The Underdogs

by Mike Lupica

  So the Bulldogs who showed up at Falcons Field on Friday night were the ones they’d play the season with, and that was that. Fine, Will thought. He told himself that he was going to stop worrying now about what they didn’t have and be happy with what they did. Told himself that he was going to enjoy every practice and every game. Play for the love of the game now more than ever. He would stop worrying, at least for now, about another shot at Castle Rock in another West River championship game—and on what planet was that going to happen?—and just focus on the game he had tomorrow against them at Shea.

  It had been hard for him losing to Palmer the way they had, Will knowing in his heart that the outcome would have been different if the sides had been remotely even, just in terms of numbers. But the sides weren’t even. They weren’t going to be even.

  The only thing to do was play his hardest, get his teammates to play their hardest, try to have them all come together and be better than they thought they could be. Or were supposed to be. Because Will knew it happened that way in sports all the time, from the West River league all the way to the pros.

  Maybe it was Friday night’s practice being under the lights, making them feel older, like they were already on the high school team, that made it their very best practice so far. And Joe Tyler was the most fired up one on the field.

  He could see the guys picking up on his 4-2-5 defense, and he’d added a couple of new trick plays on offense, even thrown in a fancy reverse on kickoff returns. Will’s dad told the guys—and Hannah—that they were going to throw everything they had in their playbook at Castle Rock tomorrow.

  “It’s a pretty thin book, Mr. T.,” Tim said.

  Joe Tyler said, “Then we should be able to throw it even harder.”

  Practice was over by then. The players were kneeling around Will’s dad, the way they did at the end of every practice.

  “Listen,” Joe Tyler said, “we’ve basically lost one core player from a team that should have beaten Castle Rock in last year’s championship game, and that’s Bobby Carrington. But what I saw against Palmer, that’s maybe not going to be such a devastating loss, because I didn’t see how we lost anything with Chris Aiello at QB.”

  It wasn’t true. Will knew it and his dad knew it, because they’d talked about it. But he was trying to pump up his quarterback and now the Bulldogs did the same, clapping their hands.

  “Those guys from Castle Rock are going to show up tomorrow thinking we have no shot,” Joe Tyler said. “Anybody here think that?”

  “No!”

  “Well, then,” he said, “I guess tonight’s spot quiz is over and the only thing left to do is let the dogs out tomorrow afternoon.”

  Then they were all barking again, their coach included, probably making people who could hear them wonder what had gotten all the dogs in the neighborhood this worked up. Then they were all rolling in the grass, laughing at themselves and at each other.

  Will didn’t know what kind of team they were going to be this season, he really didn’t.

  But they were a team.

  For now, that was enough.

  It was 13–13 at halftime.

  The Bulldogs had played them dead even almost from the time the Castle Rock Bears had gotten out of their green-and-white bus with the big bottle of Castle Rock water on the side.

  Will had tried not to count the players getting off the bus, but thinking once they were all out, they might have brought enough guys to field three teams.

  Defending champions of the West River league. Having brought Ben Clark, the best quarterback in the league, and Kendrick Morris, the best and loudest receiver. Having brought more fans across the river than the Bulldogs had, a lot more, and the Bulldogs were playing at home.

  At least today the game was on a field that didn’t make the home team ashamed. One of the things New Balance had done, at Joe Tyler’s request, was invest in some rapid improvements to the conditions at Shea. New sod where it was needed. Newly chalked lines. Somehow, they’d even gotten the old scoreboard working again, a miracle that Will thought was the equivalent of sending a man to Mars.

  Real field today. The Bulldogs playing like a real team. Against Castle Rock and against the odds, even if there was hardly anyone from Forbes to see it.

  Ernie had sacked Ben Clark from his blind side early in the first quarter, forcing a fumble, Tim falling on the ball in the end zone. Hannah had stepped right up and kicked the extra point. Just like that it was 7–0.

