by Cassie Cole
“But still…”
“Stop it,” he said forcefully. “You’re not as cute when you’re martyring yourself.”
He cupped my chin and tilted my face up to his, and kissed me until I forgot all about it.
“And the police?” he asked.
“Coach Mueller and I took the evidence over to the station right after the meeting with the NCAA reps,” I said. “The janitor who gave them the keys is cooperating. Hell, he’s spilling the beans more than we expected. Apparently he and Nicky Tarkenton have the same sports bookie.”
“Wait,” Danny said slowly. “Nicky has been gambling on college games? Holy shit!”
“He’s going to be in a lot of trouble.”
Danny playfully smacked my thigh. “That’s an understatement. He’s fucked. Oh my God, I can’t wait to tell Lance and Feña. When are they arresting him?”
“The officer we spoke to said it would take an hour or two to get all the information lined up. Which means if our timing ends up being right…”
Danny grinned. “He’ll be arrested at the football game.”
“In front of both schools.”
“Alright, this almost makes up for me not playing the game itself.”
I patted his knee, which was surrounded by the brace. “I know it’s killing you not to be out there. But it’s the smart thing to do.”
“I know.”
“Like Coach Mueller said, you’re pretty much a walking lottery ticket. As long as you don’t suffer a major injury between now and the NFL draft in the spring, you’re set for the rest of your life.”
“I know.”
I smiled up at him. “Then why do you still look like such a grumpy gus?”
“Because,” he said sadly, “knowing it’s the right move doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
I put my arm around him comfortingly.
My phone buzzed. I smiled when I saw what it was.
“Feña passed his test. The academic suspension was lifted!”
Danny grabbed my head with both his hands and planted a wet kiss on my lips. “I can’t wait to see their faces when Lance and Feña suit up for the game.”
48
Roberta
It was a cool and crisp November evening as the sun set behind the Appleton football stadium bleachers. The background din of the crowd was already at a higher volume than I’d ever heard before, thousands of voices chatting excitedly around the bowl, and the game hadn’t even started yet. Every seat was filled.
But it wasn’t just Appleton fans. Being so close to our rival meant lots of travelers from San Antonio wearing black and silver jerseys. I frowned at the stadium around me, wondering how loud the opposing fans would be.
As we watched the teams warm up on the field, Aly wordlessly passed me her flask. I gave her a grateful look and took a long pull—this time it was scotch. She could tell how nervous I was for the game. An entire season of being the physical trainer for Danny, Lance, and Feña came down to this.
Both teams were tied for the conference lead, 9-2. Whoever won this won the regular season championship.
I took another pull from the flask before Aly retrieved it.
Taller than most of the other players on Appleton, Lance was very recognizable out on the field. Other students in our section began commenting on his presence during the pre-game warm-ups.
“Maybe he’s just helping the other players get loose.”
“Or maybe he was innocent all along!”
“No way. Once you fail a test, that’s it. He’s not going to be starting.”
It didn’t take long for the scotch to kick in. “I heard Lance was framed,” I loudly announced to everyone within earshot. “He’s starting, and he’s going to score three touchdowns.”
A few people shrugged skeptically. One person said, “It doesn’t matter since we’re using Mark Reynold, our backup quarterback. Nicky Tarkenton is going to tear our defense to pieces.”
We’ll see about that, I thought.
The players jogged back into the locker rooms, and then were announced individually. San Antonio jogged out first in their silver and black jerseys, and the roar that went up in the crowd was very loud. Discouragingly so, as if this were a road game instead of home. The crowd cheer for the Appleton team in their home white-and-orange jerseys was maybe a notch louder, but the two were so close in volume that I couldn’t help but feel like a visitor in my own stadium.
I scanned the sidelines while the announcer went through the pre-game routine. There, coming out of the tunnel from the side with the other personnel were three police officers in full uniform. They marched along the sidelines toward the two teams.
This is it, I thought excitedly. Goodbye, Nicky.
The police paused to chat with Coach Mueller. But the chat went on longer than it should have. Soon it was obvious from my vantage that Coach was angry, and was practically shouting at the police. My stomach sank.
Something was wrong. They weren’t going to arrest Nicky.
I was out of my seat and hopping down the bleachers before I knew what was happening. When I got to the stairs leading to the field, an usher moved to block my path.
“Personnel only, ma’am. No students.”
“Coach!” I shouted around the usher. “Coach! What’s happening!” The crowd noise was churning too loudly for him to hear—he was talking to someone else now.
But Danny saw me from the sideline. He came shuffling over on his testy knee and waved to the usher. “She’s my trainer. Let her down.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Armstrong.”
I ran down the stairs. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” Danny said. He was formally dressed for the game in tight football pants and his #8 Appleton jersey—he was still the captain of the team, and had to shake hands with the opposing team before the game for the coin-flip. “Coach seems angry.”
I ran to Coach, but before I could get a question out, he saw me and snarled. “These walking mannequins won’t touch Nicky.”
