by Jeff Rud
Mom nodded. She was deep into a story on the front page of the Post. Matt could always tell when she was reading because she didn’t return the conversation, at least not right away. When she was reading, she just nodded—kind of like he did when he was playing PlayStation and she was trying to talk to him.
Matt put his cereal bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said to his mom. She looked at him warmly. “Have a great day,” she said.
Matt grabbed his backpack and headed out the front door. It was only the first week of school, but already he felt he was well into the routine at South Side. Football practices had started two weeks prior to the first day of classes, so Matt had been walking this route for three weeks now. He picked up his pace as he headed down Anderson Crescent. Up ahead, under the big oak tree where Seventh Avenue dissected Anderson, he saw Phil and Jake, waiting for him as usual. The three had carried out the same routine since their days together at Glenview Elementary. Jake’s dad called them the Three Amigos.
“At wide receiver, wearing number ten, in his second year at South Side Middle School, Maaattttt Hiiiilllll,” Jake bellowed in an over-the-top announcer’s voice. “How’s the football star this morning?”
“Give it a rest, man.” Matt grinned. “I didn’t feel too much like a star getting out of bed today.”
“Me neither,” interjected Phil. “I’ve never been so sore in my life.”
“You two should try riding one of my uncle’s horses sometime.” Jake laughed. “You want to wake up sore…”
Matt couldn’t help thinking that Jake Piancato should be going out for football this year too. Matt’s closest friend since preschool days was already about five-foot-ten and had the kind of bouncy athleticism that would make him a natural at just about any position on the field. Jake was a big football fan too, watching National Football League games on Sundays and often wearing a number 4 Green Bay Packers jersey with the name Favre on the back.
But Jake simply couldn’t commit the time to football in the fall. His family ran Long Lake Lodge, about a ten-minute drive out of town. And although autumn was football season, it was also fishing season. The lodge was booked solid during September and October, and the Piancatos couldn’t drive Jake back and forth for practice every day during this time of the year. They also needed him to help out around the lodge after school and on weekends during this busy season.
That didn’t prevent Jake from taking a keen interest in the South Side Stingers football team, however. “How’s practice going, Matty?” he asked. “Are you going to start at receiver?”
Matt shook his head. “It’s not like touch football, Jake,” he said. “You only get a play called for you every so often and guys are drilling you pretty good when you catch one. I’ve dropped a few this week.”
“Yeah,” Phil added wearily. “The game’s a lot different with pads on.”
But Phil didn’t have to worry about dropping anything that afternoon, because Coach Reynolds was taking it easy on his players after nearly three weeks of constant practice. As the fifty boys gathered on the sidelines, the coach blew his silver whistle.
“Okay, people, come on in,” he said, motioning the players to gather around a large blackboard on wheels he had rolled out to the sidelines. The front of the board was facing away from the team.
“We’re not going to practice today,” Coach Reynolds said. “I just want to go over a few things with you before the Maroon-and-White game tomorrow.”
The players watched attentively as the coach began to turn the board around. It was divided into two halves by a single yellow chalk line. Half of their names were on one side, listed under their positions. Half of their names were on the other. Matt’s name was on the left side, under the White team. Phil’s was on the right, with the Maroon squad.
“These are your teams for the intra-squad,” the coach said. “We’ll be running basic offense and defense, just the things you’ve worked on in practice, so nobody should have problems remembering plays.
“But you should be aware of this,” the coach continued. “We will have to make a few cuts this year. There are about twenty of you who won’t make the team. I’m sorry about that, but we don’t have the coaches or the equipment to run a junior varsity. I will be announcing the roster on Monday. Please remember, if you don’t make it, there are other ways you can contribute to South Side football.”
The coach didn’t keep them long. In fact, it had hardly been worth getting changed. Matt and Phil were out of the locker room quickly and walking home before five o’clock.
“I hope we both make it,” Phil said as they neared the end of the first block.
