Scene 1: A Coach's Heart

Long before Coach Anthony Floyd Sr. married his wife Crystal, before his sons Anthony Jr. and Christopher were born, before he started his job as athletic director of Mount Zion Baptist Church Christian School, there was room in the coach's heart for two things: God and football.

The love of both was born early. The grandmother who raised him in Turner's Station, in Baltimore County, introduced him to the Catholic Church. He was an altar boy who played peewee ball at age 9. Though he was too small as a 150-pound freshman to make the football squad at Morgan State University, the desire to play, plus the lessons the game taught him -- discipline, teamwork, perseverance -- stayed with him.

It was during a communion rehearsal at Mount Zion one day, years later, when Anthony was struck by an unusual idea. From one angle, he saw sixth- and seventh-grade boys at the front of the sanctuary. From another, he saw an imposing offensive line.

Because Mount Zion is a small school, 350 students from kindergarten to 12th grade, he knew he didn't have enough players to field a team. As the teacher who collects tuition, he also knew there was no money for equipment, either.

And yet in his heart, he felt that many of these boys faced the same challenges he'd faced growing up. If God and football could save him from life's dark choices, could they not do the same for the boys?

There is a Bible verse in the Book of Matthew that every former altar boy should know. It says, "If you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you will say to the mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move."

With faith, the verse says, anything is possible.

Scene 2: All Saints

Every good Christian knows the definition of a saint. Coaching high school football introduces a new meaning.

In the beginning of the season, Coach Anthony Floyd warned his players the workload ahead would be heavy. "We are not out here so you can put on the uniform and look nice and cute," he said. "You got to play the game. You got to put the effort in. You have a responsibility to carry out."

In the beginning, there were 23.

Every Wednesday afternoon, when the team met in an upstairs classroom at the school to study the Bible and go over plays on the blackboard, he reminded them. "We need every single player. That's the short and sweet."

Then the quarterback switched schools. Then the most natural athlete on the team, the fastest kid Coach Anthony had ever seen, dropped out after he finished driver's education classes and didn't return until the last game.

Another kid lost interest. Yet another let his grades drop. A 280-pound lineman affectionately nicknamed "The Tank" got sick, missed a few practices and never returned.

"Distraction," Coach Anthony said, "is great."

But some stayed, and Coach Anthony put his faith in them.

The 110-pound freshman quarterback who wears glasses and gets creamed every game. The junior who is first at practice, last to leave. The Karate brown belt with extra-strong calves. The kid they call "Sunshine," who pierced his own ears. The Maryland State Boychoir singer who ran laps with an asthma inhaler. The intellectual who set up a weightlifting room in a vacant classroom during the summer. The interior lineman who weighs 275 and goes by the nickname "Beef." The two seniors.

In the end, there were 16. Each was a saint for sticking it out.

Scene 3: The Language of Football

I'm a football coach. I want players," Coach Anthony told his pastor, Mark A. Riddix Jr. "I don't care what color they are."

This was before the season started, when he was pitching an idea raised by another Christian school's athletic director. The first football teams he mounted, junior varsity squads in the mid-1990s, barely survived their seasons with enough players. His first varsity team -- last year -- played the final game with 12. They lost 79-6.

The proposal on the table now was a simple solution: Draw players from two other small schools without football, Greater Grace Christian Academy and Open Bible Christian School.

Because Mount Zion is an African-American school and the other two are predominantly white, Coach Anthony and his pastor wanted to walk slowly and make sure they didn't step on any toes.

As it turned out, the boys blended naturally. On the field, blue and white, their team colors, were the only shades that mattered.

The pastor remarked later that football became a bridge that spanned the gap, and the team gave both schools something to be proud of. When Coach Anthony thought about it later, he said there was a lesson for adults in how a single goal and a shared faith had brought the boys together.

The few times race was even mentioned were comical. Once, a player from Greater Grace said he'd be the first white at a Mount Zion dance. Another time, Coach Anthony heard someone in the van singing a rap song en route to an away game. When he turned around to see who it was, he saw a player from Open Bible.

Coach Anthony had warned the Mount Zion players early about using street language, about words that could be misunderstood, but the boys all knew exactly what to say to each other.

Let's go! Let's win!

Scene 4: No Rest for the Weary

If you play on a football team made up mostly of boys who have never played, you are going to lose a few games.

OK, you are going to lose a lot of games. But knowing does not make the losses any easier.

