“Did he get it?” Alex asked.
“Can’t tell from here,” Matt said. “Too close.”
The officials were waving for a measurement. Players on both sides were pointing in opposite directions—the King of Prussia players signaling first down, the Chester Heights players contradicting them. Alex saw the referee get down on one knee to spot the chain. He stood up and held his hands about a foot apart. The Chester Heights fans cheered lustily.
“They’ll go for it,” Matt said. “If they get it, they can almost run out the clock. Even if they don’t, we’ve gotta go ninety yards to score.”
The King of Prussia coaches had called time-out to make a decision. Alex noticed that the clock was at 3:12. Either way, the offense wouldn’t have much time to go the length of the field to even get within field goal range to try to tie the game.
Not surprisingly, Matt was right. Spears jogged back onto the field when the time-out was over, then called a play and brought his team to the line of scrimmage.
“Be ready, Goldie,” Matt said. “If we hold them, the game’s in your hands.”
“And if we don’t?” Jake asked.
“Game’s over,” Matt said.
Spears lined up in the shotgun, took the snap, and ran straight ahead—a quarterback sneak disguised by the shotgun. At least that was the intent. Gerry Detwiler had the play figured out the instant Spears started forward. He knifed through a blocker, then grabbed Spears by a leg and wrestled him to the ground as Spears tried to dive forward.
“He’s short!” Matt screamed as all twenty-two players—or so it appeared—dove on the pile to try to move it in one direction or the other.
Alex had no idea how Matt could tell if Spears had made it or not, but he started to put his helmet on as soon as he said it. The officials pulled everyone off the pile, took a look at where Spears and the ball were, and signaled Chester Heights’ ball right away. Spears had actually lost half a yard, thanks to Detwiler.
As the defense came off the field celebrating, Alex started on but was stopped by Matt grabbing his shoulder.
“It’s your game, Goldie,” he said. “Go be a hero.”
The clock was at 2:59 when Alex stepped into the huddle. Coach Gordon had reminded him as he started onto the field that the Lions had all three of their time-outs left.
“Try to save at least one in case we need a field goal,” he said.
Alex nodded. He was hoping they would at least get into field goal range.
Not surprisingly, King of Prussia was in a prevent defense—dropping all four defensive backs and their linebackers deep to “prevent” a long pass. When Alex walked behind the O-line to take the first snap, he could almost hear his father’s voice in his head while watching the Patriots go into a prevent defense.
“You know why they call this a prevent defense?” David Myers would say without fail. “Because it prevents victory.”
Now Alex hoped it would allow him to create victory. Or at least a tie and overtime.
Jonas had brought two plays with him from the sideline because they would go no-huddle when they had to—on plays when the clock didn’t stop. The first one was a simple turn-in route to Alan Fitzgerald, an extra receiver who was in instead of a tight end to add speed and a better pair of hands.
Fitzgerald caught the quick pass at the 18 and dived to the 19 for a nine-yard gain. Alex rushed everyone to the line and ran the exact same play—as called—but to Jonas on the other side. Jonas eluded a tackler and scrambled to the 33 for a first down.
Fitzgerald, who had gone out after the first play, raced back in with two more calls. Alex called them both as fast as he could and glanced at the clock as they lined up: 2:12 and counting.
He threw a quick out pass to Josephs, who was just as surrounded by defenders and dragged down trying to get out of bounds after a six-yard gain. They were at the 39. In the back of his mind, Alex figured they had to get to at least the King of Prussia 20 to give Pete Ross a realistic shot at a tying field goal.
The second call was a pass to Tom Revere, another of the wide receivers. But just as Alex was about to release the pass, he noticed one of the safeties coming up on Revere. He should have just thrown the ball out of bounds and stopped the clock. Instead, he pulled it back down and took off. He picked up five yards and a first down to the 44, but the clock was running, down to 1:31.
They had to use a time-out.
Alex jogged to the sideline.