“Don’t worry, Philly, how could they cut two future nfl stars like us?” Matt said, pulling Phil’s maroon South Side baseball cap down over his eyes.
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Phil said, his broad face creasing with concern. “I’m just not sure there’s room on this team for a small, slow Chinese kid.”
Matt laughed. Phil was always poking fun at himself. But he was a terrific athlete. Although short, he was much stronger than he looked and he had a rifle for an arm. Phil was a terrific catcher and a dependable hitter in baseball, his best sport. And he had developed into a major three-point threat in basketball. He had been struggling to find the right position in football, though. He didn’t have the type of speed needed to consistently get open and he was smaller than all the defensive backs on the South Side roster.
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Matt said reassuringly. They were already at the corner of Anderson and Seventh, the place where they parted ways each day. Phil would continue on to Wong’s Grocery, the corner store run by his grandmother, and Matt would head home. “Catch you tomorrow,” Matt said.
Matt was deep in thought the rest of the way home. He had tried to sound confident in front of Phil, but he knew neither of them was guaranteed a spot on the team. Both were new to the sport and both had experienced their share of ups and downs during practice. The Maroon-and-White game was going to be a big test for both of them.
chapter three
It was strange. This wasn’t even a real game, but Matt felt his stomach fluttering worse than it had ever done before any big game in any other sport he had played. Even his legs felt weak and shaky as he ran through the calisthenics White team captain Kyle James was leading on their half of the South Side field.
Matt had been placed on the same team as a pair of star ninth-graders—James, the team’s likely starter at quarterback, and Nate Brown, the tall receiver with the blazing speed. Matt wasn’t starting. In fact he was listed under Brown on the depth chart that assistant coach Kevin Stone had drawn up. Coach Stone was controlling the Whites for this scrimmage while Coach Reynolds had the Maroon team. There were fifty boys suited up this afternoon, with many of them fighting for one of the forty spots on the final South Side roster.
It might not be a real game, but Coach Reynolds had hired real officials for it, and already, there were a couple of hundred people in the bleachers that lined one side of the field. Of all the sports at South Side, football drew the most community interest. Even people who had no formal ties to the school seemed to be interested in how the Stingers were doing on the field. That was one of the reasons Matt had wanted so badly to go out for football this year. He wanted to be part of the biggest thing in school sports, even if he didn’t have a single down of experience.
The whistle sounded and both Kyle James and Nate Brown jogged to midfield to talk to the officials, along with the captains of the Maroon squad. It was impossible to tell the two Maroon captains apart. They were the Evans twins, Reggie and Ron. The two ninth-graders had long, fiery red hair and freckles and both played the linebacker position. Their tough run-and-pass coverage and open-field hits were major reasons why the South Side defense figured to be one of the best in the league this year.
The Maroon side won the coin toss, and the Evans boys elected to receive t
he kick. Nate lined up the football on the tee near midfield, and as the whistle again sounded, the game was on. Brown booted the ball deep into the Maroon zone, about twenty yards short of the goal line. Phil, who was starting on special teams, drew a bead on the ball, preparing to catch it. But as he stretched out his arms to grab the football, he stumbled slightly, throwing off his timing. The ball bounced off his arms and right into the hands of an oncoming White player who was gang-tackled at the twenty-yard line. On the first play of the game, Phil had made a huge mistake.
Knowing it would be a tough error to make up for, Matt watched his friend shuffle off the field, head down. Meanwhile, the play continued with White quarterback Kyle James lining up behind hulking center Steve Donnelly, an eighth-grader who was so wide that Matt literally had to walk around him in the corridor at school. Matt had often thought it must be difficult to be so huge, but size was a big advantage playing on the line in football. Donnelly, wearing number 75, provided enough protection all on his own to give James plenty of time to find an open receiver.
Sure enough, the quarterback located an open man right off the first snap. Brown ran a ten-yard out pattern to the right side, and James delivered the ball perfectly. Brown torched the defensive back trying to cover him and scampered the ten remaining yards into the end zone. One play was all it took and the White team had scored a touchdown.
