Top Prospect

by Paul Volponi

  My phone kept interrupting the game. It was going off nonstop with calls and texts from kids I knew at school. After a while, I let most of the calls go straight to message or answered their texts with a Quicktext reply: Thnx, won’t let U dwn.

  Only, I made sure to answer the text from Lyn Wilson differently. Lyn was Damon’s twin sister, although they didn’t look anything alike. She was one of the cutest girls at Westside Middle School and the star pitcher on the girls’ softball team. Damon had clued me in that she’d mentioned my name a few times. So a couple of months ago, I asked Lyn out for pizza. She didn’t say no, but she didn’t say yes either. She just sort of changed the subject without ever giving me an answer. That left me feeling like an idiot.

  Her text read: congrats on d ftbll scholarship! dats amazn! btw i lk xtra cheez on my <).

  Lyn’s real first name was Marilyn. That’s why she only had one N at the end. I’d heard her pitch a real fit once about teachers and coaches who’d spell it L-y-n-n.

  I replied back: lyN, i lk xtra cheez 2 n h8 peppa. ltz gt 2gtha sn.

  I decided to forget about what happened the last time. I was riding so high right then, nothing could make me feel bad about myself.

  * * *

  The next night, Mom took me to Wok N Roll, my favorite Chinese buffet, to celebrate. Carter and Alex met us in the parking lot there. Carter didn’t have a car of his own. Mom didn’t have the money to buy him one and pay the insurance. But Alex drove a brand-new blue Mustang convertible.

  Carter made the introductions: “Mom, you know Alex, my roommate and new chauffeur.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Mom said. “I’m glad you’ve got that job tonight. I’ve been driving Carter around way too long.”

  “Well, I don’t work cheap. He’s buying my dinner,” said Alex. “But I really wanted to get to know our youngest brother here. Welcome to the Gators, Travis.”

  Alex extended a fist to me.

  “Now that you’re one of us, let me show you how we do it proper on this team. It’s called a Gator Pound,” he said.

  First, we did a double fist bump. Then he opened his hand wide like the jaws of a gator and swallowed my hand up, before I did the same to his.

  “Hey, how come I don’t know that yet?” asked Carter.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll teach it to you,” I told him.

  I ran my hand over the warm hood of Alex’s car.

  “Wow, I’d love to be seen in this instead of our old Toyota,” I said.

  “It’s a beauty,” Mom added. “How can your parents afford it for you?”

  “It’s just my mama and me, and she can’t. She’s struggling for money like everybody else. She manages a sub sandwich shop off South Main,” said Alex, twirling his car keys around his finger one time before they disappeared into his palm. “But I’ve got some extended family that helps me out.”

  “Is that the fam you were talking about?” Carter asked him.

  “No, they’re not that kind of close,” Alex answered. “They just got some extra bucks to burn.”

  “Well, it’s still very nice of them,” Mom said, as we headed toward the restaurant.

  Once we got seated at a table and the waiter brought our drinks, Mom said there should be a toast in my honor.

  “Carter, why don’t you make it,” she said.

  A look of pain came over Carter’s face, like somebody was twisting his arm.

  “All right,” he said, and then raised his sweetened iced tea.

  I lifted my black-cherry soda and held it over the middle of the table.

  “What can I say about Travis?” Carter started off. “He’s talented, hard-working, and—except for Alex here—the only one I know with as much passion for football as me. I’m proud to call him my brother.”

  I loved what he’d said, and we all touched glasses with a clink. Then I filled my plate from the buffet with General Tso’s chicken, Chinese spare ribs, and pork fried rice. I made three separate trips, coming back with the same things every time.

  “Travis, why don’t try something new?” asked Mom.

  “Because I know what I like,” I answered.

  “Maybe you just like what you know,” said Alex.

  “Are you studying philosophy?” Mom asked him.

  “Communications,” answered Alex, who’d finished off a huge plate of crab legs. “Maybe after playing in the pros, I’ll be a broadcaster.”

