The Walk On

by John Feinstein

  The rest of the morning was pretty routine. Everyone ran the forty-yard dash twice. Alex was easily the fastest quarterback and the fourth fastest overall, behind one of the running backs, one of the defensive backs, and Jonas—who blew everyone away by running 4.53 twice. That time was fast for a college wide receiver, much less a high school freshman. Alex could tell by the way the coaches looked at their watches that they were impressed.

  He was too. He had run 4.79, which he knew was a good time for a quarterback, but it didn’t seem to draw much attention. Which was fine—his legs weren’t his strength, his arm was.

  After about ninety minutes, Coach Gordon called them all together again. “We’ll do a little hitting tomorrow,” he said. “And we’ll scrimmage some, now that we have an idea of what you guys can do. See you same time tomorrow.” He paused. “Don’t be late—that’s one way to guarantee you don’t make either list.”

  Clearly, the Marines frowned on tardiness.

  In the locker room, Jake Bilney, whom Alex had judged to be the second best of the quarterbacks, introduced himself.

  “You’re obviously new here,” Jake said after offering a handshake. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Boston,” Alex said. “Just got to town a couple days ago.”

  Jake smiled and looked around the room. “Well, let me be the first to welcome you,” he said. “But I gotta warn you, I might be the last.”

  “What do you mean?” Alex said, a little bit puzzled.

  Jake looked around the room again, then lowered his voice. He was leaning against a locker in a casual pose, but when he spoke his tone was anything but casual.

  “Has anyone told you about Matt Gordon?”

  “You mean Matthew Gordon Junior?”

  Jake smiled. “Yeah, he goes by Matt because he hates being called Junior and everyone calls his dad Matthew.”

  Jonas, who had just come out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, couldn’t resist jumping in. “I thought his first name was Coach.”

  Jake turned at the sound of his voice. “You’re the fast guy. What was your forty time, like four flat or something?”

  “Four-five-three,” Jonas said. “I’m Jonas Ellington.”

  “You’re new too, right?”

  “Uh-huh. From New York,” Jonas answered.

  Jake nodded. Other kids were buzzing past them, but no one seemed to be paying any attention.

  “Around here, his first name is Coach. But in the newspapers and on the Internet his full name is ‘Coach Matthew Gordon.’ Or, more often, ‘Renowned Coach Matthew Gordon.’ ”

  “Not a fan?” Alex said.

  “Actually, I am,” Jake said. “He’s a very good coach. Check his record. Two state titles; the semis last year with a very young team. A lot of people think he’ll coach a college team sometime soon. He just turned forty last season—I remember because there was a big party for him. Matt and I are friends, so I got to go. I haven’t ever really played for him because I was on JV last season, but I’ve spent a lot of time at his house. He’s tough, but he knows football.”

  “So you played JV last year?” Alex said.

  “Last two years,” Jake said. “And I figured I’d be Matt Gordon’s backup this year because the two guys behind him both graduated. Then you showed up.”

  Alex tried to hide his smile. Just as he had sized up the other quarterbacks, clearly Jake Bilney had sized him up.

  “Well, I don’t know about that—” he started to say before Jake cut him off.

  “Come on, Myers, I could see it on your first throw. What was that baseball movie? The Natural? That’s you. Coach Hillier saw it too. But there’s no way Matt Gordon’s not playing. The offense is set up for him and he’s very good.”

  “Better than Alex?” Jonas asked.

  Jake shook his head. “Can’t throw like him,” he said. “I’m not sure I’ve seen anyone in this league who throws like that. But Coach runs that ‘read-option’ offense that Robert Griffin the Third made famous. Matt’s not as fast as RGIII, but he’s fast enough and he’s very strong. Plus, he throws it okay when he has to.”

  He paused. “Although he did throw two interceptions in the state semis when we got behind.” He smiled. “Of course, Coach blamed the receivers—said they didn’t run their routes right. The fact that they were seniors and he never had to see them again may have had something to do with that.”