By halftime, the Whites had scored two more times and led 21–7. The only time the Maroon team had managed to penetrate the White side of the field was on a long touchdown pass from quarterback Ricky Jackson to Reggie Evans, one of the twins, who also sometimes doubled as a slot back.
Until then, Matt had only been in the game for one play—the kickoff following his team’s third touchdown. And on that sequence he hadn’t managed to get near the Maroon ball carrier. The sweat he had worked up during pre-game warm-ups had dried as he sat in the locker room, waiting for the halftime talk from Coach Stone.
“Hill!” the coach yelled. Matt looked up. “You’re going in for Brown on offense to start the third quarter.”
Matt was happy for the chance to play, but nervous about filling in for Brown, who had scored two of the team’s three touchdowns in the first half. Matt nodded to the coach. He was so focused on the fact he was getting a chance to play that he had trouble concentrating on the halftime instructions.
As the players trotted back onto the field, Matt knew that this was his time to make an impression. If he wanted to play football at South Side, he would have to get something done in this half. Otherwise, why would the coaches keep an eighth-grader, when they could put a seventh-grader in the lineup and have him around for an extra year? It wasn’t like Matt was huge or had outstanding speed. He was a good athlete but rather unremarkable, he thought, when it came to his football skills. Worst of all, he had no experience at the game. Many of the other kids out here had been playing community football since their grade-school days.
The White team would be receiving the ball to start the second half, and Matt took Brown’s spot on the return team too. He was one of two players lined up deep to receive the kickoff, the other being beefy fullback Pete Cowan, a short ninth-grader with huge shoulders and no neck.
The whistle sounded and Ricky Jackson swung his foot through the football, booting it on a high arc toward the goal line. It was to Cowan’s side of the field, so Matt ran ahead of his teammate, looking to throw a block for him. Cowan caught the football on the dead run and headed left, straight toward Matt. As Matt turned, he saw Phil streaking downfield. Phil launched himself at Cowan, but Matt stepped in front, using his shoulder to block his path. The block sprung Pete free. He headed upfield for twenty yards before he was finally brought down.
“Great run, Pete!” Coach Stone shouted from the sidelines. “And nice block, Hill. Way to spring him.”
Matt’s ears were burning. The praise was nice, but he also felt badly for Phil, who had missed the tackle, another strike against him in this intra-squad game.
The White team went into a huddle, a few yards behind the football, which was positioned at their own thirty-five-yard line. Kyle James called the first play, a run up the middle for Cowan. All of the receivers had routes to run on this play too. Matt knew his was a down-and-out, ten yards going right.
Matt remembered Coach Reynolds’ words at that first practice three weeks earlier. Run every route like you’re getting the ball. He went into his three-point stance on the right side, waited for the snap count, and then he exploded off the line. Reggie Evans picked him up in the backfield and shadowed him to the right side. Meanwhile, the ball had been handed off to Cowan, who burst through the area just vacated by Matt for a ten-yard run. Although he hadn’t caught the ball himself, Matt suddenly realized how important it was to convince his defender that he was expecting the pass. Had Reggie Evans suspected that Matt wasn’t looking for the football, he could have cheated and helped stop Cowan much sooner.
The White team continued to move the ball steadily downfield. They were clearly superior to the Maroon defense, even though Coach Reynolds had tried to make the teams relatively even. With a first down on the Maroon thirty-yard line, the Whites went into their huddle. Kyle James turned to face Matt. “Hill, this is yours. Twenty-yard fly. Straight up the middle. You ready?”
Matt nodded. He didn’t feel ready, though. His legs were weak as he lined up. This was the first pass play ever called for him. He heard the snap count and again fired off the line, heading straight up the field just as the play required. But Reggie Evans was right on his tail, as if he smelled the call by James. Matt turned to look for the ball. There it was, on a perfect line, heading for him. He reached up, it was in his fingers. And then it wasn’t. Matt watched in disgust as the ball slipped from his grasp and bounced to the turf. He wasn’t sure whether it was hearing Evans behind him or just the fact his hands were shaking. Whatever it was, he had dropped the ball. What a loser!
