New Attitude 1994 Short Story Fiction Contest Winner Tommy's Tryout by Tim Lash Illustrations by Karen Stephens

T

ommy Waltz gazed wistfully through the open classroom win­dow. It was a warm, breezy Friday afternoon, but he and sev­eral hundred other students were impris­oned inside Billington High School. After many agonizing minutes the bell rang, emancipating them from scholastic bondage. The joyful adolescents rushed outdoors in a torrent of bright colors, cheering. Tommy paused to chat with a janitor before preparing to leave. As he strolled down an already deserted hall­way, Tommy picked a white object up off the floor. It was a folded sheet of notebook paper, proba­bly dropped by some care­less student. Veering toward a trash can, Tommy unfolded the paper and squinted to make out the penciled words: “varsi­ty football tryouts 11 am Sat.”

Tommy leaned his five-foot-five, 120 pound frame against the wall and sighed. He stood there with the note for several minutes, reading each word over and over. His thoughts drifted back over the past six years... Every year since seventh grade, Tommy had tried out for his current school’s football team. Every year, the various coaches had rejected him and chosen other players instead. In the coaches’ narrow eyes, Tommy was simply too small.

So, Tommy had prac­ticed. His Herculean father, a former collegiate player, had helped whenev­er he could. When a com­panion was not available, Tommy had spent hours performing rigorous drills. He had also memorized the sport’s intricacies—from detailed rules to complicat­ed strategy. Over time, he had developed remarkable playing skill. Still, Tommy had never made the final roster. He had grown more dis­couraged after every year of failure.

    Tommy scratched his chin, regathering his thoughts. He had already tried out for the Billington High School football team twice, and “that Waltz kid” had been mocked by Coach McGruber the first time and ignored by Coach McGruber the sec­ond time. But all that was behind him, for he had resolutely quit. Now, he didn’t even care about the high school team. So why was he making such a big deal out of one piece of paper?

Shoving the note in his pocket, Tommy left for home on his bicycle. As he pedaled by a playground, Tommy noticed two young boys attempting to throw a foam football. One boy would hold the ball in his hand, take a running start, and awk­wardly heave it in the direction of his com­panion shotput-style. I shouldn’t tell them to give up, Tommy realized. Feeling like a hypocrite, he stopped his bike and offered to help the boys in their failing endeavor. As he showed the boys how to properly grip and release the ball, Tommy half­heartedly decided to try out for football one last time.

He skipped dinner that evening and went straight to bed, but his mind was filled with thoughts of the important day ahead of him. Hours later, the door quietly opened.

“Son?” Tommy’s father whispered.

“Yeah,” answered the sleepless boy.

“Sorry I’m late, but an emergency patient walked into my office as I was leaving.”

Tommy winced, remembering the gory predicaments his father had dealt with in the past as an eye surgeon. “That’s okay.”

“Mary just told me you’re gonna try out for football tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you really sure you want to?” “Uh huh.” “Great! I’ll be sure to pray for you. I might even be able to stop by, depending on how well an eye operation goes.” Tommy shuddered and then responded, “Thanks.”

After an awkward silence, his father spoke up with a cheerful “Good night!” “Good night.” Tommy’s father left, slowly closing the door. Once in the hallway, he clenched his fists tightly together.

Keep trying, son.. .Don’~ give up... Keep trying!

 

T

ommy awoke early the next morning. After efficiently showering and combing his dark hair, he dressed in sweatpants and a shirt that displayed the logo of his favorite pro­fessional team, the New York Giants. Standing directly in front of a full-length mirror, he carefully studied himself from top to bottom. Tommy did not regular­ly shave, for he hoped facial hair compensated for his lack of physical toughness. Satisfied with the result of his negli­gence, he began to examine his muscles.

    A call from the kitchen interrupted his survey. “Tommy!”

“Yes,” he wearily responded, expecting a chore to be assigned.

