“She’s thanking you for not doing me serious bodily harm,” Yuri said. “I’m sorry I was a jerk.”
He held out his hand and I shook it. Mr. Palm came out as we were doing that, and he told me to go to class.
THE AFTERNOON WAS SHOT. Everyone was excited that we were playing St. Joe tonight. They were new to our conference since the HSAA reclassified them from 6A to 5A over the summer. They were normally a very good team, but their season hadn’t gone well. Something had happened to their chemistry, and they’d lost the last three games. If they played like they could, they would give us a heck of a game.
Last period we had a pep rally for all the seniors ... all three of them since tonight was their last home game. Bill Callaway announced that he was going to USC. Trevor Millsap had gotten an offer at Trinity Valley Community College; they were ranked number 3 in the latest NJCAA poll. Lou Davis planned to walk on at State. Lou had gotten a nonathletic scholarship from our local state representative for his first year of college.
After school, the football team followed me over to the booster tent. Somehow, word had gotten out that I was getting free food before the games. Mr. Sullivan put us to work setting up the tent, and Tim and I were in charge of the grill. They had boxes of just-thawed hot dogs and hamburgers. We got the grill going, and put on a mix of meat.
“That’s what I like to see: the Team Captains are cooking for us,” Bill said.
“Actually, you, Trevor and Lou are Captains tonight,” Tim informed him.
I hadn’t heard that, but I liked the idea of the seniors being honored that way. Mrs. Sullivan and several of the boosters showed up carrying everything from potato salad to baked beans. The first batch of hot dogs and burgers were grabbed, and Tim and I put on more.
The St. Joe bus pulled up and stopped. Mrs. Sullivan went out and talked to the driver. It sounded like he was trying to figure out where to park. I was surprised when the team started to unload and came into the tent to eat with us. Mr. Sullivan and one of the dads kicked us off the grill.
“Guys, make room for our guests,” Tim ordered our team.
Their coaches came in to find us all mixed together and getting to know each other. This was nice. They seemed like good boys who, in about ninety minutes, would be trying to kick our butts. The press and recruiters started to show up. They had learned if they came early, they were fed, and might ‘bump’ into me.
Jeff, my favorite reporter, tracked me down.
“You ready for your pregame interview?” he asked.
“Sure, why not,” I said, getting up.
Jeff motioned for the other reporters. I was impressed that he had them so well trained.
“David ...” one of the new reporters started.
“Hang on. Don’t you know who your betters are?” I teased him. “Go ahead, Jeff.”
“Thank you, David,” he said, smirking at me. “So, what do you think of St. Joe’s sudden slide? They’ve dropped their last three games. Do you expect an easy win?”
I heard the conversation stop as everyone turned to listen in. I gave Jeff a dirty look as he gave me his best angelic face. He knew they were all listening.
“I think they’re going to play us very tough. This is a conference game. If we win this one, we get the conference’s automatic bid. This is their playoff game. I expect you’ll see the team that was playing well earlier when they took down both Washington and Eastside in back-to-back weeks. If they beat us, they can claim to have beaten the top three teams in the conference.
“How about you guys talk to our seniors? It’s their night, after all, and they have news about where they’ll be going to college,” I said, and motioned them over.
I made good my escape and beckoned the rest of the team over. We walked to the locker room as a team to get ready for the game. I was surprised when the St. Joe players followed me. I directed them to the visitors’ locker room.
FROM THE OPENING KICKOFF, the St. Joe game was brutal. They really were a completely different team than they’d been when they lost the last three games. But we were a completely different team also. We’d learned to believe in ourselves, and we fought every bit as hard as St. Joe did. Going into the fourth quarter, I was limping, and my left shoulder was killing me.
The score was 21–21 and we had held St. Joe to a three-and-out to end the third quarter. We had the ball on our 36 yard line. Both Ed and Jeff were out of the game with injuries. Neither injury looked serious, but they were bad enough for the trainers to sit them down.
As the refs changed ends and got ready for the fourth quarter, Coach Hope pulled everyone to the sideline.
“This is what you worked all year for! You’re in better condition than any other team in the state. We live for the fourth quarter! Now let’s go show them what Lincoln High is all about! Go win this!” Coach Hope shouted; then pulled me aside. “Run them the hell off our field. You make the calls when the clock’s running. I want you to hurry every chance you get. If you see the red card, huddle up and Coach Diamond will signal a play. For this series, I want you to run the team.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and ran out to the huddle.
We’d practiced this the last few weeks. Coach had been saving this strategy until we needed it, so it wasn’t as if I was going into this blind. Coach Hope and Coach Diamond had been drilling me on down, distance and situation. They had plays preselected. What they wanted was for me to make the read at the line, and call a play and run it. We’d then hustle to the line and do it again.
As I ran out on the field, I could feel the tension in the crowd. When I got into the huddle, I could see my teammates were anxious also. I looked around at everyone, and then at Wolf.
“Tell us a St. Joe joke.”
They all looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. Wolf seemed to get it and told one of his bad jokes.
“A St. Joe football player went to the doctor and the nurse wanted to know if he wanted his temperature taken with an oral or a rectal thermometer. Confused, he asked her what the difference was. She told him it was the taste.”
Jim snorted and got the rest of us laughing.
“Okay, this is what I live for. On me. Scramble, on two.”
We ran these plays out of the shotgun. If I wanted a different formation, I called it at the line. The base play was a quick pass to Bill, because any time he touched the ball, he had the potential to score.
“Down, Set ... Hut, HUT!”
I turned to the left to see that St. Joe had blitzed the backside linebacker and the cornerback. That left Bill one-on-one with the safety. If I could get the ball anywhere near Bill, he’d have a huge advantage. Bert missed the linebacker, so I wasn’t going to be able to hold the ball long enough for Bill to make his move and had to throw the ball away.
I pointed to Bill to let him know that I missed him. A few weeks ago, I probably wouldn’t have made that play; I would have tried to make something out of nothing. But I wanted to win. I knew that I didn’t have to hit a home run on every play. I could foul one off and keep our drive alive. Yes, I was mixing my baseball and football metaphors.
We all hustled to the line. St. Joe ran back to get into position. They had moved to nickel coverage to prevent the pass. Previously, when we ran the hurry-up, we’d gone pass-happy.
“Shift One! Shift One! Power! Power!”
I had just told my team we were moving to the ‘I’ formation, and running our trap to the power side of the ball.
I lined up under center and checked to see everyone was set. From here on out, everything was on first sound.
“Down!”
I heard pads collide and grunts as the linemen took on St. Joe’s front four. I turned and slapped the ball into Jake’s stomach. I completed my fake, and as I turned Jake slipped past the linebacker for a nice gain. We were now at midfield. I glanced over to the sideline as they moved the chains. Coach Diamond showed the red card and indicated they wanted the second option to that play. I smiled because we were on the same page.