Dodo Eraser

1

When I got the call, everyone on the team told me I would have to learn Canadian, which I think most of them meant jokingly, but Jordan mentioned some girl from Quebec he met on Omegle who spoke French.

“I’m going to Saskatchewan,” I reminded him.

“Yeah.”

Coach asked me if I really wanted to live out in the tundra. “You got a lotta life ahead of you,” he says, “physically, I mean, at least. Time before you die. Can’t guarantee you much more than that, Adam.”

I wonder if Tim Horton’s coffee is better than it is at Dunkin or Panera. For some reason, it feels further from the source, even though God knows what happens to those beans on their way to the Panera self-serve machines.

Porter, the special teams coach, asks when I ship out, and I let him know it’ll be in a week. He hopes I don’t come back, but has to clarify that means I made the team. He makes a comment about my “shotgun leg cannon” and says I should be grateful that I don’t have to stick punts inside the ten in the CFL.

“I can stick a punt,” I complain.

He shakes his head, “Show me.”

I can’t.

“Well,” he says, “You’ll be kicking a fuckton of rogues.”

2

After I gave the returner for Lincoln, Missouri, a concussion, I got an NIL ad deal at the local Ford dealership, where I had to pretend to tackle an F-150. Jordan asked me if it felt emasculating getting knocked over constantly on local TV, but I told him that it paid the bills.

“That’s the difference between me and you,” he told me. “I don’t sell my dignity.”

I laugh. “We play D2 football.”

He didn’t talk to me for a couple of days.

There are two types of dudes who play D2 football. Guys who will graduate, work at some finance firm and retire at 65, and the guys who play themselves into the ground and will be wrecked by 40. One of the players’ dads played linebacker in college and got diagnosed with Parkinson’s at 52.

And that’s not to say you’re not supposed to play the best that you can, you just have to understand what you’re fighting for. My GPA was a 3.9 before I hit the kid. It’s lower now, but I see a reason to throw everything away.

In the locker room, we theorized about who might get invited to an NFL practice session, knowing that none of us ever will. We decided that Ed may get a look if one of the starting corners retires, and Ed said that Paul probably would get one because of his ability to break tackles at the line of scrimmage, but we knew that no fullback gets invited up from D2 ball because the competition level is so different.

I was sort of hoping that someone would say my name, but I was pigeonholed as the hometown character, and I could convince myself that is okay by me. When people passed me on the street, they smile and mime running their shoulder into me. It’s weird for people to know who I am.

3

They’re gonna put me in a hotel room during the real tryouts. The plane is a redeye, and I forgot to download songs onto the shitty iPod Shuffle I bought at a thrift store for the flight. For some reason, it only has one disco song on it.

The song is incredibly boring, and I fall asleep with it playing on repeat. The old dude sitting next to me has to shake me awake. I pop out one of them and ask him what’s happening.

“We’re here,” he says.

I almost ask, “already?” but save myself the embarrassment. I’m an adult. I can act like one if I want to. Hell, I might be on TV every week. I might be signing autographs. I can’t get my seatbelt undone.

The old man taps his foot. “I’ve got a flight to make, kid.”

4

5

The guy who’s there to pick me up has Tim Horton’s. When I ask him if there’s one in the airport, he just offers me his, and I take it. Regina is a pretty city, and the man who introduced himself as Forscythe informs me it’s not pronounced like the name, but like vagina. I wonder if Regina was bullied in kindergarten for cities.

The hotel room is small and smells like chlorine, but I am informed there is a decent gym on the ground level. I ask them if there are other prospective punters at the hotel, and decide that I will not be using the gym if there is any risk they will also be there.

Apparently, there are a lot of things to see in Regina, such as a lake or the hotel TV. I call my parents on my phone and tell them that everything is going well and I’ve made a friend (lie), worked out (lie), and found a cool restaurant with good poutine (the poutine was bad, but I think it’s supposed to be that way) and burgers. They ask if Canadians talk funny, and I tell them I never really noticed.

After the call, I pace the hotel and grab a bunch of tea bags to mix together like we used to do with soda as kids, just swapping Dr. Pepper and Mountain Dew for chamomile and Earl Grey.

I go to bed listening to that shitty disco song because there’s a baby crying in the room next to me, which, considering all possibilities, isn’t too bad, and the song is kinda growing on me.

6

From the moment I got picked up at Newman College, I knew I was only here because I could:

• Save yards for an awful offense
• Make tackles for an awful return squad
• Not cost the school too much scholarship money

I heard one of the assistant coaches mumble that “touchbacks aren’t too bad,” and had Coach try to put some “football IQ” into my head. I just couldn’t really gauge power that well. Coach Carlton would scream, “Jesus Christ, kid!” and I’d be out to punt again about fifteen minutes later.

Until I gave the kid a concussion, everyone sorta hated me, which I understand. Your team just got annihilated, and here’s Adam Carter to give the opponents the ball. I was once recognized by a little kid who lined up as if he was going to punt, and then kicked me in the crotch. I never went to that Dominos again.

