First and Ten

by Jeff Rud

  There was almost an hour until the 5:00 pm kickoff. Kyle James led the entire white-clad South Side team in a couple of laps around the track that ringed the field, followed by a series of calisthenics, before they broke out the footballs. Matt looked across the turf at the visiting North Vale Nuggets. They appeared gigantic in their black helmets and jerseys, with gold piping and lettering. They weren’t actually any bigger than South Side, but their colors made them look larger and tougher.

  Matt was surprised by how many people were already in the bleachers. There had to be five hundred fans, nearly packing the set of stands that lined the west side of the field. Matt saw his mom, sitting next to Phil’s parents. It was cool the Wongs had come, he thought, since their son wasn’t even going to play. At the right end of the stands, Matt noticed the large frame of Mr. Jackson, Ricky’s dad, standing by the edge of the bleachers, studying the warm-up intently. A few feet past Mr. Jackson, Matt saw his own father, leaning casually against the chain-link fence. Suddenly he felt more nervous than he had before any game in his life.

  Coach Reynolds and his assistants rounded up the South Side players and steered them back into the locker room for their pre-game talk. The forty kids filled every spot on the locker room benches, and several players, including Matt, took to one knee on the floor as the coach stood before them.

  “Okay, boys,” Coach Reynolds began seriously. “This is what we’ve been practicing for. This is what all the hard work is about. North Vale is going to be a good test for us. All I ask is that you give me every ounce of effort you’ve got. That’s always going to be good enough for me, all right?”

  Helmets bobbed up and down. Nobody said a word. The coach continued.

  “Now, let’s go out there and play some Stingers football!”

  The players roared and met in the middle of the floor, their arms extended. “Who are we?” Kyle James yelled.

  “We’re the Stingers!” his teammates answered back in a collective shout.

  “Where are we going?” James screamed.

  “All the way!” came the reply.

  The team charged out of the locker room door and toward a large rectangular wooden frame that some South Side students had constructed in shop class. Across the opening was a paper banner with the painting of a huge hornet, the Stingers’ mascot, on the side facing the crowd. Kyle James led the charge as the Stingers broke through the paper banner, forty players strong. The home crowd erupted.

  Matt had never felt so pumped up before any game in any sport. It was kind of weird, since he wasn’t likely to get much playing time today. He was penciled in second, behind Nate Brown, in the lone wide receiver’s spot on offense. Brown, a senior, would get most of the playing time and the majority of the passes today, he realized.

  Still, Matt found himself on the field to begin the game as South Side kicked off to the visitors. He was part of the kick coverage team, so at least he would get a chance to run down the field and shake some of the jitters early on. The official blew his whistle, and Ricky Jackson laid his boot into the ball, sending it on a high arc down to the twenty-five-yard line, where the North Vale return man caught it and spun toward the sidelines. It hadn’t been a great boot. Ricky Jackson had been handling kicking duties as well as backing up Kyle James at quarterback, but he wasn’t nearly as strong with his leg as he was with his right arm. Jackson could certainly punt but was weaker on field goals and kickoffs.

  The North Vale return man didn’t get far, however. Matt and Ron Evans both descended upon him at the thirty-five-yard line, Matt wrapping his arms around the Nugget player’s waist and Evans taking his legs. It was a terrific hit to start the ball game. The crowd roared, and Matt came off the field feeling as alive as he could ever remember.

  That play seemed to set the tone for the game too. North Vale was simply no match for the Stingers. Kyle James used a combination of deft handoffs and short accurate passes to pick apart the Nuggets’ defense, with Nate Brown on the receiving end of most throws. Meanwhile, the Evans twins anchored the South Side defense, attacking ball carriers and pass receivers with redheaded abandon.

  By halftime it was 28–7 for South Side. At the end of three quarters, the Stingers led 35–7. Coach Reynolds began emptying his bench. “Jackson, take over for James at quarterback,” he barked. “Hill, go in for Brown at receiver.”