“What! Why not!”
One of the cops turned toward me. I recognized him as the same officer I’d talked to at the station earlier today. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” I spat. I knew I was making a scene among the players on the field right before the game, but I couldn’t hold back. “What’s wrong—is your Sergeant a San Antonio fan?”
“Ma’am,” he said patiently, “We cannot make an arrest in this case until we bring Mr. Tarkenton and his suspected accomplices in for questioning. It’s crucial to get that statement prior to making a formal charge.”
“Then drag his ass to the station and take his statement,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Look,” he said bluntly. “This badge on my chest says Appleton Police Department. If me and my fellow officers cross this field and arrest the quarterback of San Antonio State right before the biggest game of the season, everyone will claim we did it to interfere in the game. They would accuse us of being corrupt small-town cops trying to rig the game for Appleton.”
I started to argue, but stopped myself. We had waited to go to the police until today to do exactly that: to keep Nicky from playing in the game, and to embarrass him as much as possible. And that decision was going to screw us over.
Nicky Tarkenton was going to get to play.
49
Lance
I was in the best fucking mood.
Dressing for the game felt awesome. I high-fived my teammates and talked shit in the locker room. I ran my sprints during practice and savored the sound of the crowd all around us. I even sang along with the national anthem, swaying patriotically like Uncle Sam himself was watching.
Sure, when the cops talked to Coach and told him they had to wait until after the game to talk to Nicky, I was bummed. But only for a minute. I got over that shit quick. Because I got to play football today, and that was something I thought I’d never get to do again.
Normally, for
the pre-game coin toss, we sent out three players. Danny because he was the captain, even though he was injured. Me because I was the other offensive veteran on the team. And the senior center who was the defensive captain. But tonight, Coach sent Feña out instead of the center. A little gloating in front of the San Antonio team who had tried to keep us from playing.
When Nicky saw us marching across the field to join them for the coin flip, the smile disappeared from his face.
“I didn’t know they let steroid users suit up,” he said.
The insult rolled off me. I was innocent, and soon it would be common knowledge. That was good enough for me. I just smiled at Nicky like I knew a secret he hadn’t figured out yet. Which, as a matter of fact, I did.
Nicky turned to Feña. “And I thought you got caught cheating. Or something.”
Feña shrugged. “Apparently the anonymous call accusing me of cheating was not placed from the Appleton campus. It actually came from a San Antonio line. Thankfully, the police are investigating now.”
Nicky glanced over at one of the other captains, then quickly pretended like he hadn’t. “Weird,” he said.
“The police do a good job,” Danny said. “There are a few officers here tonight, for some reason.”
“And not just as security guards,” I added.
Nicky’s taunting smile disappeared like someone had snapped their fingers. “Seriously though. You just here for the coin flip, Overmire? Or are you eligible?”
I frowned, feigning confusion. “What’s wrong? Afraid your bookie will break your kneecaps if you don’t beat the spread?”
There was a flash of terror in Nicky’s eyes that told me everything I needed to know. But it only lasted a second before the referee appeared with his silver coin.
“Alright you two, that’s enough trash talk,” the bald-headed ref said with a smile, as if this were all just friendly banter. “Call it in the air.”
Nicky called heads. It landed heads. “We want the ball,” he said while glaring at me.
“It’s the soap you’ll be calling for… when you’re in prison,” I said.
As we walked back to the sidelines, Danny leaned close to me. “That, uh, wasn’t your best insult.”
“Don’t care, bro. It just feels great knowing he’s fucked at the end of this game.”
“Let’s worry about the game itself, then.” Danny nodded as if convincing himself. “Mark will do a better job passing the ball than he did last week. You’ll make his job easier. I told him to get aggressive to avoid any San Antonio guys undercutting the routes, so expect a lot of passes high and almost out of reach.”
“You got it.” I high-fived him, then said, “I wish it was you, bud.”
Danny put on a determined face. Like a parent trying to appear resolved for a child. “Me too. But Mark will carry us to victory.”
We shared a bro-hug, and then went to our different ends of the sidelines.
“Lance, did you see who’s in the crowd?” Jamal, our running back, said. “There are three scouts watching the game!”
“I wonder what teams they’re from,” one of our tight ends said. “They’ve got to be here to watch Nicky Tarkenton, right?”
“They’re going to be watching me by the time this game’s over,” I boasted. “Hey, keep your voices down about the scouts. The last thing Mark needs is more pressure.”
Feña and the special teams unit went out on the field for the kick-off. The San Antonio kick returner dodged a tackle, zig-zagged his way down to the sideline, and ran upfield before being tackled at our 40-yard line.
“God-fucking-damnit!” Coach Mueller said. “We just talked about this in practice! Always cover the sides damnit! Fuck!”
Not the best start, I thought while watching helplessly.
Nicky Tarkenton marched out onto the field, looking like a silver-and-black supervillain. He glanced over to our sidelines, looked at his team, then glanced back toward us. What was he looking at.
