My Name Is River Blue

by Noah James Adams

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Three years later

  End of November 2004

  With a week to go before the 4A state championship game was to be played in the state capitol, sports media representatives invaded the town of Harper Springs, whose citizens were excited about the prospect of the Hawks making state football history. Several schools had won three or more state football championships, but no team had ever won three consecutive titles. After celebrating our first undefeated season, if we beat our nemesis, the powerful Clinton-Bowman Eagles, in the state championship game, the Harper Springs Hawks would be the first to achieve such an improbable feat, and we would do so on regional television. Our team had already appeared on the major sports network three times as part of the network's coverage of the high school game of the week. The same network was the first to broadcast the rumor that Coach Haney might be offered a job coaching college football.

  I drew more attention during my senior season and the days leading up to the title game than I ever imagined possible for a high school football player. According to ratings by all the national recruiting gurus, I was the best high school football player in the country, and I could get a full ride to any university I chose.

  Ant, who was rated the nation's third best wide receiver, could also pick any school he wanted. In my biased opinion, Ant was the best high school receiver in the country, but he lost ratings points because he never grew taller than six feet, while the top two guys were three and four inches taller than Ant was. A couple of points in the rankings didn't really matter because Ant and I were going to be a package deal in which some school would get both of us.

  With the help of Coach Haney, Papa, and the Mackeys, Ant and I avoided becoming part of any recruiting violations that would come back to haunt us later. At the beginning of the season, we put out the word that we would not visit any colleges or make any decisions until after our high school football season was over. We steadfastly refused to indicate any favorite colleges, and although we occasionally spoke to college representatives who came to Hawks' games, we had no conversations with them without one of our trusted adults present.

  The 4A state championship game would be played at the state's largest university stadium and advance ticket sales set an all-time state record for any high school postseason game. Everyone wanted to see two undefeated teams, one known for its quick strike offense and the other for its stifling defense, in a game the media called "the perfect storm." The Eagles had always been on our side of one bracket, but because of conference realignments, we would be playing our old rivals for the state title. The game would be televised regionally, covered by more media people than usual, and attended by college recruiters from across the country.

  As much as the fans wanted to witness the contest between the two state powerhouses, I was nervous knowing that they also wanted to see the number one rated high school player in America. I owned every quarterback record worth having. Records that some people believed would never be broken. Still, I thought that no matter what I had accomplished in the past, I would be remembered for the last game I played, and I wanted my team and me to go out winners.

  I was fully aware of the media stories that suggested my athletic accomplishments were incredible because I was raised in state care without the support of a family. I saw things differently. I never viewed my success as something that I did on my own. The first thirteen years of my life were full of grief, but after I met Papa, all I had to do was follow his advice, and the rest was easier than it might have looked.

  ***

  From the opening kickoff, the championship contest resembled a war more than a football game. It was not an exhibition of the skill positions. The quarterbacks, running backs, and receivers would not be making a highlight video of the game to show college coaches. If defensive players wanted to show footage of quarterback sacks, tailbacks stuffed at the line for no gain, and receivers involved in devastating collisions, they had the right game. By the start of the fourth quarter, the score was tied at 6-6, which represented two field goals made by each team.

  Statistically, I played the worst game of my high school career. It was clear early on that the Eagles were doing their best to neutralize my impact on the game, and I lost count of how many times I was either sacked or brutally hit immediately after I threw a pass. Running with the ball was no joy either as Max Summers could verify. Because of the Eagles' efforts, I had never played in a game where I was so frustrated and physically beaten.

  On a fourth-and-one play when I ran a quarterback sneak to pick up a critical first down, I was battered from every angle. When I staggered to my feet, I saw my helmet on the ground, my nose was gushing blood, and even with a mouth guard, the crown had come off the tooth I broke at Stockwell. The officials called an injury timeout for the team doctor to stop my nose and mouth from bleeding, and the equipment manager used the time to adjust my helmet. Eric Mize, my backup, had to take two snaps before I limped back into the game.

  With our own defense playing their best game of the year, I watched my defensive teammates rough up Randy Newell, the Eagles quarterback until he was just as slow gaining his feet as I was. Oddly enough, the summer after our sophomore years, Randy and I were roommates in a college dorm during a three-week quarterback clinic held at a small college near the state capitol. During three weeks of hanging together each day, we became friends, and I not only had mad respect for Randy as a good player, but also as a good guy.

  With little more than five minutes left in regulation play, the Eagles failed to move the ball and punted to us. The Harper Springs' fans cheered when I completed two short passes, which gave us a first down on the Eagles forty-seven yard line. For the next three plays, the Eagles defense stiffened, and we were faced with fourth down and six yards to go with less than three minutes left on the clock. The crowd understood that it would be very risky for us to go for the first down because, if we failed, the Eagles would be in great field position with enough time to kick a field goal or score a touchdown to win the game.

