Putting It All on the Line

Steve Soto kept a clock radio on the far side of his Valencia bedroom for months.

That way, at 5:45 a.m., when the sweet but sudden sounds of classical music erupted, the teenager had to clamber out of bed and propel his muscled 6-foot-1 frame across the floor to restore silence.

Those four steps and few jarring seconds were all the 17-year-old high school football player required to resist rolling over and sleeping away any more of his summer vacation.

For more than a year now, Soto has shaped his thoughts, dreams, body and diet with a laser focus. It’s enough to drive to distraction even an admiring mother, who has been given short lists of approved healthful foods to keep in stock and snacks to banish.

Soto even stopped seeing a girlfriend when her time demands conflicted with his sport agenda.

Soto’s goal is simple: to be a starter on the 2005 Valencia High School varsity football team.

High school football has long included bright lights, over-enthusiastic cheerleaders and faithful throngs. Now these evening episodes of athletic ambition can also offer big money as a reward, with some college athletic scholarships worth $150,000 or more.

Across the United States about a million youths are suiting up for a new season of high school football, a sport beloved for its beauty, brutality, speed and spectacle. Autumn Saturdays are devoted to college football, Sundays to the pros. But Friday nights largely remain the domain of high school football.

Only about one in three players will be starters, chosen by their coaches to garner the most playing time, teaching and bruises. Soto wants to start on the defensive line of the Valencia Vikings, the reigning Foothill League champions in Santa Clarita.

“I decided last year,” says the broad-shouldered Soto, who often downs two lunches on practice days. “I know it takes sacrifice, and I was ready for that.” But was he ready for some unexpected adversities?

A serious student, Soto is an introvert who favors video games and played soccer until he discovered a love of football’s physical contact. His room is as quiet as he often is: no banners, no blaring rock or sports posters. Everything is in its place, even during homework.

It could be a challenging season for Soto’s Vikings. They lost to graduation 15 of the 22 starters from last year’s close-knit team, which went 12-2. This creates problems for coaches but opportunities for newcomers.

This spring and all summer, 70 teenagers offered themselves up to grueling practices in hopes of making the team. But what these boys have in eagerness they lack in experience, poise and savvy.

These hopefuls are overseen by veteran coaches who believe they’re preparing their young charges for something beyond today’s opening game against Bishop Amat. These youngsters are asked -- commanded, really -- to learn teamwork, a value often lost in a society chock-full of me-first distractions.

Rookie head coach Larry Muir was a perennial starter at linebacker and guard in his day at Alemany High in the San Fernando Valley. After graduation and two years on a community college team, Muir went to UCLA as a walk-on player. Two years later, having practiced thousands of hours and dreamed even longer, he walked off, never having gotten into one game.

Today, at 37, Muir is convinced he learned more from not having played. “Life doesn’t always work out right,” he says. “You got to push through it and enjoy it anyway.”

As an assistant coach and history teacher last year, Muir spotted Soto, an earnest player who maintains a 3.5 grade-point average and asks more questions than many. The kid stayed after both class and off-season weightlifting for extra work. Soto came off the bench as a junior last year. Already thinking of the next season, Muir told Soto last winter he could become a starter, if he worked hard.

Let’s see what he does with that, Muir told himself.

In Muir’s experience, many players hear the first part of such off-season evaluations but not the second. With no immediate game motivation, the distractions of other sports, girls and a long summer can weaken resolve. So Muir sat back to watch Soto and all 70 of his hopefuls. Who would step up?

Sure enough, some slacked off, especially when they thought no one was watching. Muir liked Soto’s effort but noted inconsistencies. The kid didn’t always run hard, didn’t always get low enough to control opponents. By the end of July, when a three-week state-mandated layoff began and coaches like to feel their team is jelling, Muir and his assistants remained undecided about many defensive starters.

Even when classes started and the boys donned pads in mid-August, Muir was uncertain. Muir knew one thing: He respected this Soto kid so much that he would not hesitate to deny him a starting role if it would help the team and maybe teach him a larger lesson.

“It’s called growing up,” he says.

