My Name Is River Blue

by Noah James Adams

  The Hawks fans were on their feet cheering and stomping. When I looked at the Knights sideline, their team acted shell-shocked and beaten even though they still had the lead.

  Coach Haney called for the onside kick attempt. It was our only chance to get the ball back with enough time to score. Ant, Max, Matt, Gary, me and all the other skill players with good hands made up the onside kicking team. We would attempt to beat the Knights to the ten-yard kick and recover the ball before they did. Again, the stadium cheered with hope when Max Summers recovered the onside kick for us.

  Our offense went no huddle, and I worked each sideline with first a pass to Matt Broome, followed by one to Ant on the other side. Max took the ball straight up the middle for another good gain. The Knights defense looked bewildered as we kept them off balance and steadily moved the ball until we were inside their twenty-yard line. On the next play, I faked a handoff to Max, who ran up the middle while I took the ball around right end until the defense pushed me out of bounds at the four-yard line with fifteen seconds left in the game.

  On the next play, I looked for an open receiver and not finding one, I brought the ball down as if to run. The cornerback guarding Ant gave up on the pass to cover my run, but I stopped short of the line of scrimmage and tossed the ball over the defender's head to a wide-open Ant Jefferson for the touchdown. We kicked the extra point and with six seconds left in the game, we led 21-17.

  When we ran off the field, it sounded as if everyone in Bergeron County was yelling for our team. Our stadium wasn't tall enough to sway, but for a second, it appeared that the stands were moving side to side. Coach Booker explained that it was an optical illusion created by the fans swaying with our fight song, which the band played each time we scored.

  I thought our celebrating teammates might beat Ant and me to death on the sideline. Coach Haney had to call his last time out to calm us down and organize our kickoff team. He warned all of us that we had not yet won the game. With six seconds left, our players had to stay in their lanes and prevent the possibility of a kickoff return for a touchdown that would win the game for the Knights. There was no need to worry as we gang-tackled the return man and notched our first win of the season.

  We were a happy bunch as we showered and relived moments of the game. Most of us were looking forward to the dance in the school gym where our celebration would continue. Our high spirits would carry us through the dance, and when we eventually crawled into our beds that night, we would realize how tired and sore we were.

  When Ant, Max, and I walked out of the locker room together, fans and reporters mobbed us. None of us had ever been in such a situation with strangers' hands grabbing us and it was a little unnerving to me. Some of the fans wanted to congratulate us, and others just wanted to touch the three freshmen who had become Harper Springs' heroes by helping to win a game people would talk about for years to come. I remember thinking how boring their lives must be for them to get a thrill from touching a kid like me.

  We attempted to work through the crowd to find Papa, the Mackeys, and my foster brothers, but it wasn't easy. Some of the reporters weren't satisfied with the brief post game comments we gave them on our way into the locker room, so they insistently stretched out microphones in our faces, blocked our paths, and shouted questions. They kept trying to earn our attention, and at the same time, the fans still fought to get a hand on us.

  I became frustrated over the unwanted contact, and my frustration rapidly changed to anger when a hand grabbed me between my legs and held on to me long enough for me to know that it was not an accident. I couldn't tell who did it, but there was a trashy looking woman walking close to me at the time. She was smiling at me but so were other people. I was so pissed that I was on the verge of throwing random punches when Papa and Hal reached us. They loudly thanked everyone for their good wishes, and ran interference for us as we all moved through the crowd to the parking lot.

  There were still two reporters attempting to stick their microphones in our faces as we reached Papa's truck, and one of them accidently poked me in the eye. I grunted in pain, and for the first time, I saw Papa lose his temper. My mentor snatched the mike and tossed it twenty yards away into the bushes that bordered the parking lot. Papa stared at the reporter, and the man wisely kept his mouth shut and walked away to hunt his equipment.

  Ant, Max, and I were relieved when we were safely riding in Papa's truck with the Mackeys and my foster brothers following us in the minibus. Max was going home with us to change for the dance and afterwards, he was spending the weekend with us at the farm.