“Breakfast is ready,” his mother laugh­ingly announced, fully aware of her slave­driver reputation.

Her son gratefully answered, “I’m coming!”

He entered the kitchen and was greeted by a sizzling plate of poached eggs, toasted biscuits, and fried bacon. Tommy wolfed down the savory food, said goodbye to his family, and headed for the high school. Knowing the importance of preparation, he arrived on the field over an hour early. Tommy felt invigorated by the clean smell of damp, freshly cut grass. He stretched out on the ground and began performing light exercises.

Once his muscles were satisfactorily warm, he sat in the empty stands and sipped a jug of ice water. Glancing at his watch, Tommy realized he still had several minutes before others would begin arriv­ing. He bowed his head and began pray­ing. Lord, please forgive me for glorifying physi­cal strength instead of spiritual strength. In a few minutes, when I go out on the field in front of all those people, please let me do my best. And most of all, let me be a good witness for you. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Standing up, Tommy began to slowly walk back and forth across the entire length of the football field.

“Nice day, huh?”

Tommy looked up and saw a middle-aged man approaching him with several bags of sports equipment.

Surprised, Tommy managed a weak “Yeah.”

The short, stout man smiled and asked, “Are you here to try out for varsity?”

“Yessir,” Tommy replied, remembering his manners.

The man was obvi­ously impressed by the boy’s politeness. He set down the bags and extended a hand in friendship. “Well then, I suppose I should intro­duce myself. My name’s Tom Donaldson.”

“Hi, I’m Tommy Waltz,” the boy said, firmly grasping the man’s sinewy hand. “Are you an assistant coach?”

“That’s a nice name and no, I’m not an assistant coach. McGruber angrily resigned after last season’s tournament loss, and I’ve replaced him as head coach.”

    “That’s funny, I didn’t hear.”

“Or you didn’t listen,” the man pointed out with a twinkle in his eye.

Amused by the new coach’s fatherli­ness, Tommy remarked, “You sound just like my dad.”

“You remind me of someone, too.”

The man paused in deep thought. Suddenly, his eyes excitedly lit up.

“Hey, your dad isn’t Bill Waltz, is he?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“You bet! I was his teammate at M.U. How’s he doing?”

“Oh, we’re all doing fine. Dad’s an eye surgeon at Billington Hospital.”

“Really, I never would have guessed .hmm, what do you mean by we?”

“Dad, Mom, my sister Mary, and myself.”

“Sorry for my interrogation, but who’s ‘Mom’?”

“Janet Waltz, but she used to be Janet Butchen.”

“No kidding? He was dating her way back in college! Long, red hair, right?”

“That’s her,” Tommy answered.

The man nodded and began chuckling. “Wow, I remember your dad like it was yesterday. He must be at least three times your size!”

Not minding the comment, Tommy laughed as well. “Almost.”

“I bet he never told you this, but your father would sometimes dress up in a dia­per like a baby and go riding around cam­pus on my aching shoulders.”

A grin crept across Tommy’s face as he visualized the spectacle.

The talkative man continued chatting: “I’ve got a wife and three kids of my own. Funny thing, they’re all girls. One of them Noel, is your age. Anyway, all girls and I’m a football coach! We just moved from Rimpton ‘cause I landed this job. You know, we should have your family over sometime.”

“You’re the newcomers,” Tommy stat­ed. “We should we have you over.”

The new coach began eyeing the stream of hopefuls steadily trickling onto the field. “Well, I should start get ting ready. It’s going to be one long day.” Tommy tried to sound cheerful, but a dreading fear of the tryouts was already gnawing at his heart.

“Okay. My dad said he might come and watch little later on.” The friendly man stooped down to pick up the bags he had been carrying. “Hey, that would be great. Good luck trying out!” Tommy looked over at the growing swarm of players. It seemed like all of them were either seven feet tall, three hundred pounds heavy, or both! “Thanks. I hope I can either dodge those guys or squeeze through their legs.” The experienced man winked and began walking away. After several steps, he turned and remarked to Tommy:

“Preferably the former, or else some gigantic fatso will sit on you ‘til you’re flat as a pancake. But don’t worry. If you’re anything like your father, then you’re great, no matter how small you are.”

