When Jimmy caught up to them, Stanley looked up at his kid brother. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but by the look of things, Stanley had just told Jimmy that Moose had made it all possible. I saw Jimmy reach out to hug Moose before Moose began to walk toward our sideline.
Moose and I gave each other the thumbs-up.
Moose had driven up to the hospital to pick up Stanley for the Wednesday board meeting. But that was for just one night. What Jimmy had not been told was that Moose had made arrangements with Stanley’s doctors to allow Stanley to return Friday night to attend the game. Moose picked up his former teammate earlier in the day. To see Stanley in a Lions jersey again was both glorious and heartbreaking.
I saw Jimmy hug Stanley and hold on to him for so long that Alex Munroe had to tap Jimmy on the shoulder. I knew Jimmy had to get focused, but I was thrilled that Moose had given Jimmy that moment.
I watched Alex prepare the boys for the toss, and my mind went back to the fall when Alex and I were Brownwood High seniors. It was 1918, the only year the Lions’ season was canceled. Alex had been quarterback of the football team as a junior, but without a team his senior year, he became a volunteer for Daniel Baker College’s football team. He did anything that was asked of him—running the clock, working the chains, keeping stats.
That season launched his officiating career. And because I had no high school football team to cheer on that season, I also spent my Saturday afternoons rooting for Daniel Baker. I recalled it was the third game of the season when Alex needed someone to help with the chains for the second half of the Hillbillies’ game against the Hardin-Simmons Cowboys. One of the chain-gang members had the flu, and by the second half, he could no longer stand up. Seeing what was happening, I jumped from my seat in the stands and offered to take the sick official’s spot. I expected to encounter resistance. After all, working the chains is a vital role in working a football game. But Alex, who also was working the chains, vouched for me. Together we moved the sticks without incident. After the game, Alex thanked me for having done such a competent job. I said the same to Alex, choosing not to remind him that twice during the game, I had to correct his stick placement. Twice he had been confused on a third down.
Alex was about to toss the coin when I noticed the Stephenville quarterback and team captain Mitch Mitchell smile at Jimmy as if to mock him. As instructed, Jimmy kept his eyes focused on the toss, and, after winning it, he chose to take the ball. He then wheeled his brother to the sideline with the team, where Stanley remained throughout the game.
Next, I gathered the boys. I knew I would have to shout to be heard above the band, the cheers, and the Winslow brothers heckling from the front row of the Stephenville stands.
“Young men,” I shouted. “We have to focus on what we’re here to do. Don’t let the hoopla get to you, or we’ll be out of this before we get started. Remember, it’s loud on the other sideline, too. But this is our field and our home. Don’t look into the stands. Don’t allow any distractions. We’re ready to play, so remember your assignments. Talk to your teammates. Talk to me. Do what you’re here to do. Now, let’s play some football!”
Following the opening kickoff, the offense ran onto the field. As Jimmy huddled the boys, I could feel the energy.
The teams lined up. Immediately, the defense started to talk trash. I was close enough to hear it, but was praying the boys would ignore it. “Did your mama tie your shoes?” someone shouted from the defensive line. The ball was snapped and Jimmy was tackled for a loss. As the defenders got up from the pile, several laughed and taunted Jimmy. “Your mama needs to kiss your boo-boo!”
I was standing parallel to the huddle, and I signaled for the boys to run the same play. This time, among the taunts and laughter, the play worked. The Brownwood crowd went wild as Willie took the pitch around right end for a seventeen-yard gain and a first down. Unfortunately, Donald, the starting right tackle, turned his ankle on the play and hopped to the sideline. His replacement, Mickey, came in. I had told Mickey to tell the boys to run the same play.
Again, the play worked. Mickey had thrown a massive block on the Stephenville left tackle, allowing Willie to take the pitch twenty yards for another first down just across midfield. I treated myself to a tiny smile as I noticed the defenders had quieted.
But the next play had my blood boiling. Willie had scampered to the Stephenville five-yard line when I noticed a yellow flag lying on the ground near the line of scrimmage.
Alex had flagged Charlie for holding.