  I was still irked about the grabbing. "What the hell is wrong with those people? I think a nasty looking woman got a feel of my junk. I'll have nightmares."

  "Language," reminded Papa as he drove. "You owe me twenty-five more."

  "Sorry, Papa. Ant, help me remember to write it on my list when we get home."

  "Got it, RB. Your arms are gonna fall off from all them pushups."

  "Yeah, yeah," I mocked. "How many do you have so far?"

  Ant bragged. "I ain't got none."

  "Oops, you do now. Papa, how many pushups does Ant do for a double negative when one of them isn't even a real word?"

  Papa glanced at us. "I think that's worth twenty-five too."

  I howled, stuck my tongue out, and elbowed Ant in the ribs.

  "Stop laughing, RB. Be glad he gets on you mostly for cussing."

  "Ant, you're a goober. It's not like he asks you to speak a foreign language, and you know better anyways. You're just trying to sound like a Colliers' hood rat."

  Max was laughing. "Are you guys always like this? I could be entertained for hours."

  Papa coughed loudly. "Yes, Max, they're always like this. Only they would be arguing over trivial things right after winning one of the most exciting games I've ever seen."

  Friday night was my first high school dance, and even though I couldn't dance as well as Ant and Max, I still looked good with Carlee hanging onto me. A few of my teammates joked about some of my moves, but in a good-natured way that didn't hurt. Some of the older guys helped me to relax by telling me how badly they sucked at dancing when they first started. I still didn't like dancing, but I had a much better time than I thought I would.

  ***

  Saturday night at Deer Lake, Ant and Max were already asleep in our tent. I sat alone by the remains of our campfire and enjoyed the night sounds and the moonlit surface of the lake. It seemed impossible for a state kid to be as happy as I was at that moment.

  A sudden, chilly breeze blew off the water towards me, and I sank deeper into my lined, denim jacket, digging my hands into the pockets. Almost a year had passed, but I knew what it was I felt in my pocket. After the game, I had worn the jacket from the locker room through the crowd to Papa's truck and to Tolley House but not to the dance. I put the jacket on again Saturday evening when it grew cooler. It had to be one of the people crowding me after the game. It was the perfect time for one of them to plant a folded piece of notebook paper in my jacket pocket. It looked like an exact copy of the letter that threatened me.

  I put more wood on the fire and stayed awake all night.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Late November 2001

  I told Ant that I didn't feel well enough to join the others for breakfast. After he ate, he brought the Saturday morning edition of The State Reporter to our room and quietly placed it on my bed. In addition to the physical pounding I had suffered in our playoff game the previous night, I had slept poorly, waking several times from nightmares in which I repeatedly made the same mistake that gave the game to the Eagles. When the morning light brightened our room, I was not only tired and sore, I was sure that I had the stomach bug that had ravaged our team for three days.

  It had been three months since I found the second threatening note in my jacket pocket. After another investigation, I still didn't know who it was. I turned in my bed to face Ant, who was trying to sleep in his own bed just four feet away
. I coughed loudly until he opened his eyes and looked at me. I told him that I was beginning to think the letter culprit was using voodoo. He groaned.

  "Ant, what if it's true? Maybe he put a curse on me that made me throw a bad pass and lose the game for us. Maybe he's making me feel sick now too."

  "How about this, RB? Maybe you're actually human and capable of making mistakes just like us normal people. I know it's unlikely but it's possible, isn't it?

  "Are you being sarcastic?"

  "Never, RB. I live to worship you."

  "Liar."

  Ant was grinning at me from his bed. "I'm going back to sleep, dude. That's what you should do when you finish the sports page because I definitely think you're feverish."

  "Damn, I think you're right, Antman. I was really beginning to believe in voodoo."