The newspaper interviewed me after the concussion. The way they framed it, my tackle won them the game, forced the fumble that broke the 24-24 tie. I sent a letter to the returner saying sorry, and he never responded. I don’t think he ever played football again. It was his third concussion, so he probably didn’t.

7

Mike Hanson, who I think is the special teams coordinator for the Roughriders, asks me if I know the punting rules. He does not ask the Canadians or Australians this question. I tell him I do. He asks me to remind me what an onside punt is, and I demonstrate the short kick and dive.

“But that’s not really a punter thing,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow, “I have a plan for you.”

“Okay.”

He has us each start and do a punt from the goal line. “We’ll be measuring both hang time and distance.”

5.7 seconds and 60 yards at the drop. Wildly inaccurate. Best I’ve ever done.

I tell myself I’d better start liking Regina.

After a few tries, I get pulled from the exercise and introduced to the quarterback, who is incredibly tall and awkward. The coach there is young and bald, but keeps running his hands over his head like he’s sweeping his hair.

I caught about 70% of the passes, but the guy wasn’t the best either. They run me on cut routes and streak routes and pitches, and I go until my lungs hurt. I consider asking what their angle is, but I think I know it. Catch.

“Onside punt!” Bald coach yells.

Drop. Kick. Dive.

“Not terrible,” he says. “Teachable, I think.”

He has me run a small right tackle drill a few times, and I start to feel dizzy. I lie and tell him I’m not.

“You’d better tell me if you are,” he says.

I nod. “I will.”

I wonder when I’m going back to meet the rest of the guys. Hansen comes in and tells me to stay for a second day. I ask him what I should be prepared for.

“Anything,” he says.

On the ride back to the hotel, Forscythe asks me about the tackle.

“You’ve seen it?”

“Yeah, it was in an email.”

“What about it?”

“Did you think about making that tackle, or did you just sort of… do it?”

At first it seems like a test, but it feels like a genuine question. I try to think about it, but there’s so much distance there that I can’t. “I don’t know.”

“I think it’s like war,” he says, “some people just snap into their roles. Some people just can’t. So that’s good at least. You sure did a good tackle, had you practiced that before?”

I nod. “A bit.”

8

ANNOUNCER 1. Carter’s punt is up, almost blocked in the endzone. Gonna make it to about the 50. That’s Moody with the catch he’s gonna take it into the outside and he’s got space. He’s got blockers now at the forty, the thirty, tripped himself up a bit and… woah, the ball is loose! Was that Carter? That’s the punter just rocking him at full speed! Tripped and then hit hard and it just came flying out! We’ll see who has the ball.

ANNOUNCER 2. Oh my goodness. You gotta keep that ball in, they always teach you that–.

ANNOUNCER 1. Getting word that Moody was down after the play. You just hate to see that kind of thing. And the Jets have it!

ANNOUNCER 2. I kinda wonder if Moody was defenseless there, but they didn’t call it.

ANNOUNCER 1. We may see that again, we have to wait a little bit for the injury status. Here, we can put it up, just look at that beautiful hit with the shoulder…

9

The offer, which I get about a week later on the phone, is for some undefined backup flex player. The more questions I ask, the more confused I get, because the position will technically be punter, but I “ probably won’t do a lot of that, no.”

Coach says that I should take it if I get it. Porter says the same thing. Calls it “the dream” and “the most you could ask for.” Jordan asks if there are any F-150s to run me down up there, and that it sounds like some luring scam, like the ones they do to get slave labor in Dubai, and I tell him to shut the hell up. We laugh together, and I wonder how many times we’ll get to do that in the future.

Mom asks if I’m gonna finish college, and I tell her that I probably won’t. She’s researched what you can do with an associate’s degree and says I’ll probably be okay when I retire. I tell her that I’ll play until I can’t walk anymore, even if that means playing Arena Bowl or XFL. She says I may never see a snap, and I tell her that I’m gonna push myself harder than ever before. She gives me a weird look and tells me to calm down.

My Dad tells me that a flex role means I’ll get hit, and that I should take care of myself. I tell him the helmets are good, and he doesn’t need to worry.

They give me a $53 Panera gift card (my new number) and tell me to visit home sometime.

Jordan doesn’t pick up when I call. Which is okay, because I can call him anywhere. It just feels like long-distance calls have a weight of responsibility to them that neither of us are ready for.

10

Dear Fred Moody,

I’ve been working on this email for a long time, and guess I’m just gonna let it rip. Sorry if this is weird, or if you’re angry at me. I get it. Sorry for the hit during the game. I know it wasn’t called targeting or defenseless, but I should have just pushed you out. This isn’t a thing worth ruining lives or inflicting pain. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I wouldn’t do it if I could go back. But, I know it isn’t like that, so I just wanted to apologize for that and hope the recovery comes along well.

I hope to see you soon on the field,

Adam Carter

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Macy Craig can punt 26 yards with a hang time of 2.4 seconds. Maybe she should stick to writing.