Out of the Pocket Read Online Free PDF Page A

throw, I was tough to stop. Anytime I got chased outside the pocket, all bets were off.
    “That’s it, Haskins, you got it, you got it,” Coach told my backup, giving him a quick slap on the rear. “Real nice. Better watch it, Framingham, Haskins is on your ass.”
    I gave them a smile, as genuine as possible after a coach threatens your job. “Bring it on,” I said, half meaning it.
    My mind was elsewhere and it was obvious. I fumbled a simple snap, and then, recovering, nearly tripped over my own feet before handing the ball off to Mendez.
    “Damn it, Bobby, get with the program!” Coach yelled. I looked away, wishing practice were over. Coach dropped his clipboard on the grass and walked to the sideline, rubbing his forehead. “Framingham! C’mere!”
    I trotted over to him, a slight throbbing behind my eyes as I braced myself for the onslaught. I could feel the stares of my teammates behind me and I flushed with embarrassment. As I got closer to Coach, I could see his face but couldn’t read it.
    “Where the hell is Bobby Framingham at?” he asked.
    “Sorry. I’m here, Coach,” I said, staring at his eyebrows.
    Coach sighed and studied me. It’s unnerving how he can see inside me sometimes. “That’s it for you today, Bobby,” Coach said.
    “Take two laps and hit the showers.”
    “What? No—Coach! I wanna keep playing!”
    Coach put a hand on my shoulder. “Bobby, you’re our starting QB, but it’s like you’re still on summer break.” He smiled slightly.
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    “You’re not in trouble, I just want to talk to you and don’t want you to hurt yourself. You’re lost out there.”
    As I trotted off the fi eld, Austin ran over.
    “Dude, you in trouble?” he asked.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “He said he wants to talk to me.”
    “Shit, dude.”
    I shrugged. “You still coming by after practice?”
    “Yeah,” he said, before sprinting back onto the fi eld.
    The showers were empty and every sound I made reverberated through the small, steamy room. I let the water run down my back and stared at the floor, feeling that empty feeling in my chest again, that hole that swallowed up all the good.
    It was happening more and more.
    I wondered if Coach was going to yell at me. I really didn’t need the yelling.
    I felt guilty enough; I should have been focused on the upcoming season, which would probably make or break my career. Instead here I was having the dreams.
    The night before I had this dream that Todd and I were sharing a room at a hotel on a road trip. We were teammates, which didn’t make sense since we played different sports. Also, none of my teammates were there. We wrestled in the hotel room for what seemed like hours, and it was the most vivid dream I’d ever had. As we lay on the hotel carpet, spent from wrestling, he brought his mouth close to my ear.
    “You and me, buddy,” he whispered, and I could smell his sweet breath.
    I woke up feeling ecstatic, transformed. Though nothing had changed, all day I felt strange, like I was waiting for a reunion with a friend who didn’t exist.
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    I know that’s weird.
    And here I was, alone in the shower room, violently aware that showering in this room was a privilege, and not one for a guy who dreamed about other guys. Guys like me weren’t supposed to be in here.
    One day I typed “gay NFL” into Google. A bunch of things came up about a couple guys who came out as gay, but only after retiring from the league. The number of openly gay players in the history of the league? Zero.
    So how the hell can I be gay and still have a shot at making it as a pro? Hide, I guess. But isn’t that sort of dishonest?
    Fifteen minutes later I sat in Coach’s office, across from him, and watched him wipe the sweat off his forehead with his white shirtsleeve.
    Coach Castle used to be a tight end for the Cincinnati Bengals.
    Now he was a Durango coaching legend. We’d been real close ever since he watched me at the first practice my sophomore