The football field is swarmed with dads. We seem to have a dozen assistant coaches.

My dad will cheer for anything his kids or grandkids are interested in, but he is no football coach.

He leans over to me and whispers from the side of his mouth,

“I’m terrified they’re going to need one more man out there. So, if they call me, I don’t want you to be alarmed, but I’m going to feign a heart attack. Don’t worry. It won’t be real. I just want you to know in advance. That’s the plan.”

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

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