The Lombardi Factor (Short Story) {Part II}

     Fortunately what Vigilio did have was an uncanny ability to maximize his time. Along with ok grades, and a record of volunteering for everything, he got into a small college in southern New Jersey, Bridgetown State.  Once there, he pushed it even further and made the football team. Establishing semi-permanent residence at the end of the bench.

     After four-years at Bridgetown, another outrageous stint as an acquisitions officer at the NORAD base in Windswept, Newfoundland occurred.  This was followed in quick succession by a return home to Philly and confrontation with one of life’s harsher realities.

     At the time, few openings at Fresh Catch Warehouse existed unless Vigilio wanted to start at the bottom, which would involve re-living childhood clean-up memories.  Not wanting to experience another somewhat similar smell if he took a job with brother Aldo in trash collection, Vigilio got talked into pursuing another career option.

     “You mean to tell me that after all that hard work at Bridgetown,” asked Benito.  “He still only graduated near the bottom of his class?”

     Claudia frowned. “Unfortunately yes. One of my friends who works in academic records discovered that Vigilio graduated 154^th out of 162 graduates.  Some of the people who graduated below him got by on the ten-year bachelor’s plan.”

     “Well you know something mom and dad,” said Aldo. “Some people say the most logical way to confront your intellectual problems is to further your education.”

     Claudia frowned again.  “What else is there?  I’m telling him he needs to go back to school and get a teaching certificate.”

     “He’ll probably do it,” said Aldo. “Since it sounds like the edgy thing for him to undertake.”

     Which is exactly what Vigilio did, getting his teaching credentials in earth sciences.  He ostensibly concentrated on geography because he was pretty good at reading maps.  Not because he enjoyed traveling so much, having never been west of the Ohio River, south of Washington D.C., and only as far north and east as the base at Windswept took him.

     Three years later, Vigilio graduated from Temple University, decided to balance on the edge once again, and hired on at his alma mater of St. Catherine’s as the high school social studies teacher. Vigilio inherited the school football team coaching position when Marshall Bonfrink, the coach at the time, threw his arms up in disgust.  Marshall was about ready to fire himself during the final game of a less than stellar 0-12 season. Vigilio learned of Marshall’s frustration while attending the team’s final contest as a spectator.   

     The St. Catherine’s varsity was exiting the field after scraping and clawing their way to a vital field goal in a 31-3 setback to the boys at cross-city rival M.Y.A.-Moses Yeshiva Academy. A November rain was occurring, which matched most people’s moods. Vigilio was actually happy. While watching the match, he came to the realization that there were indeed kids who played football at an even lower level than he did in his youth.

     “Cheer up Marshall,” said Vigilio.  “It can’t be all that bad is it?”

     “You ever been caught red-handed by your father?” asked Marshall.  “After you said you were going to rake up those leaves before sitting down to watch TV?”

     “Nope. We never had a television set. My dad said it was a communist plot to steal

the hearts and minds of America.”

     Marshall actually smiled. “Some people say it’s a plot from the other side, I’m like that kid right after his dad catches him.”

     “Cheer up Marshall. That was your final game of the season, right?”

     “Thank God.  I’m trying to think of a way to fire myself.  What did I do to deserve this?  31-3. Last week’s game was even worse 48-2.  We scored a safety when the ball slipped out of their third string quarterback’s hand as he was waltzing around in their own end zone.”

     “Our boys were putting the pressure on him?”

     “Not really.  They got the ball back after stopping us four straight times on a first and goal at the one foot line.”

      “Couldn’t you have tried a field goal on fourth and inches?”

     “We were one foot from a touchdown, I thought we’d make it.  How foolish of me.”

     Vigilio chuckled. “So they got the ball back, big deal. You had them buried deep.”

     “Yeah, but when their kid lost the ball he was about to throw a 102 yd. TD pass to their wide open JV tailback.  Winning isn’t everything, but coming within five light years of your opponent might be nice.”

     There wasn’t much Vigilio could say to his friend that afternoon to lift his spirits.  The next day, Marshall submitted his resignation to the monsignor and began formulating his move to Minnesota.  He figured he’d be more successful launching a career as a salesman of stand up freezers in Frostbite Falls. 

     Marshall’s resignation as the school counselor was followed by Vigilio being called to the prelate’s office and offered the St. Catherine’s coaching position.  He decided to push things once again and accepted. Despite his age, and the fact that it wasn’t quite the same as discovering you held the winning $165 million dollar lottery ticket on top of your dresser draw.

     At first Vigilio was hesitant about taking the job.  He’d married the previous summer and Rachel Lombardi didn’t like the idea of her husband spending more time at school.  She was naïve, and envisioned married life being more than just one or two hours out of each day with your significant other. 

      Vigilio jumped into the job with a vigor matching that of a beaver who’s just discovered a stream running through an Aspen grove.  Oddly enough, even though the St. Catherine Football team’s season was over, Vigilio started planning strategy for the following year.  Ever since his youth, certain people had accused him of having a strong masochistic streak, and this was a prime example of that character assessment coming to the fore.

( End Part II)