“You can’t scramble at this point,” Coach Gordon said, his voice remarkably calm given the situation. “No one’s open, throw it away.”
“Yes sir.”
To Alex’s surprise, Coach Gordon looked at Matt, who was standing off his right shoulder.
“What do you think, Matt?”
“There’s time, Coach. No need to throw deep yet.”
Coach Gordon nodded and called two more short passes.
The first one, a pass over the middle to Revere, worked in large part because Alex whizzed it in between two defenders. Even he was a little surprised that the ball got through all four hands to reach Revere, who caught it while going down at the KOP 43 for a pickup of thirteen. Alex rushed everyone to the line and tried a quick sideline-out to Fitzgerald. But the corners were playing a little tighter now and were naturally trying to deny the pass near the sidelines. Alex led Fitzgerald a tad too much and the ball slid off his fingertips.
The clock was at 1:06.
The incomplete pass stopped the clock and gave them the chance to huddle. Jonas came back in with two more plays and an instruction: “Anything inside the 30 with the clock running, we call time,” he said.
Everyone nodded. The huddle was very much all business, no phony “Let’s go get ’em, guys” talk. Everyone was locked in. Speed mattered.
They came to the line, and with all four receivers taking off on deep routes, Alex found Josephs running a little circle route just behind the line and in front of the linebackers. The tailback picked up twelve to the 31 and then jumped up and called time. Alex could see Coach Gordon throw his head back on the sideline. He hadn’t wanted to use the time-out so soon. There were still fifty-one seconds to go.
Still, this was no time for second-guessing. As he jogged to the sideline again, Alex could see that everyone in the stadium was on their feet.
Coach Gordon wanted to run a quick square-out to Jonas, whose speed forced the corners to play off him, and then run a draw to Josephs. “Spike the ball after the draw—unless it’s third down,” Coach Gordon said. “If it’s third down, we’ll have to use the last time-out and then spike the ball before the field goal.”
Alex nodded. He noticed that his stomach was in a knot, but it was a feeling he liked.
Coach Gordon was right in thinking Jonas would have some space: Alex found him for eight yards to the 23. They lined up again, and as the clock rolled to thirty-five seconds, Alex stuck the ball in Josephs’s stomach and he picked up eight more to the 15. They were in field goal range now. The clock was at twenty seconds and counting. Everyone on the sideline was screaming at Alex to get to the line, take the snap, and spike the ball to stop the clock.
Alex grabbed Jonas by the shoulder as everyone was scrambling to line up.
“Take off for the end zone!” he screamed so he could be heard over the din.
“WHAT?”
“You heard me. When Allison snaps the ball, take off!”
Jonas gave him a terrified look but said nothing.
The clock was at fifteen seconds as Alex put his hands under center. Allison snapped the ball and he took one step back, looked at the ground, and made a motion as if to spike the ball straight down.
Except he never let go of the ball. Everyone in the stadium was expecting the spike and both teams had stopped playing when Alex began his spike motion.
Except for Jonas. As instructed, he had run straight to the end zone. Alex straightened quickly and lofted the easiest pass he had ever thrown in his life over everyon
e to where Jonas was standing, wide open, in the end zone. He caught the ball and threw his arms into the air. More important, so did the official, signaling touchdown.
The clock was at nine seconds.
For a split second, time seemed to stop because everyone was so stunned. Then the Chester Heights sideline and stands exploded. Alex and Jonas were both pummeled by their teammates as the sideline emptied to celebrate.
When Alex finally got to the sideline, Coach Gordon had his hands on his hips. Alex prepared for a tirade.
“Myers, I should want to kill you,” he said, almost smiling. “But that was brilliant. Even if you throw an incomplete there, you still stop the clock and we get the field goal team on.”
Alex couldn’t help but grin. “Yes sir,” he said. “That’s what I figured.”
“Of course, if you’d fumbled or been intercepted, you’d have been running every morning until Thanksgiving.”