  “So you’re saying I won’t get a fair chance to start, no matter what I do?” Alex said, abandoning any pretense of modesty.

  “No, I’m not saying that,” Jake answered. “I’m saying that in this offense, Matt’s a better quarterback than you are. He’s also the leader of this team. You’ll find that out.”

  He paused. “So I’m saying that you can start—at another position. But not at quarterback.”

  Alex was tempted to call his dad for advice because he’d always been the one to understand any sports-related problem. His mom had no interest in sports, even though both her children were athletes and loved going to games. She occasionally went with the rest of the family on excursions to Fenway Park and the TD Garden and to Boston College for both football and basketball games, but she rarely paid much attention.

  Alex’s sister, Molly, who was two years younger, was actually more passionate about the local teams than Alex—if that was possible—and she was the one who kept bugging their dad to take them to a Patriots game. His answer was always the same: “Life’s too short. It’s not worth the effort getting in there or getting out. We’ve got a great view on TV.”

  Dave Myers didn’t seem to mind paying twenty-five dollars to park his car at Fenway—but then the Red Sox were his first love. Alex was a Celtics-first guy: he loved watching Rajon Rondo when he wasn’t hurt. Then came the Patriots: he aspired to be Tom Brady in every possible way.

  Both Alex and Molly had bonded with their dad through sports. He had never been a pushy jock dad, even though both kids had shown potential at a young age. Molly was fast and tall—already nearly five seven at age twelve. She was a star soccer player and a good tennis player but perhaps had the most potential in track. Alex, who had shot up to six one at the end of eighth grade, was more into the team sports: football, basketball, and baseball. When he was younger, he and his dad had played golf together, and walking the course had always been a good time to talk. But that had happened less and less as their dad grew more absent from home.

  Now Alex wondered if he should call his dad and fill him in on what was going on at his new school. He finally decided against it because he really didn’t know what was going on. There was no sense making a big deal out of something that might not be a big deal.

  The second day of tryouts was very different from the first. There were no speeches and no introductions and it was apparent that the coaches had established a pecking order among the players based on what they had seen the first day.

  When the coaches had the players spend the last forty-five minutes of the morning scrimmaging, Alex and Jake Bilney took most of the snaps at quarterback. Every once in a while the other QBs got in for a play or two, but it was almost always to call a running play. Alex thought that Jake was a better runner than he was a passer. He seemed to make solid decisions about when to keep the ball or pitch, a sign of both smarts and the experience he had gotten from running the JV offense. But his throwing wasn’t nearly as good.

  Needless to say, the offensive sets were very basic, but Coach Hillier spent a few minutes with Jake and Alex, giving them a couple of read-option calls. That meant it was their decision after taking the snap to run, pitch to a back, or drop back to throw. On one play, Alex saw some daylight to the right as he took the snap. He thought he might run through the hole, but when he noticed that one of his linemen had whiffed on his block, he quickly changed direction, dropped back, and found Jonas wide open behind the entire defense. Alex was standing there admiring his work when he heard a whistle blow.

  “Coach
Hillier, what’s this young man’s name again?” Coach Gordon said, walking toward Alex.

  “Alex Myers,” Coach Hillier said.

  “Myers, once you commit to a play, you follow through on it, do you understand?” Coach Gordon said. “If your blockers don’t know what you’re doing, they can get caught downfield and we end up getting penalized!”

  “But, Coach, none of them were across the line when I dropped back—”

  Coach Gordon held up a hand and looked not at him but at Coach Hillier.

  “Coach, I expect you to make it clear to this young man that at Chester Heights no one argues with the coaches.”

  “Yes sir,” Hillier said quietly, making it clear that even the coaches at Chester Heights didn’t argue with the coach.

  Alex was baffled. He had made a perfect play and been yelled at for it. And then, his position coach had been yelled at for something he—not the coach—had said.