  Alex and me were almost the same size. He was just a half-inch taller and probably ten pounds heavier.

  “Excuse me for saying this, Alex,” Mom said. “But you don’t really look like a college football player.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” said Alex. “Maybe too much.”

  “He’s thin, but he’s fast. Real fast,” said Carter.

  “Not thin. Lean,” Alex replied. “I’m trying hard to put on another fifteen pounds of muscle. Then maybe turn pro after this season.”

  “If you want to put on weight, forget the crab legs,” Carter said, turning a fork through a tall mound of pork lo mein. “You need more meat and pasta.”

  “Leave school? What about your degree?” Mom asked.

  “If he turns pro, he doesn’t need a degree,” I said. “He can hire someone with a diploma to count all his money.”

  Mom slapped at my wrist with her chopsticks for saying that.

  “I gave my mama my word I’d graduate, no matter what,” said Alex. “I don’t break those kinds of promises. So if leave for the NFL, I’ll go back to school during the off-season to finish up my BA.”

  I snuck a quick look at my phone after the buzz of another congratulations text.

  “Since when are you good with phones out at dinner?” Carter asked Mom.

  “It’s Travis’s party,” she answered, giving me a sideways glance. “He’s entitled to be rude to his guests if he wants.”

  “Okay, I’ll put it away,” I said, sliding the phone down into my back pocket.

  As soon as I did, a kid who played Pop Warner football came up to our table with his father standing behind him.

  “You’re Travis, right?” he asked. “You got the college scholarship yesterday.”

  He wanted my autograph. It was my very first one. I almost couldn’t believe it. There wasn’t any paper around. So the waiter brought me over a blank dinner bill, and I signed that.

  My hands were shaking a little. I tried to sign my name as neat and straight as possible. But after I’d finished, I saw the letters were slanting slightly downhill. The kid was thrilled to have it anyway. Then Mom introduced everyone at the table.

  The father recognized Alex’s name and made a fuss. That’s when the kid asked for Alex’s autograph too. In the middle of all that, the waiter brought our check, and I noticed Carter slip Mom some money for Alex’s meal. As we stood up to leave, the owner of the restaurant came over. The waiter told him something in Chinese, and then the owner shook my hand with a big smile on his face. He asked me to pose for a photo with him.

  “For our wall of stars,” he said, pointing to some celebrity photos behind the cash register.

  “Sure,” I said. “No problem.”

  Mom took the photo for him as Carter and Alex stepped outside, then went to pay the check before I went outside too. I was hoping Alex might let me sit behind the wheel of his Mustang for a minute. Carter and Alex hadn’t gone that far yet. They were standing by the restaurant while Carter broke into his fortune cookie.

  “What’s it say?” I asked him.

  “Nothing,” Carter said, staring at the small strip of paper like he’d been cheated.

  “What do you mean, nothing?” asked Alex.

  “Here, look,” said Carter, showing us the paper.

  It read: THE FORTUNE YOU SEEK IS IN ANOTHER COOKIE.

  Alex and me both laughed hysterically and even traded a Gator Pound over it. Then Mom walked out and handed Carter back his money.

  “What’s this for?” Carter asked.

  “T
he owner wouldn’t take anything from me,” she answered, snapping closed her purse. “He said that it was his treat.”

  “Mom, I don’t think we can do that,” Carter said. “We’re on scholarship. We’re not supposed to accept gifts for being on the team. That’s an NCAA rule, a big one.”

  “Should I go back inside?” asked Mom.

  “Hey, your brother’s not on scholarship yet, right? It was his party. Your mom’s not on scholarship either, and she was the one trying to pay,” said Alex. “Take my advice. Just keep on walking.”

  The Gainesville Sentinel

  Section D/Sports – Columnists

  Gators Robbing the Cradle?

  Karen Wolfendale

  Yesterday, Coach Elvis Goddard made headlines by offering a football scholarship to incoming eighth-grader Travis Gardner of Alachua County. Of course, that story of a local boy who dreamed of quarterbacking his hometown Fightin’ Gators will appeal to the public far more than the other news the football program has been making recently.