  Looking over the sports section of the paper, I was uncomfortably warm and nauseous with vague cramping pains in my lower abdomen. I thought that reading about the game would only make me feel worse, but I decided that it was fitting punishment. If I put a copy on my dresser mirror, it would be a good reminder of how bad it sucked to cost my team a chance to play for the state title.

  The State Reporter was the only newspaper I read consistently, and it was mainly because of the sports coverage by Howie Spearman, a well-known sports reporter and columnist. I met him at the beginning of the season, and I often gave him interviews because I respected his integrity and common sense. He wrote the truth without favoritism or sensationalism. He never attempted to bait players or coaches into making controversial remarks, and he was sensitive enough to back off at a moment when a kid's emotions prompted him to act out of character. Howie focused on the facts of the game and the positive traits of players and coaches.

  Papa had known Howie Spearman since 1993 when the reporter moved to South Carolina from Florida with his wife and young son. The two men didn't know each other well enough to say they were friends, but they developed a mutual respect for each other during those times when Mr. Spearman's job required him to cover the Hawks. Coach Haney told me that Mr. Spearman had once written a story praising Papa's efforts to help disadvantaged kids in our community, and he wrote it in such a way that readers donated money to help fund one of Harper Springs' after school programs.

  When I found the sports headline, my eyes burned, and disappointment ached deep inside me. I imagined how badly my teammates were hurting that morning after our failure to reach a goal we had worked so hard to achieve. After our come-from-behind victory over Iverson, we had won seven more regular season games to capture our conference title with a record of 8-2. We had high expectations of doing well enough in the playoffs to make it to the state championship game, but we came up short of our goal because of one bad pass. My bad pass.

  The title of Howie Spearman's story was Clinton-Bowman Wins 45-42 Shootout at Harper Springs.

  Friday night, the Clinton-Bowman Eagles took one the state's best defenses into Harper Springs to defeat the Hawks and their young, high-powered offense by a score of 45-42. The Eagles' win propelled them into the 4A state championship game next Saturday against the Jefferson Bulldogs. To win, the Eagles offense had to score their highest point total of the season because River Blue, the Hawks' freshman quarterback, lit up the Eagles defense for six touchdowns, four of them passing and another two rushing. To put into perspective what fourteen-year-old River Blue did, the Eagles' defense had previously given up an average of only 11.5 points per game.

  The game turned out to be one of the wildest contests ever in the state playoffs with Eagles senior quarterback Simon Chase having the best statistical game of his high school career, and Blue matching him step for step throughout the game until late in the fourth quarter.

  The Hawks were driving for the game-winning score and had reached the Clinton-Bowman twenty-two yard line. The Eagles did a masterful job of disguising their defense, which caused Blue to misread the pass coverage and throw his only interception of the game. The interception, coming with only fifty-nine seconds left in the contest, was all the Eagles needed to run out the remaining time in the game. It was fitting that the winning score, with five minutes left in the game, was a naked quarterback bootleg by Simon Chase, who will be going on to greater glory in college football next year. There is no doubt that his performance against the Hawks will have college recruiters salivating as they wait for him to give his final decision on which scholarship offer he will accept.

  There was more information describing the scoring drives and statistics that I skipped.

  In previews of the matchup, the Eagles, with seven seniors starting on defense and six on offense, were favored to win against the Hawks, who had to start freshmen in several key skill positions since the first game of the season.

  The Hawks lost their starting senior quarterback, number two quarterback, and junior starting tailback before the first game, and each new contest added new faces as players were injured. Most people could have understood better if the Hawks had ended their regular season 2-8 instead of 8-2. It was incredible to have eight wins in their tough, competitive conference when they played half their games with fourteen freshmen and sophomores filling starting positions. It was primarily the inspired leadership and sensational play of River Blue that enabled the Hawks to capture a conference championship and an automatic playoff spot. All season, opposing coaches, players, and the media shook their heads in disbelief at Blue's mounting stats, which shattered every state record for a first year starting quarterback of any age.

