Hell on Turf

Jackson POV

'Good luck with your first day of practice!' my mom called out to me. I didn't turn back or even say anything to acknowledge her as I walked away from the car. I only raised my arm and waved goodbye to her.

I was around ten minutes early, but it looked like everyone else on the team—both coaches and players—was already there. Despite being one of the last to show up, I didn't draw any extra attention.

I found a quiet part of the field and started going through some stretches to loosen and warm up. I kept to myself, head lowered and eyes cast on the grass beneath me for the most part.

When it was time to start, Coach Otsen called everyone over, his voice boomed across the entire field. And as everyone gathered around him, they were all completely silent.

'Welcome to the first session of practice. For those of you who are new here, I'm going to be upfront. This will be brutal. I don't hold back and I won't pull any punches with you guys. I'm here to bring the best out of you all, and to do that I'm gonna have to put you through hell. If you decide to back out or half-ass it, that's fine. It's your opportunity you'll be wasting.'

I was a little worried by what Coach Otsen was saying, though maybe he was just playing up how bad it'd be to try and scare us. Though, from what little I'd seen of Coach Otsen, he seemed like a bluntly honest man.

'JV team, you'll be working out separately from the varsity players, but I want you to watch your more experienced teammates and learn from the examples they set. They're the targets you're trying to surpass.'

Almost every player on the JV team turned their eyes towards their varsity counterparts. Some looked with admiration and hope, others looked with jealousy and anger. Most of the varsity players kept their eyes on Coach and ignored the looks.

'For now. JV players. Line up and get on the scales.' Coach Otsen pointed to multiple heavy-duty scales, the kind you'd see boxers use before a big fight. They had been set up on the sideline and an assistant trainer stood by each one.

Confused murmurs spread through most of the JV team before some people stepped forward to weigh themselves first. And after Coach shouted at the rest of us to hurry up, we all quickly fell in line.

As I stood in line, waiting for my turn, I noticed that some of the varsity players had moved over to where Coach Knight was, standing beside a few large boxes, and one by one he'd hand them a hefty, padded vest pulled from one of the boxes.

From everyone's reaction and how they moved as they put the vests on, the vests seemed to be weighted.

Wait… Tommy? I blinked, staring harder at one of the varsity players grabbing a vest. I shook my head. No, what am I thinking? Of course it isn't him. It was stupid to think my brother would be here, he's already in college.

The player in question looked at me as he pulled the vest on tight. He was huge. He must've been a senior, but hell, he looked like he should be in college already. Even then his size and physique would've been impressive.

Even though he reminded me of my older brother at a glance, the hair was different, like Tommy's dark curls had been straightened out. I looked away as he kept matching my stare, and soon it was my turn on the scales.

I was sitting at 137 pounds (roughly 62 kg). I looked to the assistant and asked him what this was all for, but he just pointed me in Coach Knight's direction and told me to relay the number to him.

I went over and did so, and Coach Knight responded with a silent nod. He then pulled out a vest from the crate, as well as some beanbag-looking objects, stuffing more of them into pockets of the vest.

When he was done fiddling around with the vest, he held it up to me and I slipped my head through it as he helped me get it on. It felt heavy but manageable—then Coach Knight let go and I had to bear the full weight over my frame.

I nearly crumpled to the floor, and I probably would've if not for Coach Knight holding me up with one hand against my chest.

'Stand strong,' he said. I looked up at him, still shaking under the pressure of the vest. I then looked around and found every other freshman who had come before me, was in a similar situation, though almost every one of them had been dropped to their hands and knees by their own weighted vest.

One stood firm, though looked like he might pop a blood vessel at any moment with the amount of strain caused by just staying on his own two feet..

'What… the… fuck?!' one of the boys on the ground yelled. Coach Otsen moved over due to the outburst.

'I should have explained. Those of you in JV, you'll have to work much harder to catch up to those on the varsity team. To do that, you'd need to work twice as hard as them, right? That's why, for every second of every practice, you need to carry twice your weight. Solution? Add your own weight on top of you with those vests.'

Coach Knight moved away from me to fit the next player, who now was trying to back out of wearing the vest as the full situation had been explained to us.

With nothing else to support me, it was all I could do to stay standing under the added weight of another me.

And we're expected to train in this condition? That's insane! I can't even move! I looked over to the older players who had come over to get a vest of their own volition.

Out of the dozens of players on the varsity team, only several of them wore a vest, but each and every one of them stood there, unfazed by the added burden.

Again, I locked eyes with the one I had almost mistaken for Tommy, he looked the most relaxed out of everyone. I quickly looked away but clenched my entire body and resisted the urge to slump to the floor and give in to the weight.