  Matt had expected Jackson to get some quarterbacking time well before then. He had been looking good in practice, particularly with his ability to throw deep. Although he wasn’t quite as experienced or patient as Kyle James, he certainly had a better arm. But James, a ninth-grader, was the starter. Coach Reynolds had made that perfectly clear to everybody from the beginning.

  In the first huddle, Jackson turned to Matt. “We’re going deep fly, twenty-five yards. Can you beat your man?” Matt nodded, but at the same time he honestly had no idea if he could beat his man. This was his first time on the field for an offensive series. The huddle broke and the teams went to the line. Jackson started the snap count, but his cadence was slightly different than James’s, and center Steve Donnelly pulled up early. The referee threw a flag. It was an illegal procedure call.

  Jackson glanced toward the sidelines. His father had thrown his maroon hat to the ground in disgust. People in the stands were staring at the large man warily.

  “Let’s try the same thing again,” Ricky said, turning to the huddle. “This time, on two. Everybody know the count?”

  Heads nodded all around. This time, Donnelly did not pull up early. Jackson took the snap and dropped back. Meanwhile, Matt had fired off the line, getting a full step on his man. He reached the twenty-five-yard mark in about three seconds. The ball was headed his way, and it was a perfect throw. He reached up with his right hand. But as he shot up his left to gather in the pass, the football bounced away. He had dropped what should have been an easy catch. Matt glanced back at Jackson. The young quarterback wasn’t even looking down the field, though. His eyes were glued to the sidelines where his father once again appeared furious.

  Matt felt horrible, but not just for himself. He knew he would catch passes and drop passes during his football career—that simply went with the position of receiver. He felt badly for Jackson, who was clearly feeling the pressure from his father. The Stingers punted the ball, one of the few times all game that they hadn’t scored. Matt and his offensive teammates returned to the sidelines.

  By the time South Side got the ball back, it was mid-fourth quarter as North Vale had rallied against the Stingers’ backup defense and scored a touchdown to make it 35–14. Jackson put his helmet on to return to the field, but Coach Reynolds stopped him. “Vickers is going in for this series,” he said.

  Jackson was clearly disappointed. Keith Vickers was the third-strong quarterback and backup receiver. Jackson had gotten only one series and already Coach was pulling him for the third-stringer. As Matt headed out to the field, he couldn’t help but feel responsible. After all, he had dropped a nice pass.

  There was a sudden commotion on the sidelines. When Vickers came out to take the snap, Jackson’s dad had turned his back and stomped away, slamming the chain-link gate as he left the area. A few people in the stands were snickering at him. Matt noticed his father standing nearby, calmly sipping on a coffee. He felt sorry for Ricky.

  A few minutes later, the game was over. South Side had won 42–14, an easy victory. Matt had managed to catch one pass, a ten-yard out pattern that was part of a nice touchdown drive engineered by Keith Vickers. He had also dropped another ball when he heard a North Vale linebacker thundering up behind him. Matt knew that if he wanted to be a receiver he had to focus on the football and not worry about getting hit. But that was much easier said than done.

  All in all, though, it had been a great start to the football season, both for South Side and for Matt. The locker room was upbeat, tunes cranked and players celebrating the big win. Coach Reynolds motioned to Kyle James to turn off the stereo.

  “N
ice game, guys,” the coach said, a bigger smile on his face than Matt had seen before. “I’m really pleased with most of what I saw today, and the things I wasn’t pleased with we can work to correct. Most of all, I’m happy with the effort. It was a good win. Let’s come back Monday and get ready for Central.”

  The locker room din quickly rose again as Coach Reynolds made his way over to Ricky Jackson’s stall. The coach motioned to Jackson to follow him into his office in the hallway, just off the locker room. Coach closed the door behind them.

  “Wonder what’s going on in there?” Ron Evans whispered, putting words to what just about everybody was thinking.

  The conversation soon swung to other more pressing matters, such as who caught the most passes, which cheerleader was the best-looking and, inevitably, to the Central Wildcats next week. It would be a road game, the Stingers’ first of the season, and it would be tough. Central was ranked number one in the league and in the entire region. South Side would get a major test in its next game.

