"Ryan!”

            Nat hung from the bar, his legs curled up to keep from hitting the floor as he did chin-ups.  Dropping his feet he stood and turned to the coach.

            "My office,” the coach said.

            He knew what was coming.

            "Sit down, Ryan,” the coach gestured to one of the chairs before his desk.

            Nat settled gingerly into the chair.

            "Why haven’t you signed up for football,” the coach said as he leaned forward, elbows on the edge of his desk.  "You got the size and speed.  You’d make a hell of a nose tackle.”

            "I’m a surfer, Coach,” Nat replied.  "I don’t do land sports.”

            "How far you gonna get surfing,” the coach said.  "You gonna get a scholarship from that?”

            Nat half smiled.

            "You don’t read surfing magazines, do you Coach?”

            The man eyed him.  "What about them?”

            "I gather you haven’t heard of the East Coast Surfing Championship this past August.”

            "No, why?”

            "I took first place.”

            "How much can a surfing contest pay?” The coach’s voice was full of scorn.

            "Just $25000 for this one,” Nat told him.  "For a four day event.  Up at Huntington this year the prizes total $450000.”  Nat was referring to Huntington Beach less than 100 miles up the coast from San Diego.  "So you see, Coach, I really don’t have time for football or any other high school sport.”  Nat rose to his feet.  "Sorry.”

            The man sat back in his chair and watched the kid go.  Twenty-five k in four days.  That was more than he made in five months.  All thoughts of a regional football championship disappeared.  There was a knock at the door and the Monroe kid stepped in.

            "What do you want, Monroe?” the coach snapped.

            "I wanna sign up for football,” Slater replied.

            "Yeah?  What position?”

            "Quarterback.”

            The coach jerked a thumb at the clipboard hanging from a hook behind his desk.

            "Sign up and take a parental consent form, have it tomorrow, practice immediately after school.”

            Damn rich kid thinking he could be a star, the coach thought as Monroe left the office.  Then he remembered another kid that had come in just like Monroe.  Mark Law.  Who knew, maybe the kid would be half the QB Law had been.  And maybe pigs could fly.