“Come on, Alex! That was a clean block!” I shouted. Alex then ran toward me and gave his version of what he saw.
“Ridiculous!” I told him. “Don’t nickel-and-dime my boys!”
The half continued with both teams trading possessions with little success. The game remained scoreless as halftime approached, until finally we were threatening.
“Okay, fellas,” I said, reminding the boys that on third down, they were just five yards from a touchdown. “We need to score. But let’s run a decoy on third and score on fourth.”
The boys looked at each other. It was as if I could read their minds. What? Why would we waste a down when we’re running out of time and we haven’t scored all night?
“Jimmy, fake a dive to Kevin, then pitch left to Willie. On fourth down, give the ball to Kevin. Snap on one, and just watch them wait on Willie. We’ll be in the end zone before they realize what happened.”
Just before the fourth-down snap, I saw Stephenville’s noseguard shift about a foot to his left. Immediately, I knew Charlie had pulled off the four-pod, triple-quint option. I wanted to smile, but I waited to see if it worked.
It did. I glanced across the field and saw Coach Black slam his cowboy hat to the ground. With no time on the clock, we kicked the extra point and took a 7–0 lead. Then I smiled.
The boys cheered as they entered the locker room, but I quickly reminded them that as good as it felt to take the lead just before the half, the game was not over.
“Never cheer until a game is over,” I said.
I had the boys clustered in the locker room and reinforced the need to stay focused. “Again, assignments. Assignments. Assignments,” I said. Then I turned to leave, telling the boys I’d be back in exactly twelve minutes, allowing them some time for privacy. I exited the field house and found myself nearly nose-to-nose with Mr. Redwine.
“Everything okay?” I asked, unable to suppress my surprise by his appearance at the field house.
“We all saw you shout at the ref on the holding call,” he said.
“He was wrong. It was a bad call.”
“And it was a bad move on your part, Tylene. You know I support you, but you can’t be out there shouting at the ref in front of the whole town. You’re the face of this team, and it’s just not—”
“Not what?” I asked. I knew where he was going, but I wanted to hear it from him.
“Not ladylike,” he said.
I laughed and shook my head.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Redwine, for not undermining my authority in front of the boys,” I said sarcastically.
“Tylene,” he said.
“Look, you can scold me all you want Monday, but right now, I’ve got a job to do.” I turned away and began looking at my notes while I waited out the twelve minutes. I found myself calming my nerves by softly singing a few bars of an Ernest Tubb favorite, “Walking the Floor Over You,” as I paced outside the entrance.
Shortly after, I entered the locker room to join the boys and lead them in our exit from the field house. As we approached our sideline, I noticed that the Winslow brothers had joined our fans on the Brownwood home stands. Moonshiner had shown up and was standing near the entrance. I also noticed that the standing-room-only crowd had grown exponentially. I figured people who had begun listening to the game on the radio had dashed to the field.
Maybe they couldn’t believe what they were hearing, so they wanted to see it firsthand? I allowed myself a flash of satisfactio
n. I turned to my family and was stunned to see my mother hadn’t left. She and I made eye contact, and she gave me a thumbs-up. John, my father, and Bessie Lee had equally encouraging expressions on their faces.
We began the second half on defense, clinging to our tenuous one-score lead. We exchanged a pair of three-and-out possessions, and I knew we needed to force a turnover if we were going to extend our lead or establish a hint of momentum. I paced the sideline, rubbing my forehead, thinking of my next move. I walked slowly at first, but as the game progressed I grew more intense. I hadn’t realized how fast I had begun pacing until my right heel got caught in the grass. I jarred it free and then sent it airborne, nearly clipping a line judge upside the head. He turned to me but didn’t say a word.
With one heel on and the other off, I limped toward the forty-yard line and retrieved my shoe. I pulled the other off my left foot. With my feet covered only in nylon stockings, I walked to the back of the sideline and tossed both heels into the basket of footballs where I’d also stashed my maroon-and-white handbag—one I had crocheted two weeks earlier in Brownwood school colors.
I stepped away from the basket and noticed the dirt track behind it. I bent down on one knee and started etching potential plays in the dirt. I had to think of something to generate an offense. The game was too close, and we weren’t penetrating midfield.
