Killer Kane Audio Memoir; Chapter 6: Going Through the Motions

Killer Kane, Chapter Six: Going Through the Motions

In Chapter Six of Killer Kane, a twelve-part audio memoir from Cowboys Not Eggheads, Sam Fischer returns to the field after the disappointment at Bennington—but something has changed.

He doesn’t quit. He still practices, still prepares, and still does what is asked of him. But at seventeen, convinced his opportunity has passed, Sam stops reaching for anything more. He begins simply going through the motions.

There are still chances. A late appearance against Auburn. A rough JV game against Gretna filled with holding penalties, a brief benching, and one simple instruction from Kane: “Keep your hands inside, Sam.” Slowly, almost unnoticed, Sam begins playing better.

But the season is running out. And with Elkhorn approaching, the question is no longer whether Sam is capable of playing. It’s whether there will be enough time left for anyone—including Kane—to find out.

Transcript

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Welcome to Cowboys Not Eggheads. This is Killer Kane, a special twelve part audio memoir about my nineteen eighty-five senior football season at Mount Michael and the coach whose influence stayed with me for the next forty years. Thanks for listening. Chapter six Going Through the Motions. After Bennington, the season continued. There was no confrontation with Cain. I didn't ask him why he failed to find the place he had mentioned. He did not pull me aside and explain what had happened. We returned to practice. I attended. I followed instructions. I completed my assignments and remained reliable for my teammates. I stayed prepared enough to play if Kane called my name. But I stopped seeking extra work. Before Bennington, every practice represented another chance to change Cain's evaluation. I wanted the first repetition. If I failed, I wanted to do it again. I tried to make myself visible. After Bennington, I did what was required. No more. That is what I mean when I say I went through the motions. I didn't become disruptive or openly lazy. I didn't refuse to hit anyone or intentionally perform poorly. My teammates could still depend on me to run the second this the scout team assignment and help prepare the starters. The difference was in the margin. I was no longer trying to force Kane to notice me. Two games from that period tell the story better than any amount of reflection. The first was Auburn. We were ahead by 28 to nothing. The game was no longer in doubt. Cain began sending reserves onto the field and I finally received an opportunity. Auburn ran a delayed draw play. I overrand it and I botched it. The play went right by me. There's no need to soften that description. I'd entered the game wanting to show that I belonged, and when the plane came toward me, I failed to handle my assignment. The moment matters because it complicates the version of the story in which Kane simply refused to give me any chance. He did put me into a game, and I made a mistake. Perhaps it confirms something he already believed about me. Perhaps it gave me a legitimate reason to remain cautious. A coach who relies heavily on his trusted players is not likely to become more adventurous after a reserve misses an assignment. I can't blame Kane for the mistake. It belonged to me. But Auburn also showed that one mistake did not mean I had been formally cast out. Kane had used me. At 17, I didn't process the moment that carefully. I'd already decided I was outside Kane's plans. The botched draw, play, and sixty-five yard touchdown fit the judgment I had made about myself. See, you finally got in and you screwed it up. It was easier to treat the mistake as a confirmation than as something a developing player might correct with more experience. That question became even more complicated during a junior varsity game against Gretna. Playing junior varsity as a senior was humiliating before the game even began. Being assigned to that game confirmed that I was no longer part of or was no not part of Kane's varsity rotation. At the same time, I was excited to play. Actual game repetitions were rare for me. Whenever the label attached to the game, I wanted a chance to line up at guard and perform against another team. I played right guard. Some of our power plays were working well. I remember twenty eight power and thirty seven power. I was moving and doing some effective blocking. I was also using my hands too much. Practice repetitions are not the same as game repetitions. In practice, the scout team often existed to provide the starters with a particular look. The speed, resistance, and consequences were different. Against Gretna, I became too handsy. I was called for holding. Then I was called for holding again. There may have been a third penalty. I remember two or three in the first half. Coach Rashon removed me from the game and chewed me out. As I remembered, he said, You've got more yards and holding penalties than we have yards rushing. I accepted it. There was no argument to make. The penalties were mine, and Roshon's criticism was accurate. Then a freshman, Jason Palladino, replaced me. I remember the humiliation clearly. I was a senior. A freshman had taken my place in a junior varsity game. There were not many directions lower than that. I sat on the sideline knowing that I'd received the game experience I claimed to need and damaged the team with penalties. The easy version would be to blame Kane's system entirely. That would not be honest. Kane did not grab the defenders and force me to hold them. I committed the penalties. The harder and more useful question is why I was making those mistakes so late in my high school career. Part of the answer was inexperience. I had practiced football for years, but I received very few meaningful game repetitions. I understood the assignments, I knew where to pull and whom to block. What I lacked was the experience of performing those techniques at game speed against an opponent who was genuinely trying to defeat me. The experience has to come from somewhere. A player needs repetitions to improve. But in Kane's system, a reserve who made mistakes during his rare opportunity provided another reason not to give him more opportunities. The cycle was difficult to escape. A lack of game experience contributed mistakes. The mistakes justified withholding more game experience. Kane was on the sideline at Gretna. He wasn't detached from the game or ignoring the JV players. He was watching. At some point he offered technical correction. I remember him telling me something along the lines of keep your hands inside, Sam. I can't swear to the exact wording. I remember the instruction, and I remember that he called me Sam, not Fisher. Sam. That may sound significant to anyone who didn't play for him. It wasn't insignificant to me. Kane usually addressed players by their last name. Hearing him call me Sam told me that he knew exactly who I was, that he'd been watching my play and he was trying to correct me. He saw the effective blocks, he saw the penalties, he saw the flaw in my technique, and he coached me. I regained returned to the game in the fourth quarter. My mindset was straightforward. I'd done it wrong before. Now I was going to do it better. I kept my hands inside and believed I played better during that final stretch. The improvement didn't create a varsity role. I left Gretna with no expectation that Kane would suddenly move me into the regular rotation. But the experience showed what development could look like. I played, I made mistakes, I received correction, I returned, I improved. That's how players become better. Kane developed the athletes he selected exceptionally well. His teams were too prepared and too successful to argue otherwise. My criticism is narrower. Auburn and Gretna offered opposite evidence about my senior season. At Auburn, I'd received an opportunity and botched the draw play. That belonged to me. At Gretna, I committed the holding penalties and deserved to be removed. That belonged to me also. But Gretna also showed that when Kane gave me a technical correction and I received another opportunity, I adjusted and played better. That belonged to the development I had rarely been given. Those games prevent me from telling a simple story. I cannot claim Cain never gave me a chance, he did. I cannot claim I handled every chance well, I did not. I also cannot accept that those mistakes proved that I had nothing to offer. The Gretna game showed that I could be corrected. The Elkhorn game would later show that I could enter a varsity game and make a play. The question was never whether I deserved to replace one of Kane's established starters. The question was whether a player like me could have been developed into something useful. I believe the answer was yes. After Gretna, the season turned to its normal pattern. I practiced, I dressed, I stayed prepared. I didn't begin aggressively seeking extra work again, and I did not convince myself that Cain was about to create a role for me. But I hadn't become incapable. I remained available. As the final game against Elkorn approached, I expected my high school football career to end quietly. Cain had his players. I was not one of them. Then, near the end of the final game of my life, he called my name. Thanks for listening. Follow Cowboys Not Eggheads on Instagram and visit cowboysnot eggheads.com to join the conversation. If you played for Coach Kane, I'm sure you have your own stories, and you may think I've gotten some of this wrong. Weigh in. I'm open and I'm all ears.