  Two weeks ago, the NCAA announced a preliminary investigation into claims made by a pair of former Gators. These players contend that during their time at Gainesville University, they received illegal cash payments in the form of “money handshakes” from boosters seeking to reward them for their good play. So Coach Goddard’s sudden offer to a fresh-faced youngster—and the change in the conversation about Gators football that comes with it—shouldn’t be completely shocking.

  “Travis visited our first practice this summer. I was impressed with his size, raw talent, and enthusiasm,” said Coach Goddard. “By making this offer now, I wanted Travis to know he’d caught my eye. And that in the future, he’ll have a home at Gainesville.”

  According to NCAA rules, a prospective student-athlete can’t sign an official letter of intent until late in his junior year of high school. So the offer is not binding for either party at present. The scholarship is just talk, which restricts the NCAA’s jurisdiction over it. However, the offer will undoubtedly have an effect on Travis Gardner and his family as they move forward. Over the course of this season, and the years to come, this column will periodically report on Travis’s life as he inches closer to his goal of becoming the Gators’ starting quarterback.

  Coach Goddard has six years remaining on his current contract.

  “If I wasn’t committed to being here in the future, I wouldn’t have offered this scholarship,” said Coach Goddard. “I wouldn’t invite Travis to join our Gator family without me being around to guide him.”

  Chapter 7

  The Saturday after I started the eighth grade was huge. My first Pop Warner game since the scholarship started at 8 a.m. Carter’s first college game with the Gators was that afternoon at one. I might have had three hours’ sleep on Friday night, thinking about it all. Earlier that day, I’d gotten a call from the sports media department at Gainesville.

  “Coach Goddard asked us to set you up a Twitter account,” the voice said. “He doesn’t allow his current players to tweet, but you’re a special situation. Starting tomorrow, he wants you to tell people what’s going on in your life. You know, all of the good things—the hard work, the excitement. You just text your thoughts to us. We’ll read through them, make sure they’re appropriate, and then we’ll post for you.”

  “Do you think I’ll have any followers?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry. Coach is completely behind this,” answered the voice. “We’ll publicize it on our website, on campus, and push it in media outlets throughout Florida and nationally. Your story is of great interest to many people, Travis. We’re going to make sure that number only gets bigger.”

  “What’ll I call myself?”

  “We already have a username for you. It’s TravisG_Gator.”

  Right from the start, I liked the sound of it.

  * * *

  Saturday morning at the field was crazy. Mom sat in the first row of the bleachers, surrounded by six or seven reporters. A crowd of more than five hundred showed up. It was the most people I’d ever played in front of. And every one of them seemed to know my name.

  “Go get ’em, Travis! This is the start of something special!”

  “Travis, show us that Gator spirit!”

  Cameras pointed at me from every angle. There’s no press section at Pop Warner games. So those reporters were practically spilling over our sideline.

  “Yo, Trav, you’re making us all into rock stars,” said my center, Damon, who’d snap me the football. “Maybe I’ll get the next scholarship someplace.”

  “I’d like that. It’d mean nobody could get past you to sack me,” I told him.

  Damon stood only five-nine but weighed nearly a hundred and ninety pounds. He was huge—without much muscle tone. Over the summer, he’d picked up the nickname Ground Round because he won a hamburger-eating contest, chomping his way through fifteen burgers in just twelve minutes.

  His sister Lyn came to see us play that Saturday too. Our pizza date had been great. I had even worked up the nerve to kiss her by the end of it. My first real kiss. When it was over, I felt like spiking a football and doing a celebration dance.

  Lyn could have been our prettiest cheerleader. I’d asked her on our date why she didn’t go out for the squad.

  “I’d rather be playing than cheering,” she answered. “Some guys don’t like that. They’re probably afraid of getting beat by a girl.”

