Always wear a condom, even with your girlfriend. Go easy when hazing the freshmen, you never know who’ll be covering your blindside for the home opener. Never talk back to the coach. Take the cocky shit from the black guys that make you look good when they streak down the field. Never be boastful to reporters. Floss. Always be polite to recruiters; treat each like they’re the first. Never smash the mailbox of any of the businessmen who pay for the Friday night lights—and never, ever fuck one of their daughters, like Charles Ray did; he ended up with a busted kneecap and lost his scholarship to College Station. Try to stay in state. Don’t go double A. Feed Ma’ each morning. Wash her sheets if necessary. Make sure Mrs. Vasquez gets her dinner while you’re at practice. Call Tilson at the end of the month and remind him to send the money he likes to forget about. Stretch. Hit the weight room before lunch, but don’t lose any flexibility in your throwing arm. Slide for first downs. Only dive if the game’s on the line. Don’t get into fights—drunken has-beens, jealous wannabes and jilted boyfriends will always line up to take shots at you. If you get in a fight, take the fucker out quick, but don’t break a knuckle. Avoid knives, unlike your tight end whose spleen was skewered by a migrant worker. Don’t pack; a gun for any thing else but hunting can land you in a cement box. Cats and jackrabbits are fair game for off-road “Death Race,” but dogs and armadillos are off limits, no matter how drunk you get. Never fumble a snap from center...

(The complete version of this story has been anthologized in the collection called Year of the Thief. Please visit www.thievesjargon.com/press for more information.)
--Ed.