  Some of the more observant Hawks' fans had wondered why Max Summers was part of the punting team on every one of our punts since the beginning of the game. He was one of the two backs who were the last defense to keep the Eagles from blocking a punt. Since there were no changes at any point in the game, the Eagles coaches assumed that since Max was such a good blocker for me on passing plays that we also used him to block for the punter. Had the same coaches paid more attention to our game films, they would have noticed that Max had never been used that way in a previous game.

  Coach Haney was very quick to rush our punt team into formation so that we would not give the Eagles time to think, and he was fortunate that the Eagle coaches, in a lapse of judgment, did not call time out to prepare for the possibility of a fake punt. When our snapper sailed the ball back to Max Summers instead of the punter, the Eagles' reaction was slow enough that Max not only ran for a first down, he sprinted to the Eagles' seven-yard line where the Eagle punt returner had to make a touchdown saving tackle. The frustrated Eagles' coach threw his clipboard five yards down the sideline and then called a time out to settle his team and instruct them on their goal line defense. The Eagles were obviously disheartened after our big play, and I hoped that they stayed that way a little longer.

  With a little more than two minutes left in the game and the Eagles out of timeouts, our goal was to score with very little time left on the clock for the Eagles to mount a drive. I thought the safest play in our situation was to have me take the snap, wrap both arms around the ball, and run it to any hole I saw. If I could not gain yardage, we would at least run down the clock before attempting a game-winning field goal. However, our kicker had been inconsistent all season, and Coach Haney was surprised that he had already made two field goals in the game. With the state championship on the line, Coach Haney wasn't thinking field goal. He wanted an opportunity to score a touchdown before having to depend on our kicker in a pressure
situation.

  Knowing that the Eagles would be jamming the middle of the line to stop the run, Coach Haney gave me the run or pass option. I would study the defense, and after the ball was snapped, I would take a quick look for Ant on a fade route to the corner of the end zone. If I did not see the perfect target with no chance of an interception, I would run while protecting the ball with both arms.

  When we lined up, the Eagles bet a championship that we would run, and with their defense stacked at the line, I knew they would be playing man coverage on my receivers. The problem for them was that Ant was very difficult to cover one on one in a short yardage situation when I could release the ball quickly.

  The center snapped the ball, and I took two quick steps backwards. I saw Ant cross the goal line, fake left, fake right, and then cut hard left towards the corner. The Eagles' defender bit on the second fake and slipped to the ground. With a soft touch, I lofted an easy pass to Ant, who caught it in the corner of the end zone for a touchdown. After having to fight like hell to gain a yard or two on most plays during the game, the pass to Ant was as easy as playing catch in the park.

  Our fans roared their approval, but our coaches reminded us that the game wasn't over because we left enough time on the clock for our opponents to score. On their last series, the Eagles made a valiant effort to tie us, working the ball to our forty-five yard line before time ran out on their season. In a hard fought game, we made history, and all of us on that undefeated, championship team would forever be Harper Springs' heroes.

  There were security guards to control the crowd, but they soon gave up on keeping the Hawks' fans off the field. My teammates and I were congratulated by fan after fan, and for once, I didn't really mind so much. I accepted handshakes, pats, and hugs from people I hardly knew, or didn't know at all. Eventually, the special people in my life had their turns with me. They were all there. Papa, Manny, Hal, Jenny, Miss Martin, Marcia Medlock, my foster brothers, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Latham, and Coach Riddle. They were all surprised to see me so demonstrative with my emotions.

  I didn't even attempt to make it to the locker room. I saw my teammates signing programs and posing for pictures with fans, and I decided that I would do the same. Papa and the rest of my adult friends were proud to see me take time to thank my fans for their support.

  One little boy, who appeared to be about nine-years old, held out a program, but was too shy to ask me to sign it. His father was a Harper Springs' police officer, who had worked security at some of our home games. Sergeant Cox was always a friendly man, and did his job without harassing the players or fans. He had a boyish face for a man in his mid-thirties.

  "Hi, Sergeant Cox, who do we have here?" I asked.

  "This is my son, Stevie. All he talked about was getting your autograph, and now the cat has his tongue. You're his hero, River, for more than one reason," explained the sergeant.

  "Oh, yeah?"

  "Stevie was a foster child too. My wife and I had a daughter, but we also wanted a son. Two years ago, I was holding one of the department's safety classes at the junior boys home where I met this little fellow, and we became fast friends. I brought Sheila back to meet him, and we decided that we just couldn't find a better boy to be our son. The adoption was final a couple months ago, and our family is complete."

  "Congratulations. I'm happy for you guys." I dropped down to one knee so I could be closer to Stevie's level. "Would you like me to sign your program, Stevie?"

  Stevie was too shy to make eye contact but managed to speak. "Yes, sir."

  Sergeant Cox chuckled. "River, you wouldn't believe his scrapbook. The thing is two inches thick and full of newspaper articles and pictures of you. Now he meets you and can't talk."

  I grinned at Stevie. "Wow, you must be my number one fan. Do you play football yet? Like in pee wee?"