To make matters worse for Soto’s dream, there are only two available starting spots on the defensive line. Amid an endless summer of practices on a lush carpet of fake green grass radiating waves of desert heat, there are enough ups and downs to match a Marine Corps push-up drill. Once in a while there is praise. That’s more like it! More often, there is reproach. Come on, Soto! If you go any slower, you’ll be going backward!

Every year about this time, coaches and players confront decision time: Who is going to play and who isn’t? Who will make the tackle, the block, the pass or the catch that sucks the crowd’s breath away? And who will be on the sideline watching and wishing they had worked harder in June and July?

Soto has been haunted for months by a thought. He did not play in Valencia’s bitter playoff loss. But every day since, he’s thought that maybe if he had run extra laps, lifted extra weights, watched additional film, he might have gotten into the game and made a difference. And he vowed privately to be incapable of such a thought after this coming season.

That was among a number of private determinations the young man made in the last 18 months. Soto went to Curt White, the team’s strength and conditioning coach, seeking a healthful diet. Defensive linemen need to be large to get their way. At 240 pounds, Soto was large. But in Valencia’s style of play, they also need to be quick. Soto was not quick. He knew it. So did the coaches.

White has heard countless players earnestly seek nutritional help. He provides it but with the realistic expectation that convenience will often win the struggle for the stomachs of his players. For Soto, White wrote down a diet stressing chicken and vegetables, pasta and fruits, milk and water and banning four things: butter, mayonnaise, bologna and soda pop. Usually, soon after such encounters the coach notices players snacking from a Carl’s Jr. bag.

Unbeknown to White, Soto enthusiastically presented a grocery list to his mother, Yolanda Davis. On her copy of the diet plan, the four no’s were underlined. She wondered if her son could really forgo his beloved Sprites for long.

He has.

White eventually noticed Soto’s weight dipping close to 215. And, he asked himself, was Soto getting quicker?

When defensive line coach Joe Monteleone thinks about it, he encountered Soto’s No. 51 jersey a lot during last year’s games. Soto always seemed to hover nearby like a sidelines eavesdropper. Last winter the young man frequently asked for game videotapes and sought strategies for different situations. And was it the coach’s imagination, or did Soto stay after weightlifting for extra repetitions?

In January, when off-season weight training began, Soto could bench-press 215 pounds -- measly by his standards. By midsummer, after lying on his back and pushing the barbell up countless times, it was 260. The September goal: 300.

Summer practice is for players to learn their coaches’ priorities, plays, even the moves of individual arms and legs in the physical game of chess that football can be. Coaches note not only who’s getting the lessons but also who works at them, who encourages teammates and drives them. “Hard work,” Muir says, “is crucial to everything.”

As with his diet, Soto has a strategy. He told his mother he had less talent than competitors, so he would outwork them. Players were told to report at 6:45 a.m.; Soto parks his Honda Civic in the school lot at 6:20 and runs extra laps before warm-ups. “I think coaches notice,” he says.

June’s practices are ragged affairs. “I love this,” Monteleone says. “Every year you start from scratch with a bunch of raw kids. You teach ‘em and push ‘em and they become pals for life. Teamwork turns these boys into young men right before your eyes.”

But the coaches don’t sound like they’re loving it.

Come on, guys, I’ve seen faster moves at the taco stand!

Don’t let him get inside like that! Smash down with your arms or rip up!

Wake up, gentlemen, it’s 7 a.m. already!

I better start seeing some fire around here or we’re gonna do a lot of running.

Privately, the coaches like Soto’s progress. “He comes early every day,” Monteleone says. “He’s eager, stronger, more confident this year. He’s smart enough, but needs to bend his knees more, get lower and more aggressive.”

“He works hard,” adds Chris Casillas, another coach. “He shows leadership. Now all he needs is to do everything perfectly.”

But Soto doesn’t.

You went too far, Soto. What good are you over there?

No one’s gonna invite you, Soto. Go to the ball!

You’re a mess today, son.

But “son” is actually a good sign. The coaches are invested in him and they often slap his backside, even while deriding mistakes.