“The cops,” Feña said next to me. “I think they are in his head, yes?”
“I sure hope so.”
The crowd noise rose to a feverish hum as Nicky took his spot behind the center. The ball was snapped and he dropped back, faking a hand-off to the running back. He cocked the ball, looking downfield, and then stepped forward to hurl the ball through the air in a deep pass.
“Shit.”
The ball soared through the air, but it was under-thrown. Tim, our safety, cut below the route and intercepted the ball.
The crowd exploded in screams and cheers.
I jumped up and down and screamed with them as Tim made his way downfield with the intercepted ball. “He’s to the 50, the 40, the 30…” said the announcer over the loudspeakers, barely audible over the crowd.
Finally Tim was tackled out of bounds, but the damage was done. He skipped into the sidelines and accepted a bombardment of ass-slaps and helmet smacks.
“Atta boy!”
“That’s what they get! That’s what they get!”
After high-fiving Tim, I grinned to Feña. “Guess the cops got into Nicky’s head after all.”
I jogged out to the field with Mark and the rest of the offense. We huddled up and Mark said, “We’ve got good field position to start off. Let’s take advantage of it.”
“I want the ball,” I said.
“The man wants the ball,” Jamal said. “Let’s remind them who they’re fighting against.”
Mark bobbed his head in agreement. “Okay, uh, spider six umbrella route, with two button-hooks.”
We lined up for the formation, with me on the left side. The San Antonio defender on the other side of the line sneered at me.
“Didn’t expect to see you out here, juicer.”
I smiled behind my mouth guard. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gone in a minute—”
I took off with the snap, cutting to the outside and flying past the defender. I made a quick fake-move toward a slant to shake the defender even more, but kept running down the sidelines.
I looked over my shoulder and found the pass already made, the ball soaring through the air toward me. It was overthrown, too high for me to reach, so I extended my strides to a full sprint and stretched…
At full extension, I caught the ball by my fingertips. The motion made me lose my balance and I staggered for a few steps, but recovered enough to jog into the end-zone.
It was like a bomb went off in the stadium. The crowd was a frenzy of screams and waving and excitement. I let it wash over me as I came to a stop and turned around to face the defender.
“Told you,” I said, tossing him the ball.
APPLETON ST: 7
SAN ANTONIO: 0
I celebrated with my teammates on the way back to the sidelines. But I also made sure to stare over at the San Antonio bench, grinning widely for Nicky Tarkenton. When he glared back at me, I held my wrists together to mimic imaginary handcuffs. Nicky’s scowl deepened.
“This is the best day of my life,” I told Danny when he hugged me on the sidelines.
“Lot of game left, big guy.”
Nicky recovered quickly. On the next drive, he marched down the field with lots of dump-passes and screens. Finally their running back found a hole and ran the remaining 22 yards into the end zone.
Just like that, they had evened it up.
APPLETON ST: 7
SAN ANTONIO: 7
I jogged out onto the field to receive the kick-off. I loved kick returns. With a pass from the quarterback, nobody knew I would receive the ball until it happened. But with a kick-off return, I was the only guy downfield to receive. All eyes were on me. It was the kind of pressure I thrived under.
And I was determined to run this goddamn ball back for a touchdown.
The ball soared through the air. I caught it, and seamlessly tucked it under my arm as I glided into a run. My vision was narrowed through my helmet, but I could see four guys on the right side closing in, trying to keep me away from the sideline
s. So I cut left and ran horizontal across the field, trying to find a hole.
There. If I could dodge this tackle, I could turn on the jets and get past the other defenders. I made a quick stutter-step, then launched forward to run by the defender. His arms opened wide like a hug, but his hands slid off me ineffectively as I ran by, getting past the coverage with open field ahead of me—
The defender’s hand punched the ball, knocking it loose.
The crowd screamed in simultaneous anguish and excitement. I slid to a stop, turning to see the defender picking up the lost ball and running it back. I didn’t bother chasing him—he was already 15 yards downfield.
“Fuck,” I said as he dove into the end zone for a touchdown.
And just like that, in the span of about 30 seconds, we’d given up 14 points.
APPLETON ST: 7
SAN ANTONIO: 14
I hung my head as I jogged back to the sidelines.
“Little rusty out there, Overmire,” Coach said with dangerous tension in his voice.
“Sorry, Coach.”
“You get one fuck-up.” He held up a finger. “Just one. Don’t let it happen again.”
“Yes sir, Coach.”
Danny was within seconds to slap me on the arm. “Shake it off. We’ll get it back.”
“I hope so,” I said as I prepared for the next kick-off.
50
Roberta
I watched the game like a nervous mother whose husband was undergoing brain surgery.
That is to say: I was a nervous freaking wreck.
“Oh come on!” I shouted as the ref threw an unnecessary flag. “That wasn’t off-sides!”
“Can you really tell from here?” Aly asked.