  Matt showered and dressed before heading out the locker room door. He had promised his mother he’d come right home so the two could go out for pizza and a movie. But he discovered he had a visitor waiting.

  “Hi, Matt, nice game.” It was his father.

  Once again, Matt felt awkward.

  “Um, thanks,” he said, looking down. “I dropped a few I should have caught, but we kicked them pretty good.”

  “You sure did,” his dad said, flashing a smile. “And I thought you did just great, especially for your first real football game. That opening tackle was terrific.”

  Matt blushed. His father had obviously watched the game closely to know that he had been in on that tackle. It was the play that Matt had been most proud of today too.

  “Anyway, I just thought I’d come and say hello,” his father said. “I know you and your mom are busy tonight. But I’ll call you and maybe we can get together this week sometime. How does that sound?”

  “Sure,” Matt said. “That sounds good.”

  His father waved as he headed toward his black suv parked on Anderson, just outside the school lot. It still felt strange to Matt, this idea of having a dad in his life. Strange, but at the same time, kind of nice too.

  chapter nine

  The first thing Matt noticed the next morning was how sore his body felt. It was the difference between practicing and having played full speed in the game the previous afternoon. Everything was just one more notch up on the intensity scale, including the day-after stiffness he was now experiencing.

  He had slept well and was happy that he had a free Saturday. No practice today, just the regular game of pickup hoops at Anderson Park with the guys. Matt loved organized sports, but it was also nice to get a day to just kick back, have a few laughs and enjoy himself with his best friends.

  Jake and Phil knocked on his front door about 10:00 am and the three of them headed over to the park, where they met up with Amar Sunir, another good buddy and a teammate on the South Side basketball squad. It was a slightly overcast day with a hint of autumn cool in the air, not nice enough, obviously, to draw anybody else here for an outdoor game. Just as well. Matt and his buddies loved these two-on-two matchups.

  They shot for teams, with Matt and Phil pairing up and Jake and Amar playing together. It was a difficult matchup for Matt and Phil against the bigger and more athletic duo. But they held their own, splitting the first two games to eleven by ones.

  “Hey, Matt,” Phil asked during a water break before the deciding game. “Who was that guy you were talking to last night after the game—a college recruiter or something?”

  Matt laughed. “I wish,” he said.

  He guessed it was time he told his friends about his father. Besides his mom and Mark, Andrea was the only person who knew about the big change in his life so far. And Matt knew Andrea hadn’t told anybody about it. For some reason—he didn’t quite know why—he had asked her not to.

  “That’s wild,” Phil said after Matt finished, his eyes wide at the news.

  “For sure,” added Jake.

  Matt instantly felt better, now that he had told his friends. They had pretty much shared everything growing up. Still, Matt had been the only one of the four who hadn’t had a dad around. Now, suddenly, he did. It was kind of a strange feeling: as if his identity had been altered.

  “It’s been kind of bizarre,” Matt admitted to his friends as he took a warm-up shot.

  “Bizarre?” Phil said. “You want to know what’s bizarre? How about Ricky Jackson’s dad? Do you guys know what happened after the game last night?”

  Matt hadn’t heard a thing.

  “I was right there by the locker room door, so I heard it kind of by accident,” Phil continued. “Jackson’s old man freaked out on Coach. He was yelling at him, telling Coach his kid should be starting instead of Kyle. He said Ricky was by far the best football player on the entire team and was getting cheated out of playing time because the South Side coaches don’t like the family.”

  Matt was surprised, but not completely. He knew Jackson’s dad had a temper. He had seen it in action during the basketball season after Ricky’s older brother, Grant, had been suspended for shoplifting.

  “Then he really went off,” Phil said. “He told Coach Reynolds that if Ricky had some decent receivers, he’d be all-district and that it was a joke that he wasn’t starting. He said none of you guys can run a route or catch a ball. It was brutal.”