This last statement encouraged Tommy, but his mind was still filled with doubts. Did he say that just to be nice? Did he mean that I might be good, but no good enough? Will a NEW coach put me on the team? His questions were suddenly erased by the irritating shrill of a whistle.

From then on, Tommy barred all other thoughts from his mind and focused solely on football. For the next few hours, every one attempted countless drills and sprints that Tommy had already mastered during his own practice. About hallway through the tryouts, Tommy’s father arrived. From a distance, Tommy saw him warmly embrace and begin talking with Tom Donaldson. The coach pointed in Tommy’s direction, and his father waved. Tommy waved back and noticed them already engaged in brotherly conversation. Were they talking about him? Was he good, or did he stink? There was no time to think, for it was his turn to run a wind sprint...

 

L

ate that afternoon, Tommy left the high school and wearily pedaled home. His father, who had left ear­lier, greeted Tommy at the front door with a loud “Good job!”

Tommy was instantly skeptical. “Thanks, but I haven’t made the team yet.”

“I know, but you did well. Why, Tom even said so himself.”

“He did?,” Tommy asked, perking up at the encouragement.

“Yeah. He said not to count on it, but I think you’ll make it. By the way, he said the list of players will be posted on the sports bulletin board Monday morning.”

“I can’t wait.” Tommy stopped, trying to be his usual, pessimistic self.

“But I still don’t think I’ll be on the list.” His father continued to be positive.

“Oh, that may be, but you should at least be happy you tried.”

Tommy looked down and said, “I know.”

“Oh! Before I forget—I invited Tom and his family to go to church with us since they just moved into the area. They’re Christians, but I sense a need for godly fellowship. After church they’re coming over for a picnic in the meadow.”

“Sounds good,” Tommy remarked.

The next morning, the Donaldsons apparently enjoyed the church services. The two families had a fun picnic together, and Tommy struck up a friendship with Noel Donaldson, a slim, pretty girl taller than he was. She was happy to finally befriend a fellow student at the high school. After lunch, Tommy even threw a football with his dad and Mr. Donaldson. Everything would have been perfect if the next day’s verdict had not been looming in the back of Tommy’s mind.

 

W

ith the crack of dawn, he automatically woke up and performed his pre-school rou­tine. On the bus, Tommy overheard several boys quietly talking about the tryouts. They repeatedly looked over at him and guffawed, as if he were a clown or a chimpanzee. Tommy knew they were making fun of him, but he had learned from experience to forget such comments. They’re laughing now, but they might be silenced when they see the team roster, he told himself.

When Tommy arrived at school, he headed straight for the sports bulletin board. In a few seconds, all his guesses would prove to be either false or true. On the way in, he passed Coach Donaldson. Both of them were in a hurry, but the coach winked as he briskly walked by. What does that mean? Tommy wondered hopefully.

Standing on his tiptoes, he skimmed the long list of names. “ . . . Van Beuter, Jeffrey. Vuckerman, Phillip.” Tommy’s heart sank when he read the next name, “Williams, Carl.” His name was missing. Tommy was no baby, but he hit the wall with his palms in frustration. The electron­ic bell sounded, and Tommy drearily jogged to his first class. It was all in vain. I wasted six summers on a sport that I’ll never even play in an organized league. He sat through three classes and ignored all three teachers.

Then it was lunchtime. Tommy sat alone at an inconspicuous table and began eating. He had never been so hopeful and then so hopeless. Surveying the throng of students, he noticed Noel Donaldson.

Seeing him, she walked over and said, “Hello.”

“Hi.” Tommy forced a smile.

Noel looked puzzled and shyly exclaimed, “Congratulations!”