Matt heard the crowd in the bleachers groan. He trotted back to the huddle and looked sheepishly at Kyle James. “Hill, same thing,” the senior quarterback said, matter-of-factly. “On two.” Matt was stunned. After he had dropped a great pass, James was going right back to him? Why?
He didn’t have time to argue. Once again, Matt lined up and burst off the snap. This time, however, Reggie Evans wasn’t following him nearly as closely. It was clear that the linebacker didn’t think the ball was going to Matt for a second straight play. He was wrong. Matt looked back as he reached the twenty-yard mark and saw the ball, again heading toward him in a tight spiral. He didn’t have to jump or even stretch much. All he had to do was catch the ball. This time he did just that, grabbing the football with his fingertips and pulling it into his body. He didn’t break stride, and Evans was left behind as Matt headed into the end zone untouched. The fans in the bleachers cheered. This is just how he had imagined it!
Matt was elated. In his first Maroon-and-White game, he had scored a touchdown. But the feeling was short-lived as he reached the sideline. “Nice catch,” Coach Stone said. “Have a seat. Vickers is in for you next series.”
That was it for Matt in this game. Despite his catch, this was an intra-squad contest and it was designed so that the coaches could get a good look at all the players. Matt had to hope that the one catch would be enough to land him a spot on the South Side team.
As the half continued, Matt’s replacement, Keith Vickers, also played well in the wide receiver spot. He made a couple of tough catches, one a diving reception off a poorly thrown ball. Vickers was small, but he was quicker than Matt and he was only in the seventh grade. Matt had already figured out that to make the South Side team, he would probably have to beat Vickers out for the spot. He didn’t know if he’d done that in this game or not.
Meanwhile, Phil was continuing to struggle on the Maroon side. He caught only one of four balls thrown his way, and although he hustled on every special-teams’ play and was in on a couple of tackles, Matt knew his friend would be
on the bubble to make the Stingers too.
After the final whistle had blown on a 42–21 win for the Whites, Coach Reynolds called both squads to midfield. It was seven o’clock and already beginning to get dark with a slight chill creeping into the air. The players each took one knee in a circle around the head coach.
“Nice job today, kids,” Coach Reynolds said, his voice softer than Matt remembered from tryouts. “You guys made some pretty good football plays today. I think we’re going to have another successful season at South Side.
“I know practice has been tough on you for the last three weeks. Now comes the tough part for me and the other coaches. We’ll be doing cuts this weekend. Check the gym bulletin board for the final roster on Monday morning. And remember, if your name’s not up there, it doesn’t mean you can’t be part of the program in some way.
“Now have a good weekend. We’ll start preparing Monday afternoon for our first real game.”
Matt was tired. It had been a long, pressure-filled afternoon. Nevertheless, he knew he’d have trouble sleeping this weekend. There was some big news coming Monday and right now he wasn’t sure whether it was going to be good or bad.
chapter four
Matt hurried home, eager to tell his mom about the game. He was walking alone because Phil’s parents had picked him up from school to visit his cousins downtown. As he waved good-bye, Matt could tell that Phil was worried about his chances of making the team.
All in all, Matt felt pretty good about how he himself had performed. Sure, he had messed up on a couple of plays, particularly on the first deep route that Kyle James had called for him. But the fact that James had called his number again, the very next play no less, had given Matt a boost of confidence. Why would he do that unless he thought Matt was capable of catching the football?
A block from home, Matt noticed an unfamiliar vehicle in the driveway, parked behind his mom’s shiny green Toyota Camry. It was a sleek black Ford suv, with oversized tires. It must belong to one of Mom’s real estate clients, Matt thought. She had been showing a house today. Maybe they were already writing up a deal. Matt certainly hoped that was the case. It had been a slow summer for Mom selling houses, and she was stressing about work more than usual.