  The Bears responded with a long drive, though, Ben Clark finally hitting Kendrick Morris for the score. Will remembered Kendrick from last year’s game because he’d made it impossible to forget him, the kid clearly thinking he was the West River version of Chad Ochocinco. If he made a first-down catch, he still jumped up and made the signal for the first down before the ref did.

  And he was still talking the way he had last year, Kendrick being the one who did the most trash-talking when the game was over, making it a point to seek Will out and tell him that next year they were going to let him use a ball with a handle on it.

  Ben Clark had told him after the championship game that Kendrick had gotten tired of the Castle Rock coaches telling him how fast Will was, how he was the guy they had to stop.

  Ben had said, “He got it in his head that they were saying you were better than he was and, well, Kendrick doesn’t think anybody is.”

  Will hated trash-talkers, always had, didn’t respond last year and wasn’t responding now. It didn’t slow Kendrick Morris down even a little bit. Will was guarding him on the touchdown pass in the corner of the end zone, but Ben knew enough to throw it high, knowing Will wouldn’t have a chance against a wide receiver who was bigger than he was and longer.

  “Don’t worry, little guy,” Kendrick said. “It wasn’t your fault. I’d give you a pat on the helmet, but I don’t want to get flagged for fifteen on the kickoff.”

  Will wondered if a compliment might shut him up. Or at least slow him down. “Nice grab,” he said.

  “Nice?” Kendrick said. “Nice is for girls.” Smiled at Will through his face mask and said, “But you know all about that, don’t you, dog?”

  Ben Clark kicked the point. 7–7. It stayed that way until halfway through the second quarter when Will took a handoff from Chris on a play called 34 Counter, did exactly what you’re supposed to do, took a little jab step to his left that was the halfback version of a ball fake.

  As soon as that got the defense leaning that way just enough, Will cut back to his right, picked up his blockers, saw even Hannah take out Castle Rock’s safety with a solid block downfield. And then he was in the clear. He had scored last week against Palmer, but this was different, this was the first time he’d found that extra gear.

  When he felt like he was flying down a football field again.

  This was against Castle Rock. He turned after he handed the ball to the ref, pointed at Hannah because of her block. Kendrick Morris, who played both ways, played right corner on defense, must have thought Will had pointed at him, and from across the field, Will thought he might be yelling something.

  He ignored it, listened to the cheers from the Forbes fans instead, got ready for the extra point. But Gerry Dennis, who held on placekicks, fumbled the snap, and the Bulldogs’ lead was 13–7.

  The Bears came right back again. In the last minute before halftime, on third-and-fourteen, Ben Clark threw one as far as he could to Kendrick, who had gotten behind Johnny Callahan, and by the time Kendrick showboated his way into the end zone, it was 13–all. Castle Rock went for two. Johnny read the play perfectly, stepped in front of Kendrick, knocked down Ben’s pass.

  Game tied.

  On the Bulldogs’ sideline, Joe Tyler got their attention and said, “There’s not anybody I’m looking at who wouldn’t have signed up for a tie game against those guys at the half. Now we just gotta figure out a way to keep rocking their world and beat them.”

  “You think that might stop Kendrick’s chirping?�
� Tim said.

  “I don’t think he stops even when he’s underwater,” Chris said.

  “We just gotta make sure we only have to say one word to him when the game’s over,” Will said. “Scoreboard.”

  “Well,” Tim said, “now that it’s working again.”

  “We’re the ones who are gonna keep working,” Will said, “all the way until we send them home in that bus of theirs extremely unhappy.”

  Will could see how tired his teammates were getting the longer the game went on. But the game was still even, at 20–20, in the fourth quarter. Castle Rock got their score on an all-out blitz on one of Hannah’s punts, blocking it, recovering in the end zone, Ben kicking the point.

  But this time it was the Bulldogs who responded with a long drive, one even better than the last drive the week before against Palmer. Will’s dad would tell them it was twelve plays and seventy-six yards when it was over, six runs and six passes, even one to Hannah for a first down on third-and-four from midfield.