'If you've got a problem with it, I don't give a fuck. Take them off, but if you do, know that you'll never play for me. There are plenty more kids desperate to make my team and have a shot at being a champion.'

Coach Otsen glared at us like we were worms struggling and squirming on the floor. 'But if you want to be winners, then you'll shut the fuck up and carry that weight like a champion. And if you can act like a champion, then I promise each and every one of you, I'll make you champions.'

Most of the kids didn't buy into his speech and struggled out of their vests, quitting the team on the spot. But some stayed, barely enough to have a full team but no bench, even then we'd still need a few people to play on both defence and offence.

None of the coaches or trainers seemed bothered by around twenty kids just up and leaving. 'Good. Don't bother with little shits like them. We don't need 'em. Those of you who stayed, congratulations on passing the first trial. You just took your first step into Hell, now, the real challenge can begin.'

***

Coach Otsen was being serious when he said we'd have to complete each session of practice with the vests on for the entirety of it. And to start us off, we all had to "run" laps around the field.

Of course, the only ones from the JV squad who could actually run while wearing the vests were those sophomores who had been on the team last year as well. But even they could barely move faster than walking speed.

Meanwhile, the varsity team, even those who chose to wear their own vests, rushed through the laps without any issue, and could quickly move on to some proper drills and exercises.

I watched those among them that wore vests and I almost couldn't believe how fluidly they moved while wearing them. Maybe they were lighter? They had to be, they didn't even look like they were affected at all.

Us freshmen were reduced to crawling at a snail's pace. Coach Knight watched over us every inch of the way. A couple more players gave up during these laps and quit the team, but still, no one cared.

If anyone lagged too far behind, Coach Otsen would make his way over from overseeing the varsity squad to personally "inspire" them to keep going. His form of inspiration was to call the offender just about every name under the sun whilst telling them to give up "if they were going to be so pathetic" as he put it.

I kept myself shuffling forward, little by little, even as sweat poured off me, and every muscle in my body screamed at me to stop. I was near the front of the little worm colony, though one worm had been ahead of me the whole time.

During our third lap around the field, he stopped, and I caught up to him, going to pass by when he shouted,

'Dammit… fucking move!' I froze as I was next to him and I looked at him. He was in tears, but it didn't look like he'd even noticed I was there yet. 'I can't stop here!'

His head was so low to the ground that his dark green hair was resting against the turf, and even his nose was almost pushed against it. Sweat dripped from his face, and his eyes were still full of life and anger behind the tears. His hands tore at the turf.

He was around the same size as me, maybe a bit shorter. It was hard to tell like this. But I remembered that he was the one who could actually stand after putting his vest on.

'Hey…. It's alright man … take a breather … if you need it,' I said, still struggling to breathe.

His head snapped around to me, eyes glaring in my direction as he was panting just as heavily as me. 'Don't … you look down on me!… No one's … allowed … to look down on me…. Never again!'

'Whoa … no, I-I'm sorry…. I wasn't … looking down on you…. You're doing … better than I am…. But … we're both in the … same boat here.' I laid down against the grass, resting for a moment.

His eyes softened and he turned his gaze away. He looked just as troubled as I was. 'Sorry…. I didn't mean to yell at you…. This shit sucks but I'm just mad at myself for not being able to push through it.' He lowered to the ground as well.

'You're doing pretty damn good … don't beat yourself up about it … this is practically torture, I'm surprised Coach can get away with it.' We lay there catching our breath. '...I'm Jackson, by the way.'

'Ken Murata … just call me Kenny.' He offered me a fist bump.

'Kenny, cool…. Um, I'm a Wideout, what about you?'

'Same…. But, I'm gonna play Defensive Back too. Looks like we'll need most people to play both sides anyway.'

I looked back at the other worms encroaching upon us. There really weren't a lot of JV players left anymore. Is this even worth it? I was so caught up in my own head that I didn't even notice Coach Otsen beside us.

'Are you ladies done talking about your pussies yet? Get a fucking move on. We aren't here so you can have a little tea party together. Or do you both wanna give up already? Why are you even here if you can't do five simple laps around the field?!'

'Sorry, sir! No sir! I'm gonna be the best Receiver and won't be beaten by anyone, sir!' Ken yelled out and started crawling forward with renewed vigour, leaving me behind. I looked up at Coach, having finally caught my breath.

'Well? What are you waiting for? Quit or get crawling!' He stared down at me. Why was I even putting myself through this? Maybe I should quit. It would be easier than moving forward, wouldn't it?