  I knew Lyn was right, because I certainly didn’t want to be in the batter’s box against one of her windmill fastballs.

  Butterflies did cartwheels inside my stomach as I jogged onto the field. I stepped up to the line of scrimmage and barked out signals.

  “Thirty! Blue, eighteen! Blue, eighteen! Hut, hut!”

  Damon snapped the ball into my hands, and I found the leather laces. All of that nervousness disappeared. I was where I belonged. Where I was most comfortable. And I just played football.

  On my first pass of the game, I had a receiver a full step behind the defense. I never hesitated. The football glided out of my left hand and spiraled down the field. I threw an absolute laser beam, and the ball stuck inside my receiver’s palms.

  That easy groove stayed with me. I sensed every bit of defensive pressure coming my way. I wasn’t thinking—I was reacting. I noticed a defender being a real ball hawk, looking to jump every route our receivers ran. He wanted to get there a step early and intercept one of my passes. So I took a snap and purposely kept my eyes glued to the receiver he was covering, making that defender believe the ball was coming his way. Then I gave the perfect pump-fake. That ball hawk bit. He jumped the route, nearly springing out of his cleats. Only, my receiver kept right on running vertically.

  The defender slapped his hands against his helmet, knowing he’d been suckered. Then I floated the ball to my wide-open receiver, giving the ball hawk even more time to think about what had just happened.

  For the rest of that game, I had one eye on the clock, wishing it could slow down. I wanted to stay on that field forever. The game felt more like one big party being thrown in my honor.

  When it was over, I grabbed my phone to text the media department my first official tweet. As I typed out the message, Lyn patted me on the shoulder pads, congratulating me. The cheerleaders had gathered around me too, along with a bunch of reporters waiting to ask questions.

  @TravisG_Gator Won 35–14. Receivers played great. O-line protected me 2 the max. No dirt on my uni. Mom won’t even have 2 wash it. Go Gators!

  Two hours later, I had put on a Gators T-shirt and was standing inside their locker room beside Carter. Coach G. had invited me to run onto the field with the team for their first game of the season, then watch from the sidelines. Except for Alex, I was much smaller than everyone there to begin with. But in their pads and helmets, the players seemed even bigger.

  “So, you ready?” I asked Carter, who was sitting on a three-legged stool in front of his locker. “Because I am.”

  “I�
�m glad you’re ready. All you’ve got to do is run through the tunnel and not fall on your face,” he said. “I’ve got fifty plays running through my head and a checklist of key words to remember for audibles at the line of scrimmage.”

  “Tell me the keys. I’ll quiz you,” I said.

  “Can’t. I’m not supposed to tell anyone who’s not part of our offense,” he said, smearing eye-black across the bridge of his nose and beneath his eyes until he looked like a raccoon. “We’re keeping the circle closed. So our signals don’t get out by accident.”

  “You think I know players on Florida International?” I said, annoyed. “How am I going to give any secrets away?”

  “Sorry, bro, I don’t need to get called out by any of the coaches over doing something stupid.”

  A few seconds after that, Alex came over and asked Carter, “You know what to do when our QB shouts, ‘Hero’?”

  “Yeah, I know,” answered Carter.

  “Let me hear,” Alex said.

  Carter mouthed, Go pattern, like I couldn’t read lips. I felt like some second cousin visiting from out of town instead of his brother.

  Then Coach Goddard stepped into the center of the locker room, and everything went silent for his pre-game speech.

  “If you’ve been listening to the sportscasters, you know we’re thirty-one-and-a-half-point favorites today. That extra half-point always makes me laugh. Maybe it’s because those Florida International boys have to come to our home, to our swamps. What are they, the Panthers? A swamp’s no place for kitty cats. It’s Gator territory,” he said with a half-smile. “But when you run out onto the field, I can guarantee you that scoreboard’s going to read zero-zero. That gives those boys all the chance in the world to beat you. Nobody gives you anything on the football field. You have to take it. You have to step up and perform. Now, go out there and play like Gators! Be champions!”