A few minutes later and with less than four minutes to play, our noseguard Albert Brumfield tripped. He couldn’t recover quickly enough, and Red McNeil dashed seventeen yards up the middle for a Stephenville touchdown. The extra point tied the game at 7–7.
“That’s okay,” I assured the boys. “It’s tough to keep a team scoreless. We can get this back.”
With possession and three minutes to go, I pointed to a play I had drawn in the dirt, turned to Jimmy, and said, “I know you can make this happen. I’ve seen you do this since seventh grade.”
It was the Great Gatsby, a play so challenging it was rarely seen, especially by a triple-option offense. It was a go-to play, but it had to be run with perfection or it would fail. I knew it was one of Jimmy’s favorite plays, and I had the boys run the play just once in practice, more for fun than anything else.
Bobby Ray had been blocking and running decoy routes throughout the game, and he appeared a bit winded. Now, he had to run his most important decoy route of the night and then follow it with what I had engineered to be the game-winning play. I knew he was up to the task; after all, he had been on the receiving end of four touchdown passes from Jimmy over the last three years. I’d seen each one of them.
Still without shoes, and with my glasses having slipped to the tip of my nose, I stood parallel to the line of scrimmage, hands on my knees, eyes locked in on the play as the ball was snapped. My heart began beating faster, beads of sweat dripping from my forehead. The play unfolded just as I had hoped—Bobby Ray slowed to a stop on his out route, and the defensive back stopped as well. Bobby Ray was instructed to do the same thing on the next play, but after feigning a stop, he was to make a dash for the pass.
Preparing for the big moment, Jimmy huddled the boys together, then looked over his shoulder at me. He nodded so slightly only I could have noticed it. The boys broke the huddle and lined up.
“Hut!” Jimmy yelled. The ball was snapped, Jimmy faked to Bobby Ray, and the defensive back bit. The moment Jimmy pulled the ball back in, the defender slowed. Bobby Ray turned to his left, and with the unsuspecting defensive back thinking the play was not coming his way, Bobby Ray ran faster than a black-tailed jackrabbit. Jimmy heaved the ball downfield and hit Bobby Ray in stride. Touchdown!
I froze. Did that just happen? Although the crowd was rocking the stands, and the Lions sideline had erupted, I was so absorbed in the moment I couldn’t hear a thing. Jimmy ran up to me, screaming, “It worked, Coach! It worked! Look at them!” He pointed to the Stephenville sideline. “They’re in shock!” So was I. It was the first time a football player had called me “Coach.” I was so overjoyed, I lost myself inwardly in the moment. But I had to regroup quickly, so I huddled the team seconds after Stephenville took possession and called its last time-out.
“We’ve done a heck of a job keeping their halfback in check, but he’s their go-to guy, so we can’t let up. Jake, be ready.”
“I’m ready, Coach,” Jake said. “I want him to come at me.”
“Bobby Ray, you have much left in the tank? We still need you on defense.”
“I’m good to go, Coach.”
“We have to get off the ball quickly,” I said. “I know you’re getting tired, guys, but remember, no excuses. We have to force them into a second and long, third and long. If we do that, we might get a shot at taking the ball near midfield and running the clock out. You ready? Let’s do this!”
I started pacing, now clutching a handkerchief I had grabbed from my handbag during the last time-out. First down. Stop. Second down. Stop. Come on, fellas, third down. Let’s get the final stop. With my glasses blurred by sweat, and my soft curls drooped by the heat and humidity, I put my handkerchief to my forehead and began patting every bead of sweat, but for a few that had dropped from my chin.
“Let’s go, men!” I yelled to the defense while clapping my hands.
“Yes!” I shouted as Kevin got off the ball quickly and was moving in on a sack. The closer he got, the faster I dashed along the sideline twisting and contorting my body, mimicking the play. Just as Kevin moved in on the sack, the quarterback threw the ball. Twenty-five yards downfield, Bobby Ray jumped in front of the receiver, high enough to tip the ball. As Bobby Ray fell on his head and back, the ball came straight down and landed on his chest, and he cradled it in his arms. Interception! We took possession at the Stephenville forty-five.