“My dad told me,” Soto says during a water break, “never get too high when it’s good and never get too low when it’s not. I try to remember that when they’re yelling.”

But then it happens. One day in June during sprints Soto feels a sharp twinge in the back of his left leg. If he ignores it, perhaps it’ll go away; an injury is unthinkable, certainly unmentionable. But it doesn’t go away. Next day every move hurts. He favors the leg during runs.

“OK, Soto,” Muir says, “I don’t see the effort. Guys, we’ll run an extra 200 for Soto.”

“Let Soto run an extra 200!” someone yells. The coach is shocked. “We’re all in this together!” he barks. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

This day Soto seeks help. Monteleone diagnoses a strained hamstring and prescribes regular icing and prolonged rest. Soto nods obediently but privately is devastated. He’s out of the loop of those impressing the coaches. He can listen and watch, lift some weights. But he’s apart from the team now and missing the practice repetitions that erase thinking from reactions, making them instinctive. Some days his invisible fretting upsets his stomach.

“It’s not the same, watching,” he says. “I can feel the ground I’m losing after all this work. It’s frustrating, very frustrating.”

Does he ever consider quitting? Soto pulls back at the question, appalled, then dismisses it in silence.

At home Soto depletes the ice cube supply daily and is crabby many evenings. Says his mother: “I tell him I’ve had a hard day too.” Soto quits his summer job at a nursery early because it requires constant walking.

Unbeknown to Soto, the coaches watch him anyway, to see how he handles adversity, if he displays the same discipline for recovering or if he grows sullen and stops encouraging healthy teammates.

“It’s a shame for the kid,” Monteleone says. “But that’s the breaks. He’s done everything we asked. He’s still in the mix. But he’s way behind.”

Two weeks later, Soto is cleared to return. He feels clumsy and awkward, and looks it. “It’s sore,” he says, “but I don’t care. All I can do is try and catch up. I hope there’s enough time.”

There isn’t much -- just weeks before the lone preseason scrimmage when starters are usually anointed.

Toward the end of August, Soto has a good day of practice -- full of energy and the right moves -- and feels encouraged. The coaches are pleased. Then, the next day, his competitors have a good day too, and the coaches are uncertain. Right up to the scrimmage the coaches remain undecided, opting to turn that practice contest into a final tryout.

“I feel good either way,” says Soto, who fell 25 pounds short of his bench-pressing goal of 300 pounds. “It’s been worth it all. If Coach thinks I’m the best to help the team most, that’s great. If he decides someone else can do a better job, I’m disappointed, sure, but whatever helps the team.”

The preparatory struggles of summer are forgotten. Now it’s just do. “Show us what you’ve got out there,” Muir urges the team in a pep talk.

Soto gets the call to start the scrimmage last Friday against St. Francis. If he plays well, he’ll likely keep the job. If not, he’ll watch.

He does, well, so-so. On some plays he excels, quickly filling a gap on the line and muscling his way toward the ball carrier. On others, Soto hesitates, which creates openings for onrushing opposition.

“Hey, Soto!” yells a frustrated Monteleone. “Will you stop thinking and just play?”

Most players in his position would take such criticism quietly, eager for the admonishments to be over as quickly as possible. As he has all spring and summer, Soto, in fact, prolongs the exchanges with questions about what he could -- or should -- have done.

Soto is in for about 18 plays. Monteleone’s verdict: “He didn’t do bad.” Soto gives himself a C-minus for the evening, which he raises slightly after watching film the next morning.

But by then Valencia coaches have film on tonight’s opponent. Some coaches think Soto is outmatched. Monteleone concedes the opponents’ size and skills. But in this coach’s playbook, character often trumps size. He remains impressed with Soto’s improvement and dedication. Soto’s courageous questions and early workouts have left indelible impressions.

Labor Day dawns hot. Between drills Monteleone has a message to deliver.

“Hey, c’m’ere,” he says. Sweat flowing off his face, Soto trots over unaware what’s coming. He looks up at the coach.

“You’re starting Friday night. You’ve earned it.”

A sudden smile from within that helmet threatens to melt the face mask.