Talent Round -- by Matt Foster

Though space is limitless in the universe we occupy, the freshman league was not. There were over 200 girls in the draft room, but there were only 10 freshman girl teams… space was indeed limited. It was no secret that hearts would be broken and tears would be shed tonight.

For the average person feelings were of great concern, not in this room. Life-long friends sacrificed it all at the altar of opportunity if your name happened to come through the cheap, portable speakers. As one name was called you could watch a girl’s exuberant relief, hugging her friends and realizing her dreams coming true. The light in her eyes was obvious, any fool could see that. The truly observant, the one who saw the real picture, would see a group of girls standing around that lucky individual, putting on a smile, but wondering what will become of their soon-to-be long lost friend. There were the friends that were supportive, there were the friends that were jealous, and there were the friends that just didn’t understand. It wasn’t the end of the world, it was the beginning. You only have one freshman year, why give half of it away to football? What the outside world might see as another bright eyed, naïve freshman girl running towards her dream was a water-colored fairy tale compared to the dark reality the truly observant already knew, another poor salmon one leap too many.

Thanks to the Round Robin draft style, I didn’t have a pick for a while, but I didn’t need a pick for a while – I had back-to-back picks to end round 2 and start 3.


Round 1 was a breeze, any idiot can make a top ten list, some blue chips were common knowledge before they graduated high school. Teams are made in rounds 3 through 5. To the casual onlooker or untrained eye, round three meant panic time – it was the “needs” round, some needed position players, others needed skill players. But to the truly observant, there was no need to panic, round 3 was the beginning of the draft, the real draft starts now.

Yesterday two girls caught my attention, and when it’s caught, it’s rarely set free. Defense is a fairly simple concept born out of obstinacy, whatever the offense wants they NEVER get. Defense isn’t a pattern or a scheme, it’s a mindset. One goal – one thought – one word – “No!” Memorize that, and you’ve mastered defense.

On the practice field full of talent you could not have found two more different girls. Standing next to each other in line, waiting their turn in the coverage drills, were the two staples to my defense – and they couldn’t have been more opposite.

The first in line was a spitfire to put it mildly, most just called her mean. The very first drill she came in tight to press a receiver, and jammed her at the line so hard the poor receiver was laying on her back. She stood there, hovering directly over the shock-ridden receiver, waiting for the poor girl to catch her breath. Seeing it as an act of sportsmanship, the receiver raised her hand for a help-up off the ground, and it was immediately met by a sharp barking of intimidating and inappropriate words hurled unexpectedly at the poor girl. Teary-eyed, the receiver helped herself up and to the back of the line. Astonished, most people just looked the other way, chalking the incident up to a combination of poor sportsmanship and the pressure-laden situation. They were right about the sportsmanship, but no one saw this loose cannon coming.

She was from Alaska; America’s final frontier. She grew up hunting caribou and cleaning the salmon that her dad brought in every summer during the run. She was the only girl in a house full of boys, although some might even question her femininity. She was a survivor, she did what she had to do; she was afraid of no man, especially not a spoiled little rich girl with a football.

The next drilled ended with a receiver being carted off the field with a dislocated shoulder. Alaska was asked to leave, and she boisterously complied, for lack of a better term, with an explosive tirade clear to the parking lot. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief; it was the last they would see of her… so they thought.

Immediately behind her could have been her twin, athletically speaking. They were both tall, quick and built for speed. However, that’s where the similarities ended and the polarities began. Bouncing back and forth, donning two short pigtails and a perma-smile was the most jubilant, light-hearted, unfocused girl out there. She had no idea what just happened, she was too busy running as fast as she could in as tight of a circle as she could, until she fell over. Then she hopped up, jumped on an unsuspecting girl’s back and started raking her down with her spurs. British nannies would have written this girl off – she had the focus of a kitten with ADD.

Zimmerman had to yell at her twice before she realized it was her turn. Blushing, but still smiling, she came to the line and squared up with a little speed demon from Breckenridge. The receiver put a crisp double move on pigtails and had her running in circles all over again, but not on purpose. Bewildered, pigtails finally located the speed demon, 10 yards behind her. In a gear unknown to even pigtails herself she took off toward the speed demon in a desperate attempt to salvage some purpose to this drill. Unfortunately for her, the ball was underthrown, and while the speed demon made the correction, pigtails did not, and she ran right past the receiver who took the ball to the end zone. 8 clipboards shook their heads, writing things like: “Unfocused” “Not teachable” and “Too silly”. Across the field was the ninth clipboard, with a goatee and a Nebraska hat, who stood there, stoic. He whispered something to the tall, lanky guy next to him, wearing a palm leaf hat with shrugged shoulders and hands in his pockets.

Did he know, did he see what I saw, a lightning flash of brilliance amidst a storm of incompetence? I wasn’t sure, he was lucky enough to have the same speed demon fall the him the pick before in the 2nd round. I had to know where he stood, his eye for talent – after all, this was the talent round – which is why I chose to look at him when I made the announcement,

“We’ll take Erin Baldwin and Stephanie Spradling.”

Quizzical looks and awkward fumblings filled the room. This time no one looked at their clipboards – these girl’s names were nowhere to be found on them. I didn’t have to bother checking what everyone said or did, only one man’s opinion mattered. Elijah Godfrey stood there, as stoic as always, his eyes locked on mine. Still staring, he took the pen clipped in the collar of his John Deere shirt and emphatically clicked it. He never broke the stare, just put a single line through an unknown name on his clipboard, and tipped his hat as if to say, “Welcome to the talent round.”

I tipped mine back, “Thanks Godfrey, it’s good to be here.”