  They finally scored from the eight-yard line. Will ended up with the ball on 38 Toss, Quarterback Throw, running to his right. But Ben Clark knew the play and got back to cover Chris as he circled out of the backfield on the left and then turned up the field.

  So Will pulled the ball down, broke a tackle, dove for the right pylon, actually put the ball right on top of it.

  Hannah’s kick was center cut.

  Eight minutes left, Bulldogs 20, Bears 20, at Shea.

  Even Will Tyler, the biggest believer of all, couldn’t believe it. When Ben had come over to shake his hand before the game, he couldn’t resist saying, “Hey, who picked these teams?”

  More than anything, Will just wanted to repeat that line to Ben when the game was over. Telling himself that it wasn’t trash talk if you were just repeating something, was it?

  They just needed a couple of stops. Needed to have the ball in their hands at the end. Make it one of those games, the best kind of football game, last team with the ball wins.

  As long as it was your team.

  This time, Will told himself, I’m not fumbling the game away. He had no idea if he’d ever get near a rematch in the championship game with these guys. So maybe this was as good as it was going to get against Castle Rock this season, trying to win the championship of today. Not best-of-seven or anything like that. Best of the forty minutes they played in the West River league.

  The Bulldogs needed a stop. But Will could see how tired the other guys were, especially the guys up front, the ones who’d been taking a pounding all day from offensive and defensive linemen from Castle Rock, guys who looked as if they were in high school already.

  The Castle Rock coaches saw it the same as Will did. The same as everybody at Shea had to see it. So as good a thrower as Ben was, the Bears started to grind it out, running the ball on almost every down and daring the Bulldogs to stop them. Five yards here, six yards there, eating up yardage, eating up the clock.

  The one time they ended up with a third-and-eight, though, everybody knew it was a passing situation. Will lined up on Kendrick. Ben threw it high again. Kendrick went up for it and came down with the first down.

  Made his first-down gesture, like always.

  “Now say somethin’,” Kendrick said.

  “I wasn’t talking to you before,” Will said.

  “I’d call that a tall tale,” Kendrick said, “but you’re too little.”

  Two minutes to play. Castle Rock ball on the Forbes thirty-yard line.

  Before he got to his huddle, Kendrick turned and said, “Tell your boys—and the girl—that you’ve had all the fun you’re gonna have today.”

  Ben came right back to Kendrick again, surprising Will with a first-down pass. Will was lucky to knock him out-of-bounds on the ten. Ben scored two plays later on a quarterback draw but hooked the extra point kick badly to the left.

  26–20, Castle Rock. Sixty-five seconds left in the game. If the Bulldogs could score, if Hannah could kick the point . . . But there was a lot of work to do before that.

  Less work after Will broke up the middle on the kickoff, cut to the right sideline, returned the ball all the way to the Bears’ forty-five-yard line.

  Under a minute now.

  Hannah spoke in a huddle for the first time, right before Chris called their first-down play.

  “Let’s rock the Rock,” she said.

  On first down, Castle Rock expecting a pass, Joe Tyler had Chris pitch it to Will, who got to the edge for ten yards. Chris had called two plays in the huddle, so they lined up quickly and Will went off tackle for ten more, cutting to the outside. He tried to get out-of-bounds this time to stop the clock but couldn’t, so the Bulldogs were forced to burn their last time-out.

  Thirty-five seconds left.

  They were on the twenty-five now. Even the way Will was eating up yards, he knew they couldn’t keep running the ball, not without time-outs. Chris, who’d never played quarterback before this season, who’d never been in this position before, was going to have to take some shots at the end zone soon.

  On first down, Chris scrambled out of the pocket to his right, then back to his left, finally overthrew Johnny on the left sideline. On second down, though, Chris floated a ball perfectly over one of their linebackers, hit Tim right in stride.

  But at the last second Tim took his eyes off the ball, wanting to see what was up ahead of him. The ball went right through his hands.