“Yes sir. I know.”
Before Coach Gordon could say another word, Matt grabbed him around the neck.
“I told you, Goldie!” he screamed. “I told you! Your game! Welcome to being a star, pal. Welcome to being a star.”
Matt Gordon wasn’t joking about Alex becoming a star.
As soon as King of Prussia’s attempts to keep the kickoff return alive by lateraling the ball over the field had failed—the ball finally came loose at the KOP 42-yard line and was swarmed by a half dozen players as the clock ran to zero—the field was flooded with celebrating fans and with media.
A number of TV cameras raced in his direction, and Alex had no idea what to do. As if by magic, Mr. Hardy, the athletic director, appeared at his side.
“Stand right here and do them all at once,” he said.
“But, Coach Gordon—”
“Said it’s okay. Everyone can talk tonight.” He nodded in the direction of Matt, who was leaning on his crutches and talking to several reporters.
Apparently, the miracle victory had wiped out all the bad feelings of the past few weeks—at least for the moment.
Alex did as he was told, stopping where he was as the cameras rushed toward him. Two yellow-jacketed security guards, apparently on orders from Mr. Hardy, stood to each side of him, saying, “Folks, please don’t get too close. Give the young man some room.”
They did—more or less.
“Alex, tell us about the last play,” said a very tall blond-haired woman who was practically standing on top of him.
Alex shrugged. “Everyone in the stadium knew we were going to spike the ball to set up the field goal,” he said. “Jonas happened to be right next to me as we were going to line up, so I just told him to take off for the end zone. I figured if he wasn’t open, I’d throw the ball away and that would stop the clock anyway.”
“Did Coach Gordon know you were going to do that?”
Alex couldn’t see the questioner because of all the lights shining in his face.
“No,” he answered. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“What’d he say about you ignoring a play call?”
Alex was tempted to tell them about the first time he’d ignored a play call on his first snap, but didn’t. “He said he thought it was okay because there was really no gamble in it.” He paused. “Unless I fumbled or threw an interception. Then I suspect I’d have been in big trouble.”
It went on like that for several minutes until Mr. Hardy stepped in.
The question that caused Mr. Hardy to end the informal press conference came from someone with a notebook, not a camera. “Do you think you’ll be the starter when Matt Gordon’s healthy?”
Mr. Hardy literally stepped in front of Alex as soon as the question came out of the reporter’s mouth, but not before Alex said, “Absolutely not.”
“Need to get Alex to a shower, folks,” he said. “Thanks.”
There were some protests, but they weren’t going to do anybody any good because there were now four yellow jackets surrounding Alex to clear a path for him to the locker room. Alex could see that Jonas had also been talking to reporters and was also now being escorted to the locker room.
They were both hustled through the door. Matt was being dropped off by the equipment cart at the same moment, and they saw that the celebration had already begun.
When Alex and Jonas walked through the door, Gerry Detwiler, who was standing a few feet away, said, “How about these two rookies!”
The entire room broke into cheers and applause and Alex and Jonas were mobbed. In the midst of it he heard Coach Gordon’s voice saying, “Okay, fellas, listen up for a second—listen up!”
They settled down. Normally, Coach Gordon stood in front of the room, but now he was standing on a chair. He held up his hand for quiet.
“To say that was a great win is an understatement …,” he said. They started to whoop but he put his hand up again and they stopped.
“You overcame a 17–0 deficit, remarkable under any circumstances, especially against a very good team. You did it after two quarterbacks got hurt. Defense, what an amazing job you guys did shutting their offense down when it mattered most—especially on that fourth down play. Gerry, no one’s a bigger hero than you tonight—no matter what anyone outside this locker room says.”
They cheered lustily for Detwiler. Alex agreed with what Coach Gordon had said: the final drive couldn’t have happened if Detwiler hadn’t tackled Spears short of the first down marker on King of Prussia’s final offensive play.