  As if having to play so many underclassmen was not hard enough, the football gods frowned on Harper Springs when the team was hit with a stomach bug just three days prior to the game. In case anyone thinks the Hawks used sickness as an excuse, to my knowledge, none of them mentioned it to the press, but some of my colleagues and I saw how they used the little white buckets behind their bench. I have good binoculars and seeing many of them doubled over the buckets was not a pretty sight, but the team's indomitable spirit was. I can honestly say that if I were that sick, there is no way that I would have the fortitude to play that well in any game, much less one against a talented team like the Eagles.

  Eagle fans should be very proud of the way their team played, and there is no doubt that they deserve to compete for the state title. Likewise, the Harper Springs fans should also be proud after they witnessed the courage and determination of their kids who fell one miracle short of the state title game.

  Coach Conway and the Clinton-Bowman Eagles will be favored to win their third state title in the past ten years when they play next Saturday. If they do, it will be the first state championship for their graduating seniors, and something they will remember for the rest of their lives. For the players returning next season, they will have big shoes to fill and defending their title will be very difficult after losing so many outstanding seniors. Still, the Eagles have a strong program, and if they are not in the title hunt next season, it won't be long until they are.

  As for Harper Springs, kids are resilient, and while they may spend the weekend brooding over what might have been, they will snap out of it and realize how bright the future of the Hawks really is with so many good young players. River Blue, Ant Jefferson, Max Summers, and Gary Carson, along with a few freshmen promoted from the JV team, will be Hawks for three more years, and they will only get better along with the sophomores, who will be solid players as juniors next season.

  If they were honest, most opposing coaches would say that the thought of River Blue maturing in size, strength, and skill is a frightening prospect. Adding in the fact that his favorite receiver, Ant Jefferson, will be even faster and shiftier next year, almost certain to require double coverage, just makes Blue's arm even more dangerous. If any coaches think they will sellout, double cover Jefferson and bring pressure each play on Blue, remember Max Summers, the freshman tailback. He finished second in their conference in rushing yards. Next season, the Hawks' line will be more experienced and so
will Summers.

  Coach Haney of the Hawks is a competitive man and probably feels down today, but he really shouldn't. He is a quality coach, who has a good relationship with his players. If he sees things the way others do, he should be smiling each time he thinks of next season.

  The Eagles deserve to be where they are. Coach Conway and his team worked hard, they were the better team tonight, and it was simply their time. For Coach Haney, River Blue, and the rest of the Hawks, next year is looking pretty darn good.

  I wasn't expecting Howie Spearman's story to lift my spirits, but it did. I still felt terrible that my mistake cost us the game, but I was proud of what we had accomplished, and the truth was just as Howie said. We would only get better, and I would work even harder to be a better player and to bring a state championship to Harper Springs. I was determined never to let my team down again.

  My improved mood lasted about two minutes and that was when a severe pain in my right lower abdomen caused me to jackknife in my bed. The worst pain that I had ever felt produced a loud grunt from me and frightened Ant, who was resting across from me on his own bed. A second later, I hurled unspeakable crap that ran down my bare chest and abs to soak my boxers. Ant's eyes bulged, and he turned nearly white as he scrambled from his bed. I was honestly scared that I might be dying.

  Ant flew out the door into the hall to yell for Hal and Jenny, who rushed up the stairs faster than anyone had ever seen them move. Along with the Mackeys, my foster brothers scrambled into my room to see what the emergency was. Within seconds after I told Hal and Jenny how I felt, Jenny was dialing 911 from the hall phone outside my room.

  I will never forget the way Hal took charge and helped me without a second's hesitation. He told everyone but Ant to wait in the hall, and the way my room smelled, none of my foster brothers argued with him. I was such a stinking mess that the sight and smell was enough to make me want to hurl again, but it didn't deter Hal, who sent Ant for warm, wet washcloths and dry towels. The two of them cleaned the crap off me and helped me dress me in clean boxers and a fresh pair of sweats. It was a gross chore, and I was grateful that they cared enough to help me.