Johan was becoming a beast in the weight room. He and Jim were good for each other, each pushing the other to gain strength, flexibility, speed, and endurance. As a byproduct, they’d both gotten bigger. Johan was almost five inches shorter than Jim, but he was only ten pounds lighter at 275. That was huge for a high school lineman unless they were pudgy or slow. Johan wasn’t as fast as Jim, but if he got into you with a block, you were done. He was a road grader.
Word had started to get out about him. Playing football only one year had hurt his recruiting. The good news was he played at Lincoln, so college scouts who had come to see other players were taking notice. I think Connor had talked to the guys at State because they’d actually made Johan an offer. They’d hired a new football coach, again, and this guy had extensive NFL experience. In fact, he’d surrounded himself with coaches who had either played or coached in the NFL. Their offensive line coach was a State alum who had eight years of experience as an offensive line coach for various NFL teams.
Wolf was a different story. The NFL had been leaning towards bigger receivers who cause mismatches. Defensive backs tended to range from five-ten to six-one. Wolf was six-five and 240 pounds. If he could get faster, he had a legitimate shot at being a wide receiver in the NFL. If not, he could be a tight end and enjoy a long career. Connor had helped him lose ten pounds so far with the goal of making him faster. I lifted with him, and he was in the process of transforming his body. Wolf had lost most of his baby fat, as I called it, while still getting stronger.
Wolf had never really been pudgy like I had been in middle school. From looking at his dad and uncles, it was in his genes. They were all big guys who carried some extra padding. Connor reasoned that in high school, Wolf didn’t need the added weight. If he went up levels in competition, he could always add it if he needed to.
Something else Connor worked with Wolf on was his jumping ability. This would give him one other advantage that would make him the go-to guy close to the end zone. If he could outjump his smaller defenders, I could toss the ball up and let him go get it. The key wasn’t just being able to jump. He had to be able to do it with a defensive back hanging on him and fighting for the football. Connor was working on his hand strength to help him be able to hold on to a contested ball.
For me, Connor worked to help me improve in several areas. The two primary goals were to increase my core strength and explosive speed; both were important to football and baseball. Core strength was my midsection. It helped me with both throwing and batting; I could generate more power. The explosive speed was used much like a sprinter would in track. The quicker you could get up to full speed, the better. For me, that helped with fielding and base stealing in baseball.
We also were working on eye-hand coordination. I was already good at it, being the athlete that I was. Connor felt, and I agreed, that even a slight improvement could make a difference. In baseball, there were a lot of very good players. Just a few percentage points batting separated the ones that made it from the ones that didn’t. Baseball was filled with explosive moments and hitting was one of them. If I could see a pitch and have my hands react accordingly just a little better, I would see a difference at the plate.
He was impressed with my forearm, wrist, and hand strength. I’d shown him my Bo staff and explained how it had helped me. Connor was a smart guy when it came to improving the human body, and I noticed him file that away. He also approved of the weighted vest Bo Harrington had given me.
I felt that Connor had been a great addition and well worth the money the boosters had paid to have him come help us.
After Connor was done with us, I looked at Wolf and just said, “Tim.” Wolf got a big grin on his face and followed me over to where Tim was lying on a bench-press seat. We ambled over to him and stood on each side, me with my water bottle and Wolf with a towel over his shoulder.
“Here he is, our workout prodigy. Finally, someone who understands our secret to success,” I said.
Wolf nodded sagely.
“Yes, the girls all think he’s smoking-hot now. What did they say the other day? Now I remember: ‘he’s so buff!’” Wolf said, putting his hands on his cheeks and batting his eyes.
I had to smirk at that. Tim, even on his most social days, was almost terminally shy around girls.
“We can’t have him stealing all our girls!”
With that, I upended my water bottle to douse him as completely as possible. Wolf and I laughed hysterically as he chased us all the way to the locker room. I was sure he would get his revenge at some point.
◊◊◊
At lunch, Pam sat down next to me. She looked like hell.
“Don’t say anything; this is all your fault,” she complained.