  "Yes, sir. This was my first year. I play quarterback just like you," said Stevie proudly.

  "Awesome." I took the boy's program and wrote, "To my good friend, Stevie. How you practice is how you play. Your bud, River Blue."

  As I handed Stevie the program, one of the area newspaper photographers asked me if I would look his way for a picture. "Sure, if my buddy, Stevie Cox, is in the photo. Be sure to identify him by name if the picture goes in the paper."

  "Sure thing, River." The reporter snapped a shot of us with my arm around Stevie. "Hey, River, do you want me to doctor the photo, so it doesn't show your broken tooth or your swollen nose?" I could tell that the photographer was holding in a laugh.

  "Oh, crap. I forgot." I ran my tongue over the sharp edge of the tooth and felt my fat nose. I laughed when I thought of how many photos people had already taken. It was even funnier because I was so happy that I wasn't feeling much pain. I knew that I would be hurting later that night and the following day, but for the moment, I didn't care. "Ah, it don't matter, let the picture ride."

  "Well, thanks a lot, River," said Sergeant Cox. "Stevie, thank River for being so nice."

  Stevie thanked me, and I gave him a quick hug and a bigger surprise. "Sergeant Cox, give me a few days to get over my bumps and bruises, and if you and Stevie are interested, maybe we could meet at the park and throw the ball around some. He could invite a few friends if he wants."

  "For real?" Stevie asked.

  "Sure. Just call Tolley House and ask for me. If I'm not there, leave your name and number."

  "River, that's very kind of you," said Sergeant Cox. "You're an exceptional young man. Thank you."

  As I watched Stevie and his dad walk away, I was glad that the boy had a real home with parents who loved him, and I felt good knowing that I made his day a little better. I realized that even a state kid like me could make a difference in someone's life, and I decided to give more thought to how I could help kids who might not be as lucky as Stevie and I were. It was an idea that would stay with me and grow.

  When I saw Carlee approach me, I was glad that we were getting along. Within a week after our fight at her holiday party our freshman year, we agreed that we should only be friends until we matured enough to know if we wanted more and how to handle it. I honestly thought that our worlds were too different for us ever to have a serious relationship, but I was thankful that we would remain friends. It didn't take long for me to see that Carlee's agenda had not changed.

  For the next three years, Carlee dated a few other guys, but she tried many times to turn our friendship into an exclusive romantic relationship, which only resulted in more fights and more promises from her. No matter what I said, she was stuck on the notion that I secretly wanted her for my girlfriend. After our last fight, I made it clear that she had lost any chance she ever had of us being a couple, and I warned her that she was on the verge of losing me as a friend.

  During the few weeks prior to the championship game, Carlee finally appeared to have accepted my terms. I was glad because even during the times when Carlee made me so angry, I still cared about her more than I wanted to admit. It was a good sign when she gave me a congratulatory hug and a kiss that was no more romantic than the hug and kiss from Jenny Mackey. In those few minutes I spent with Carlee, surrounded by a crowd of happy people celebrating our championship, I could tell that she had really changed, and I thanked her for being my friend.

  When my team's celebration of our third championship was over for the night, my spirits were slightly dampened by the knowledge that I would never again dress out in my Hawks' royal blue and gold to play another high school football game. I was going to miss my days at Harper Springs High because no matter what I did in college or the pros, I would never again have the same thrill of going from social zero to town hero.

  ***

  Papa hosted a popular, annual barn party for the football team at Deer Lake Farm during the week following Christmas. There was music, dancing, skits, and plenty of good food. It gave the players a chance to hang out as friends before school resumed after the holidays, but more importantly, it was the last time the whole team would gather
as a group. In addition to the players, the attendees included the cheerleaders, team managers, trainers, and coaching staff. There were no family members or fans, but players could bring their girlfriends if they wanted. At the high school, the team had already had a separate awards banquet attended by family, friends, boosters, high school staff, and members of the local news media.

  In our room at Tolley House, I dressed for the barn party and tried not to throw a damp blanket on Ant's good mood. My roommate enjoyed parties, and he was obviously pumped and primed to have a good time. As for me, I thought of the party as not only a celebration, but as the end of a special era in my life. It was a scary thought to trade the best four years of my life for the unknown.

  People kept telling me that my golden future was assured and that success was simply waiting for me to claim it, but ever since the night of our last title win, I carried a feeling that everything was just too perfect for a state kid like me. I kept waiting for something to go wrong but I could think of no legitimate reason to worry. It had even been three years since I got the second threatening note, which was also the last one. There was no sign of anything going wrong in my life. I should have felt on top of the world.

  I wished that I were more like Ant. He talked of little else but going to Papa's "awesome barn party" that night and then to Max Summers' New Year's Eve party in a few days. I rolled my eyes at Ant, who hardly took a breath as he discussed his slick plans to use his popularity while he was still a hot item. I knew where he was heading when he referred to himself as a "hot item," and I pleaded with my excited roommate not to start.