Mom knew me, and she never gave me bad advice, but this was Peggy.
“I asked her out for Friday night. Let’s see how that goes. I promise I’ll take it slow.”
“He’s a goner,” Dad said as he laughed.
Greg got an evil grin.
“I think this is brilliant. When Hannah Minacci accepts your prom date invitation, I can step in and help you out.”
Angie shook her head.
“Keep dreaming, buddy.”
We could all tell he was. Even Kyle giggled at his silly daddy.
I GOT TO SCHOOL EARLY because I was restless. I was shocked to see Bo Harrington in Coach Engels’ office.
“Wow, I’m happy to see you.”
“I wasn’t sure if you would be. We have a game tonight, so I need to get running,” Bo said. He handed me a duffle bag. “I heard what you’re up against today. I brought you some equipment that’ll help.”
Bo left and Coach Engels and I opened the duffle to see what was in it. It was a set of football pads. Shoulder pads that covered my shoulders, extended down further, and protected my upper chest and back. There was a pair of black shorts labeled ‘Shock Doctor.’ They were made for lacrosse players. There was also a shirt. Both items were made with a product called ‘Shock Gel.’ It was designed to absorb and disperse impact.
Over that, there was a flak jacket to protect my ribs and lower back. Finally, there was a helmet. The note from Bo gave me instructions on how to put everything on and that it would afford better protection. I took the helmet to the equipment manager to put a facemask on it and our school’s decals on the sides. He inspected everything and had me try on the equipment to make sure everything fit correctly. He had to get me a new pair of football pants because the lacrosse shorts made my waist bigger.
I was going to have to thank Bo if this helped.
I STILL HAD AN HOUR before the team arrived, so I went out to the tents. They had bratwursts, hot dogs, and hamburgers on the grill, so I got a brat and a coke. Some of the parents had me cornered when my least favorite reporter, Jeff Delahey, made a beeline towards me.
“Hey, I missed you Wednesday night,” I smiled and greeted him.
“Unfortunately, your game wasn’t the only one going on. I hear I missed a great game and even more fun after it.”
“It was interesting,” was all I said, because there was no need to stir things up.
“That kid from Eastside is good for a quote,” he tried another approach. “I hear that Coaches Lambert and Engels will be leaving after the season. Is it true they have offers?”
“You’re evil today. Why don’t I give you five minutes of how good Trinity is instead?”
“David, I would rather write my stories in longhand. Let’s be friends. I promise that I won’t quote you unless I tell you we’re on the record. Right now, I want a brat. Did you set up the tent again?”
“Not this week. We turned it all over to our new booster club.”
He perked up.
“Now, that’s news. Can we go on the record for one minute?”
“I thought you were kidding. You really will keep it off the record if we’re just chatting?”
“Yes. And this might surprise you: I like you. I’ve been in this business twenty-five years, and you’re a breath of fresh air. I love that you were smart enough to figure out what you do best and not try to handle everything yourself. You’re also a nice guy; so yes, I’d like to be your friend away from my job. But when I’m doing it, I’ll be a jerk and tell it as I see it.”
“Sure, we’re now on the record.”
He pulled out his cell phone and turned on his recorder app, and several other press types came over with their phones and tape recorders. I looked around and shrugged.
“Now look what you did.”
“Sorry,” he said softly and gave me a sheepish smile. “David, I hear you’re out of the pregame event business. Who’s taking over?”
“That would be Mrs. Sullivan of Sullivan Chevrolet. She helped put together our new Bulldog Booster Club. We started the courtesy tent to give reporters and recruiters a place to relax before the game. It quickly turned into an event with bands and food. Kind of like a tailgate party that you’d see at a college game. As you can see, the booster club got corporate sponsorship for more tents, giving it a carnival-like atmosphere.”
“I hear that there are upwards of 50 colleges that will be here to recruit at this game. Can you confirm that?” one of the other reporters asked.
I looked at my new friend and he started to laugh.
“Do you guys really want to hear David drone on about the fine prospects that Trinity has? We can all get his take after the game—after he beats them, that is.”
He was the dean of the press corps, so they all went along with what he said. They all got in line for free food.
I almost got out before I ‘bumped’ into a man with a Notre Dame jacket on. We all knew the rules, so I decided to give him a hard time.
“I’ve been thinking about going to Notre Dame.”
My new press buddy about choked on his brat as the Notre Dame man looked nervous.
“I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” I asked.
I thought he might run for it.
“If you get the two monsters from Trinity to take it easy on me, I’ll commit after the game,” I offered.
He burst out laughing and walked away shaking his head. I made my way to the locker room. I guess I wasn’t going there.
THE GAME TURNED OUT to be every bit as brutal as I expected. By the end of the first quarter, Trinity had four roughing-the-passer penalties. On the last one, their linebacker actually picked me up and slammed me to the turf as if it were TV wrestling. Let me tell you, that shit is real and it hurts. I lay on the field for over a minute as I tried to persuade my lungs to take in air again.
If it wasn’t for my new equipment, I might have been seriously hurt. Even though nothing was broken, it felt like I’d been in multiple car wrecks. At the start of the second quarter, I actually screamed at the trainers that I was all right and would go back in. Coach Lambert allowed me back onto the field for one more series but threatened that if I got hit again, I would come out.
I was pissed, and I destroyed Trinity. We went from a 0–0 game at the end of the first quarter to 28–0 at halftime. At the start of the second half, I saw I’d be sacked again and knew that coach would pull me, so I went right at the Notre Dame recruit. I hit him harder than I’d ever hit Kevin in practice. The kid was built like a brick shithouse. He was six-three and 280 pounds of all muscle. He also wrestled and came in third in State last year. When the dust settled, I popped back up and he was out cold. The referee gave me a fifteen-yard penalty for helmet-to-helmet contact.
Coach Lambert was true to his word and sat me on the bench. To make it stick, when I wasn’t looking, the equipment manager hid my helmet so I couldn’t sneak back in. We switched to a ball-control game and fed them a steady dose of Luke’s hard-nosed running. He proved his All-State credentials by rushing for 156 yards. The game ended 28–14, and we were one step closer to a state championship.
IN THE FOURTH QUARTER, it was confirmed that the Trinity lineman had a concussion. Our training staff had me go to the locker room to be examined. When the trainers got me stripped down and saw the bruises, they were concerned enough to get Doc Bay to come take a look at me. He was the local doctor that I’d been seeing since I was born, and who happened to be at the game. He was worried about a possible concussion, so they sent me to the emergency room. I was sitting in an exam room when my mom stormed in. I smiled at her and she relaxed.
“It’s all just precautionary. They want to do a few more tests, and then I’m done.”