For starters, you cannot pad your schedule. You do not belong to a conference, so you play whoever will play.

If a team in Brunswick, Va., wants to play, you drive to Brunswick, although it is 15 minutes from the North Carolina state line. You play the Model School for deaf students in Washington. You play an alternative school for troubled youth in rural Carroll County.

Your team will not win all season.

Losing so much, you learn to take nothing for granted, not even your pants. You didn't have any for the first game until they arrived at the last minute and you had to strip to your boxers under a tree outside the stadium and change there.

As the season wears on, you get tired of losing, tired of the assistant coaches reminding you of the plays you forgot, the passes you dropped, the running backs you let slip by. They tell you you're soft: Lift weights. You're skinny: Bulk up. Coach Anthony shames you blockers for not protecting the quarterback, saying, "My quarterback should not be the dirtiest man on the team."

You are four games into a seven-game season before you even score, and even though you will lose this game, here in Brunswick, in the second half, it feels good to score.

It's hard not to think about what the coach said after the first loss: "Not only are we going to build, not only are we going to improve, we are going to win ball games."

You hope he's still right.

Scene 5: Blessed Are the Poor

To root for Mount Zion is to remember what Jesus told his 12 disciples in the Book of Luke, Chapter 6, Verse 20: "Blessed are you poor, for yours is the Kingdom of Heaven."

The Mount Zion home field is a Baltimore City recreation lot the team shares with the Hamilton Optimists and other leagues. One corner clearly doubles as a baseball diamond. The railroad car parked on the end is for storage. There's so much standing water during one game that the opposing team labels the area south of the 30-yard line "the swamp."

Mount Zion fans bring chairs because there are no stands, nowhere for them to sit. There are no restrooms, no concessions and no scoreboard, so the fans keep track of touchdowns.

They park on the leafy side streets that spread through the rowhouse neighborhoods around the intersection of Perring Parkway and Belvedere Avenue. A three-car pile-up during one kick-off becomes a major distraction.

Because there are no locker rooms, the fans watch the players huddle in grass that needs to be mowed, on a hillside that slopes toward the sidewalk, where the coaches lean against trees.

To root for Mount Zion is to cheer without cheerleaders, without halftime entertainment, a marching band, a fight song, even a mascot.

Jesus told his disciples in the 6th Chapter of Luke, in the 21st Verse: "Blessed are you that hunger now, for you shall be fed."

Mount Zion paid $1,500 to buy the goalposts. Seven years ago, they had no football. So what if they don't have much now? Most things are gravy when you've never had meat.

Scene 6: Parting Shots

If they made a movie of the Mount Zion season, it would not end at the conclusion of the season when they've lost all seven games. It would end on the field at homecoming, when they gather around Coach Anthony to hear how he will bring them out of yet another loss. It has always been important to him that they pray together and talk it out afterward, that no man goes home discouraged. Winning, he told them early in the season, is not everything.

Their season was never just about football. It was always more than a game -- more about what they could take from the field, what they could carry with them into their lives.

By homecoming, they had lost four games in a row. It rained during the powder puff girls' game the night before. It rained so much the field flooded and the pep rally had to be moved inside. The morning parade, as well as the dance for high-schoolers and the roller skating party for the young kids, were all postponed at the last minute when someone realized it was also Morgan State's homecoming and parents would have schedule conflicts.

In the huddle, with traffic behind them and trash on the field, Coach Anthony says, "You learn a lot about yourself when you're down. But you are going to get better. You are going to feel better."

With two games left, there is hope, and in hope, faith.

If this were a movie, you'd see the faces of the boys and you'd see that none of them "has quit in his heart, or quit in his eyes," as Coach Anthony describes it. The camera would linger on each of their sweaty faces for just a second, round the circle, and then it would slowly pan off the huddle, off the field, into a cloudless autumn sky. You'd see fans walking to their cars, shuffling through red and yellow leaves. You'd see Mount Zion players lugging their equipment back up Belvedere Avenue. You'd hear Coach Anthony's voice just as the credits begin to roll.

You guys faced adversity this year, and you didn't give up.

You'd remember how he looked squeezed into a desk in the classroom during one Wednesday Bible session. Then you'd hear him clap his hands together and say something like, All right, men. Let's talk about next year.

To view more photos of the Mount Zion team, go online to www.sunspot.net / team

Stories by Larry Bingham / Photography by Monica Lopossay Riesser : sun staff