  Alex managed to get through the rest of the scrimmage without making any more good plays that got him in trouble. Everyone was exhausted by the time Coach Gordon and his omnipresent whistle brought them back to midfield.

  “I want to thank all of you for putting in the work you did the last two days,” he said. “Most of you”—he paused, and Alex could feel his eyes searching him out—“came in here with a great attitude. Cut lists will be posted at 10 a.m. tomorrow.”

  He turned and started walking in the direction of the locker room. Alex looked for Coach Hillier, but he was following Coach Gordon. Alex stayed where he was, on one knee, staring after them while everyone else got to their feet, eager to get out of the August heat and into a shower.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Jonas.

  “Don’t sweat it, man. He’s just one of those coaches who wants everyone to know how tough he is,” Jonas said.

  “Yeah, but what if he cuts me to show how tough he is?”

  Jonas laughed. “Are you kidding? You are far and away the best player out here—it wasn’t even close.”

  “You’re just as good—if not better.”

  Jonas shook his head. “I’m good, I know I’m good, but you, my man, are a star.”

  “Can’t be a star if you aren’t on the team,” Alex said. “And you certainly can’t be a star if you’re the last guy the coach wants to see starting.”

  “You mean because his son is the starting quarterback?”

  Alex stood up. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re a little bit paranoid,” he said. “But only a little bit.”

  Alex didn’t want to look uncool by showing up before ten o’clock the next morning to check the cut lists. He also didn’t want his mom around in case the news was bad, so he told her he would ride his bike to school. It wasn’t that far, but he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he knew the way.

  That was his mother’s concern.

  “You might get lost,” she said. “Then what?”

  “If I get totally lost, I can call you on my cell,” he said. “Or I can ask for directions. Somebody will know where the high school is.”

  She suggested printing out Google Maps directions, but he waved her off. “You want me looking down at the directions while I’m riding?” he said.

  “No,” she said.

  “I have to learn how to get there. Might as well do it today, when getting lost won’t mean being late for anything.”

  She finally gave in.

  “Okay,” she said. “As long as you promise to call and let me know when you get there.”

  He sighed. “How about a text?”

  “Deal,” she said.

  It was ten o’clock by the time he left. He figured that should give the other players time to have been there and gone so he could look at the list in relative privacy.

  The last twenty-four hours had been tough. One minute he knew that Jonas was right: no way could Coach Gordon cut him. He didn’t think of himself as cocky, but he did think he’d been the best player at tryouts. Then the next minute he’d swing back the other way. Of course Gordon would cut him. He had his son to play quarterback, Jake Bilney would make a reasonable backup, and he wouldn’t have to worry about Alex outshining both of them. Alex had no idea if he was better than Matt Gordon, but he was very curious to find out.

  Finding the school turned out to be easy. It was ten-twenty when he pulled into the back lot of the school and parked outside the locker room door. He put the lock on his bike, dutifully texted his mom that he wasn’t dead, and was heading for the door when several kids he recognized from tryouts came out.

  Judging by the looks on their faces, they hadn’t made varsity—or maybe even JV. No one said hello. They all looked away from him and kept walking—which he was beginning to think was the traditional Chester Heights greeting.

  He pulled the door open and walked up the stairs, trying not to go too fast, then turned left to where the football coaches’ offices were. He suddenly remembered that Coach Hillier had told him to come talk to him after the cut lists went up. He wondered if that offer still stood and if he’d meant today.

  Just outside the doors that said CHESTER HEIGHTS LIONS FOOTBALL—LEAGUE CHAMPIONS 2012—HEAD COACH: MATTHEW GORDON, he saw a bulletin board. He was delighted and relieved that no one else was around. There were two white sheets of paper tacked to the board underneath a sign that said FIRST VARSITY PRACTICE: THURSDAY, AUGUST 21. FIRST JV PRACTICE: TBA.

  The sheet on the left said VARSITY. The sheet on the right said JV.