Coach Gordon turned in the direction of Buddy Thomas, who flipped a football to him. “Every one of you deserves a game ball tonight—I mean that. For right now, though, we’re going to give three.” He tossed the ball to Detwiler.
“That first one is for you, Gerry, and everyone in here knows why.”
More cheers. Detwiler smiled and held the ball over his head for a moment.
Buddy tossed Coach Gordon a second ball. “This second one is for Ellington, if only because he’s dumb enough to listen to what a freshman quarterback tells him to do with the game on the line!”
More cheers as Coach Gordon flipped the ball to Jonas. He just grinned happily.
Buddy tossed one more ball to Coach Gordon.
“And the last one …” He paused for dramatic effect. “I’m not sure who to give the last one to.”
Everyone began hooting and a chant began—somewhere in the back of the room. “Goldie, Goldie, Goldie!”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Coach Gordon said. “Myers, I swear that was the dumbest, smartest, bravest call I’ve ever seen.
I’m honestly not sure right now whether I want to cut you or kiss you. For now, I’ll settle for this.”
He tossed the ball to Alex, who caught it and then was buried as the “Goldie, Goldie” chant began again.
Once the celebrating abated, everyone showered and dressed quickly. It was Friday night. The older guys would probably be going out. Most of the younger ones had family waiting for them outside. Alex had looked at his cell phone as he started to take off his uniform and it was filled with texts. The only one he read was from his mom.
WOW! it said. We’re waiting outside. How soon do you think?
He quickly wrote back, 15 minutes, and headed for the shower.
It was closer to twenty-five by the time everyone had come up one more time to tell him how great he had been. When he walked outside, there were still several reporters who wanted to talk to him. Coach Brotman had warned him and told him it was up to him whether he talked more or not.
“Can you give me a minute to go see my mom and sister?” he asked.
They all seemed okay with that.
Even forty-five minutes after the game had ended, there were people everywhere. Finally he heard his mom’s voice somewhere in the crowd, calling, “Alex, we’re here.”
At first he saw only a hand waving, but as he walked in the direction of the voice, people parted—all backslapping him as he went—to let him through. There was his mom and the
re was Molly. And standing a few steps away was someone else: his dad.
He hugged his mom and Molly and then stared at his father.
“When did you get here?” he asked as his father shook his hand. They had never hugged very much in the past, so Alex didn’t think to hug him now.
“Believe it or not, at halftime,” his dad said, smiling. “I guess I brought you luck.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Alex heard a voice say.
He turned and there, leaning on his crutches, was Matt Gordon.
“Glad you could make it, Mr. Myers,” he said, putting his hand out. “We were all beginning to think you were a figment of Alex’s imagination.”
Alex wasn’t sure who was more stunned by Matt’s crack—Alex, his mom, or his dad. Only Molly seemed oblivious.
“Nice to meet you too,” Alex’s dad said. “I hope you’re not too badly hurt.”
“I’ll be fine, thanks,” Matt said. “Couple weeks. As long as Goldie’s healthy, we’ll be fine.”
“Goldie?” his dad said.
“They call him Goldie for his golden arm,” his mom explained, and Alex gaped at her—stunned that she knew.
Matt put his hand out to Alex. “I’m proud of you,” he said. “I knew you were going to be good, but honestly, I never dreamed you’d be this good this fast.”
“Thanks,” Alex said. And then, gingerly, because he wanted to, he hugged Matt.
Matt waved goodbye and limped off to talk to some friends.
“Well, I guess this calls for a celebration,” Dave Myers said. “I know it’s late.…”
“It’s okay, we’ve got the whole weekend.”
“Actually, we don’t,” his dad said sheepishly. “I have to be in Washington tomorrow for some meetings. I’m sorry. I just thought driving through to see the game and get a few hours with you and Molly was worth the effort.”
Effort? Alex wondered about that. Driving to DC with a stop in Philadelphia on the way wasn’t exactly a major effort.
The Walk On Page 16