  Third-and-ten. Ball still on the Bears twenty-five. Fifteen seconds on the clock. Chris pump-faked beautifully as if he really was going to take a shot at the end zone, then turned and dumped the ball to Will in the flat. Will caught it, spun away from their outside linebacker. There was daylight in the middle of the field, but he couldn’t risk going there; if he didn’t make the end zone, he was afraid the game would be over before Chris could get them lined up and spike the ball.

  Will managed to get out-of-bounds at the seven.

  Five seconds left.

  Chris looked over to Will’s dad for the play. One play to tie, to give Hannah a chance to win it with an extra point. “Draw play,” Chris said.

  “Love it,” Will said.

  Will shot a quick look at his dad. It was as if Joe Tyler was waiting for his son to look over. He nodded. Behind him, Will could see everybody in the stands, whether they were rooting for Forbes or Castle Rock, on their feet.

  Will thought: This is why I wrote the letter.

  This is why you play.

  Chris pulled away from center as if he was going to drop back to pass again. But then he spun and put the ball on Will’s belly.

  The middle linebacker ran right past Will, going for the quarterback all the way. The hole was there now. The end zone right in front of Will.

  He never saw Kendrick Morris coming from the side.

  Just felt his legs go out from underneath him as Kendrick came into him with the rolling block that was as sure as a tackle.

  Will kept his feet as long as he could, made sure to hold on to the ball, still felt as if he could make it even as he felt himself falling.

  He came down at the one-yard line.

  Hit the ground and heard the ref ’s whistle as soon as he did, telling everybody at Shea that the game was over, that the Bull-dogs had come up one touchdown short of Castle Rock.

  One yard short.

  CHAPTER 20

  The ball was still sitting there in front of Will, at least until Kendrick Morris booted it away.

  Somehow Will wasn’t even surprised. The guy didn’t even know how to act after making a simple first down; why would anything be different now? Helping his team win a great game like this didn’t make him any less of a loser.

  “Choked it down again, didn’t you?” Kendrick said.

  “Thanks for sharing, Kendrick,” Will said.

  “All I ever hear about is how fast you are, how to beat Forbes we got to beat the great Will Tyler, how lucky we were to beat you last year,” Kendrick said, loud
enough to be heard all over the field.

  Ben Clark walked up now, tried to pull Kendrick away, telling him to chill.

  “I don’t have to chill,” Kendrick said. “We won.”

  Ben Clark said, “We don’t want to win like this.”

  “You didn’t have to tell me how to win the game,” Kendrick said to his own teammate. “Don’t tell me what to do now.”

  Kendrick looked at Will and said, “Who was the one could fly with the game on the line?” He banged his chest hard and said, “Special K was.”

  Now one of the refs came walking over. “Son,” he said to Kendrick, “if I give you an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty after the game is over, you miss your next game. So I want you to zip it and walk away.”

  Kendrick walked away but had one more thing to say, just loud enough for Will to hear.

  “Who’s the one can really fly?” Kendrick said.

  Then he was off and running, making the flying motion that Braylon Edwards of the Jets made when his team won a big game.

  “Don’t listen to that jerk,” Tim said when Will was sitting with his teammates in front of their bench.

  “Hard not to,” Will said. “I think they could hear him on the other side of the river.”

  Joe Tyler came over then, pulled his son to his feet, pressed his forehead against Will’s helmet. “You were great today,” his dad said.

  “We still lost.”

  “People will still remember how you played. That’s what they remember. What you do, not what you say.”

  The coach of the Bulldogs told them to all gather around him then, told them how proud he was of them, told them they became a real team today.

  Then the Bulldogs, as much as the loss had hurt, were ripping into the snacks that Johnny Callahan’s mother had brought, chips and cookies and even homemade brownies. But Will didn’t want anything to eat or drink. He wanted to go home, go up to his room, close the door, deal with coming up one yard short against Castle Rock.

  A loss like this?

  Will didn’t let go right away.