He wobbled to his feet, and I could tell he was hurt. I signaled to Moose, and we ran onto the field to help Bobby Ray off. I had instructed Jimmy to keep the boys focused on the sideline, but once I was back with the team, I called a time-out. It was our last time-out of the game. Stephenville had no time-outs remaining.
Bobby Ray went to the bench and sat down.
“Got the wind knocked out of me, Coach,” he said. He claimed he was okay and was ready to return. I made him sit.
“Boys, we have to protect the ball,” I said as we huddled. “We have the lead, we have possession, and we have time on our side. You know as well as I do that they’ll try to jar the ball loose, so hang on tight. Don’t let up.”
“What about Bobby Ray?” Jimmy asked. “We need his blocking.”
“He’s done.”
Bobby Ray heard me and jumped from the bench. “Done? Coach, I can go.”
“Sit,” I told him.
“Coach, we need him,” Jimmy said. “He just got his bell rung. He can play.”
“He’s hurt,” I said.
“No, he’s not,” Jimmy said. “He’s just a little wobbly.”
“Are you kidding me?” I said to Jimmy. “You think it’s worth sacrificing an injured teammate for the sake of winning? Is that why we’re here? To win at all costs?”
Jimmy just looked at me.
“I am not taking a chance.” I turned to Kevin and shouted, “You’re in!” As Kevin ran toward me, I told him his role was to run a solid route.
“Take the safety with you, away from the play,” I said. He and Jimmy ran out and joined the huddle while Bobby Ray sulked on the sideline.
I was frantically shouting out formations with my arms flying side to side and up and down, indicating where the players needed to be. I pointed at Kevin, then signaled a slight shift to his right. He made the move.
On second down, Jimmy handed the ball off to Willie. Kevin began his route, but he was running too slowly and the safety wasn’t fooled. The safety brushed Kevin aside and lunged toward Willie, knocking the ball loose and forcing a fumble recovered by Stephenville with one minute, two seconds to play. It was our first turnover, and it couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time.
“
It’s not over. They’ve got a long way to go,” I said. “We’ve held them to seven points all game, and we can hold them for the last sixty-two seconds. Stay confident, boys. All I ask is one thing, and it’s the one thing I’ve always asked. What is that?”
“Assignments!” they shouted in unison.
Our defense took the field.
Stephenville began methodically moving the ball, chewing up the clock with long runs and a pair of ten-yard pass completions. With seven seconds to play, Stephenville had one more shot at the end zone from two yards out.
The crowd was so raucous, Stephenville appeared to have trouble hearing its signals, because Mitchell began shouting out the plays louder and louder. Finally, on third-and-goal from the two-yard line, Mitchell took the snap, faked a handoff, and ran into the end zone untouched. Touchdown!
As the clock hit zero, the Stephenville fans were cheering as enthusiastically as if they had just won a state championship. But the Yellow Jackets still trailed by one. Just as I had expected, Coach Black sent the boys out for a two-point conversion try. I knew he wouldn’t go for a tie with an extra-point kick. After all, a tie in Texas is no different from a loss.
I had already prepared the boys to defend the two-point try. They had run several mock attempts in practice, and I was certain the boys knew what to expect. Bobby Ray, who played a key defensive role in the practice drills, was begging to go out on defense, but I remained steadfast. Too risky. I went with Kevin instead. I watched Kevin line up and lock his eyes on Mitchell. Kevin then turned to me and briefly flexed his fingers as if playing out a tune on the piano. I knew it was his way of telling me, I’ve got the quarterback.
I held my breath as the ball was snapped. It seemed to happen so slowly, I felt I might pass out. I tried, but I couldn’t exhale. I was too nervous to breathe. The defense had everyone covered, so Mitchell began to scramble. Kevin was moving in on a sack and appeared to have the quarterback contained when the quarterback squirted through Kevin’s grasp, ran to his right, and, as he fell, stretched the ball into the end zone just inches inside of the right pylon.
When the Men Were Gone Page 16
