, I don’t know what I’m going to do. This team has the most talent of any team I’ve ever coached, but without a placekicker we might as well write this season off before it even begins.”
“Okay, Coach, I’ll give it a try. What do I have to lose? I guess the worst that could happen is I’ll look like an idiot, and I’ve done that before and survived. However, let me make a suggestion.”
“Sure, Josh, go ahead.”
“Restart your search for a kicker.”
He laughed, and said, “I’ll do it.” We shook hands and just like that, I became the Grizzlies’ place kicker.
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