  Matt’s ears burned. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that Jackson’s dad didn’t like it when any of his son’s passes were dropped, even in a practice drill. But Matt didn’t like the idea of anybody, even a parent, criticizing him like that.

  “That’s why Coach called Ricky into his office after the game,” Phil said. “I was watching during that series he played, and before every huddle, Ricky was looking toward his dad on the sidelines. Coach thinks Ricky’s dad is calling in plays to him.”

  Now that was strange. Matt knew Jackson’s dad was demanding and a control freak, but this was beyond anything he had imagined. But now it made more sense. No wonder Ricky looked to the sidelines before and after every play.

  Matt imagined being in Jackson’s situation. It was difficult enough to listen to your coaches and to pay attention to the plays your team had called let alone take directions from your dad on the field too.

  The four friends resumed their game of two-on-two. Matt and Phil put up a good effort, but in the third game, the combined height and athleticism of Jake and Amar won out. Jake finished off the game with a spinning drive that he banked in for the winning layup.

  “Take that, football boys,” Jake laughed as he and Amar high-fived. Matt had wondered whether the fact he and Phil had decided to go out for football would drive a wedge between them and the other two, but it was obvious it hadn’t.

  Matt spent the rest of the weekend catching up on homework and raking the leaves that had already begun to fall on their yard. On Sunday, Mark drove down from Eton for a visit. He hadn’t been home since before football practice began and it was good to see him.

  Before supper, Mark asked Matt if he wanted to shoot some hoops at Anderson. “Sure,” Matt said. “But watch out. I might tackle you. I’m in football season now.”

  They walked slowly to the park with basketballs in hand. Matt could tell Mark wanted to discuss something serious with him because there was no small talk or joking as they approached the park.

  “He called me the other day again,” Mark said, finally.

  “You mean Dad?” Matt said. “Yeah, he came to my football game.”

  Matt couldn’t help notice Mark’s brow furrow.

  “I told him that I don’t want to see him,” Mark said.

  Silence. The brothers didn’t speak for several seconds.

  “How come?” Matt finally asked.

  “I guess it’s different for you,” Mark said, slowly. “I mean, you were just a baby, basically, when he left
. But I wasn’t. It was rough. Mom was a wreck. And he just took off. Before he left, he told me why. He said he had gotten involved with another woman and that Mom couldn’t forgive him for that. So he just left. He said it was the best thing for everybody.

  “But you know what? It wasn’t the best thing for me or you, or even Mom. I wanted a dad. I didn’t have one. He just left, and I’ll never forgive him for that.”

  It was all spilling out quickly, like it had been bottled up inside Mark for years just waiting to erupt. Matt slowly digested what he had just heard. He and Mark had never talked so openly about their mom and dad before. He wondered why not.

  They shot baskets in silence for a few minutes. Neither of them tried to start a game of one-on-one. They were both in deep thought, with only the sound of the basketballs bouncing off the pavement and clanging on the rim interrupting the quiet.

  “Are you pissed at me?” Matt finally asked. “I mean, for seeing him?”

  Mark shook his head. “No, man,” he said. “You do what you think is right. I just know that I can’t see him right now. Maybe not ever.”

  They walked back toward the house, again mostly in silence. Once they walked through the front door, they didn’t mention their father again. Mark and Matt sat down to a roast beef and mashed potato dinner with Mom, just as they had on many a Sunday evening. They talked about football and Mark’s job and his new girlfriend Serena and even the weather. The subject of their father didn’t come up again that night.

  chapter ten

  Only a dozen blocks separated the South Side campus from rival Central Middle School, but Coach Reynolds wasn’t asking his players to walk to their Friday afternoon game. Coach wanted the boys to “save their legs,” so he had ordered up two long yellow school buses to transport the team and all its gear over to the Wildcats’ home field.

  Matt thought the players could have easily made the walk to Central. The managers were another story, however. Although the Stingers were already dressed in their full uniforms for the bus ride, Charlie, Phil and the rest of the managers struggled onto the bus with several huge black duffel bags full of footballs, tape, clipboards, video equipment and water bottles.