  The list on the left was much shorter than the one on the right. Heart in his throat, Alex scanned it quickly. There were four names:

  BILNEY, JAKE

  ELLINGTON, JONAS

  HARVEY, STEPHEN

  MYERS, ALEX

  Alex was almost hyperventilating by the time he got to his name—which had probably taken about five seconds. There it was, though—last, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t at all surprised to see Jake Bilney on the list because Jake said last year’s backup quarterbacks had graduated. Jonas was a lock—at least in Alex’s mind—just as Alex had probably been a lock in Jonas’s mind. Stephen Harvey was a linebacker—Alex wasn’t even sure if he was a sophomore or a freshman—who had run a faster forty than any of the defensive backs, even though he was bigger than all of them. He made sense too.

  There were twenty-seven names on the JV list—Alex counted—which meant that twenty of the fifty-one players who had tried out had been told not to even bother to come back when JV practice started.

  Alex reached for his phone. He figured Jonas had already been there, but he wanted to be sure he knew. But before he could get the phone out, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Coach Hillier standing there with a smile on his face.

  “Congratulations,” he said. “You’re a Lion.”

  “Coach, thanks,” Alex said, letting the phone slip back into his pocket. “I was about to come in and see you.…”

  “Right. I told you to come in after the lists went up, didn’t I?”

  He looked around the hallway for a second and then waved a hand. “I’m the only one that’s in today,” he said and started walking. “Come on, let’s go back to my office.”

  Coach Hillier pointed to a chair opposite his desk and said, “Have a seat. You want something to drink? Water? Coke? Gatorade?”

  “Um, a Gatorade would be great.”

  “Care about flavor?”

  “No. Anything’s fine.”

  Coach Hillier disappeared for a moment, then came back carrying two Gatorades. He flipped one to Alex as he walked around the desk to sit down. He had been wearing a cap and sunglasses throughout the tryouts so this was the first time Alex was really seeing his face. He had what Alex’s mom called “the look”—dirty blond hair that was just a little bit on the long side, blue eyes, and an easy smile.

  “You did well the last two days,” Coach Hillier said. Then he smiled. “That’s kind of obvious, though, isn’t it? Fifty-o
ne kids try out and you’re one of four who make varsity.”

  “I’m just glad I made the cut,” Alex said. He liked Coach Hillier and didn’t want to come off as cocky.

  “There was no way to not put you on varsity,” Coach Hillier said. “Not with the way you throw.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Is your throwing motion natural? I mean, have you always thrown that way or have you gone to camps?”

  “That’s the way I’ve always thrown,” Alex said.

  “Good. If anyone ever says they want to change it, tell them no—this is the way you do it.”

  He paused. Alex was nodding, not sure if he was supposed to say anything.

  Coach Hillier leaned back again.

  When he spoke, he dropped his voice a little and the friendly smile was gone.

  “Alex, you’ve got the best arm I’ve seen here in ten years,” he said. “We’ve had three QBs who got D1 scholarships—one who may start at Pittsburgh this season. Matt Gordon is almost sure to make four. None of them has an arm like yours. Your throws look effortless; you move well. For a freshman, your footwork is terrific—though it’ll get better. You can be a star.”

  “Thanks, Coach—”

  Coach Hillier held up a hand. He wasn’t finished.

  “But not here. Not the next two years. Unless Matt Gordon gets hurt, you’ll never see the field as a quarterback.” He stopped, clearly considering his next words. “You ever repeat that to anyone, I’ll deny saying it. I just think you deserve to know what’s going on. I read the questionnaire you guys all filled out with your permission forms. I know you just moved here, so moving is probably out of the question right now. But you might be able to get a waiver to play at Woodlynn or Brookhaven or another Philly suburb. I know the coaches there and I’m almost certain you’d start right away for any one of them.”

  Alex was stunned, not sure what to say in response. The quarterbacks’ coach at Chester Heights was telling him he could be the best QB the coach had ever seen at the school—but he shouldn’t stay.

  “What does that mean—a waiver?” he said.