Now Tommy was puzzled. He thought for a moment and then asked, “Thanks, but what for?”

“For making the team, of course.” Both of them were growing more con­fused.

Tommy winced. “But. . .I didn’t make the team.”

“My dad said you did.”

“He did?”

“Yup. He even said you were one of his top choices.”

Tommy flatly stated, “That’s impossi­ble. The list didn’t have my name on it.”

Noel looked uncertain and then said, “Well, ‘the list’ isn’t infallible. The ulti­mate authority is my dad. He’s right next door, and I’ll go ask him. Will you be sat­isfied then?”

Tommy was both embarrassed and honored by her friendly rebuke. “Sure—if he really says that.”

Noel whirled, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back!”

In the meantime, Tommy closed his eyes and fervently prayed. A few moments later, Mr. Donaldson and Noel came walk­ing toward him. The man had a smug look on his face and a piece of paper in his hand. Was it the team roster?

Mr. Donaldson put the paper on the table. It was the team roster, and it skipped from “Vuckerman” right to “Williams”. Tommy looked up, expecting an explanation.

The coach spoke first with an exagger­ated “Oops!” He grinned, seeing the bewildered expression on Tommy’s face. “You did make the team. Sorry for the mix-up, but your name is on the roster as ‘Thomas, Waltz’ instead of ‘Waltz,

Thomas.’ I didn’t write up the list, but I think you accidentally put your name in the normal, everyday order instead of the formal way, with last name first.” Tomn read the roster again in disbelief. Then he laughed. “Thanks! Now, I feel like an idiot.”

Noel spoke up, joking, “At least you’re an idiot on the football team.”

Tommy smiled in relief. He had never been so hopeless and then so hopeful. “Thanks a lot for choosing me,” he said with utmost sincerity.

Mr. Donaldson asserted: “You deserve it. And call me ‘Coach’ from now on. Come on, let’s have lunch together. You better grow in the next few months, or else I’ll have you be quarterback, sitting on someone’s shoulders.”

All three laughed at this comment, am the father and daughter left to get their food. While they were gone, Tommy offered a silent prayer of thanks to heaven. Lord, thank you for your kindness. I pray that I can do my best to serve you. In Jesus’ name, Amen!

 

 

 

Contest Stats

O

ur first ever Short Story Fiction Contest was a great success. We had a total of 25 entries which were carefully critiqued by our panel of three judges: Edie Livesay, author of Candle in Darkness, former missionary and currently a librari­an; Jeff Baldwin, author of ian, New Attitude colum­nist, and director of Summit Ministry’s research department; and Janet Albers, New Attitude’s copy editor and mother of four teenagers. The topics and settings for the stories were extremely diverse, ranging from historical fiction to mystery. Each entry was judged on four areas: literary content, theme, mechanics, and plot, with the highest possible score being 60. Only five contestants scored over 50 points. Timothy Lash with his winning story “Tommy’s Tryout” beat out Shawna McElwain with her story “Everlasting Peace” about two brothers fighting on opposite sides in the Civil war by only one point. In third place was a story of early church persecu­tion “To Meet the Savior” by Tessi Muskrat. Tracy Williams came in fourth, and Faith Streng placed fifth.

    3rd place receives NA’s ‘94 T-shirt (pictured on back cover), 2nd place receives a $50 savings bond, and 1st place wins a $100 savings bond. Tim Lash, the author of the winning story is a fifteen-year old home schooler from Broad Run, VA. Tim is the oldest of eight kids. Tim came up with a first draft of Tommy’s Tryout in December as a home-school assignment. When he read about the NA contest, he didn’t think his story was worth submitting. Thanks to his dad and mom, he began the sweaty task of revi­sion. “I worked on it for the next couple of months, but I still barely made the deadline,” Tim says. “I like the characters a lot, so there’s a chance I’ll develop them further in separate stories or maybe a series.”