The Walk On

by John Feinstein

  “Sorry, Hermione,” he said. “I should have known you’d have the exact number.”

  “Hermione?”

  “Harry Potter?”

  He thought she blushed for a split second. “Are you saying I’m a know-it-all or that I look like Emma Watson?”

  “Both.”

  “Hmm. Come on, let’s go to breakfast.”

  “Where? Why?”

  “Pat and Steve’s. We should talk.”

  “I’ve never heard of Pat and Steve’s.”

  “Just get on your bike and follow me.”

  He was tempted to ask her what she wanted to talk about, but he knew he wasn’t going to turn her down, so he just shrugged and followed her to the bike rack.

  Christine was aware—naturally—of what he had said to Steve Garland about the interception after the game. In fact, she had his quotes written down word for word in a notebook she took out once they were seated.

  Pat and Steve’s looked like something out of the old TV show Murder, She Wrote, which Alex had grown up watching in reruns with his grandmother. She never called the show by its actual name. She would simply stand up at the end of Sunday dinner and say, “Time to watch Jessica”—Jessica Fletcher being the name of the woman who solved murder mysteries every week on the show.

  The restaurant had a counter just inside the door, tables in the middle of the room, and booths lining the wall that looked out on a grove of trees, making it feel a lot more like Cabot Cove, Maine, than Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Alex was certain that Angela Lansbury, the star of the show, was going to walk through the door at any moment.

  Alex had realized on the bike ride over that he was starving. He ordered French toast, bacon, and orange juice. Christine asked for an omelet and tomato juice.

  As usual, she came right to the point. “So did you get benched in the second half last night?”

  “Very subtle first question. I read All the President’s Men this summer.…”

  “I read it in seventh grade.”

  “Yes, Hermione, I’m sure you did.”

  “Actually, my dad insisted I read it.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s an editor at the Daily News and that was the book that inspired him to become a journalist. It is pretty inspiring, didn’t you think? Two reporters actually changed the world.…”

  “So it is in your blood. I should have guessed.”

  She didn’t answer, just smiled. He plowed on.

  “Anyway, one of the things I noticed in the book was that Woodward and Bernstein never started with the hard questions. They started with the easy ones.”

  “How’s your orange juice?” she said, grinning.

  “If I did get benched, I deserved it,” he said, figuring he’d made his point.

  “Why?” she asked. “Everyone makes a bad throw now and then.”

  “Are you going to quote me on this?”

  “Depends on what you say.”

  He shook his head.

  “Not good enough. You can’t quote me because if Coach wants to tell you or anyone he benched me, he can. But it’s not my place to do it.”

  She sighed. “Fine. I won’t quote you.”

  “I didn’t get benched for throwing the interception. I got benched for changing the play in the huddle.” He stopped for a second. “Actually, I’m surprised you didn’t know that. You know everything else.”

  She took a sip of her tomato juice.

  “No one told me that,” she said. “I’m guessing they thought it was up to you whether you wanted to tell someone that.”

  He had to admit he would not have told anyone other than Christine that. He just couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut when talking to her. Then again, he doubted any of his teammates would blame him. It was pretty apparent that he and Jake weren’t the only ones who talked to her. Matt had been the one who told her about Jake faking his knee injury.

  “Do you think you’ll play against Lincoln next week?”

  “I have no idea. I’m hoping running steps this morning was the end of it. I’ll probably be able to tell Monday at practice.”

  “The worst part of this is that you gave Coach Gordon an excuse not to play you,” she said.

  “He doesn’t need an excuse not to play me. Matt’s the starter.”

  “You’re better than Matt.”

  He shook his head as their food arrived and waited as the waitress put the plates down, asked them if they needed anything else, and then moved away. He wondered if Christine had said that as a ploy to get him to talk more or if she really meant it.

  “No, I’m not,” he said. “Look, you’re about the smartest person I know, but you do not understand football. Not only is Matt a really good quarterback—different than I am, but really good—he is the leader of our team. That’s very, very important.”

  “You led the team back in the King of Prussia game.”

  “One game, and KOP had never seen me before.”

  She took a bite of her omelet and pointed her fork at him for a moment.

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “I do know football. And when you get to the playoffs—if you beat Chester and get there—you’re going to need a quarterback who can throw. That’s you, not Matt.”

  Alex focused on his French toast for a while. Then, without really thinking it through, he blurted, “Will you go to the holiday dance with me?”

  She looked surprised for a split second and then smiled.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “Maybe?” he said, stunned because that was the only answer he hadn’t considered as a possibility. “Are you waiting for Jake to ask you?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I think Jake’s a good guy, but he’s always mad at me for not being on Coach Gordon’s bandwagon.” She paused. “And for saying you’re better than Matt.”

  “So why maybe?”

  “It is the night after the state championship game.”

  “And?”

  “How about if you guys win, I’ll go with you.”

  “So you’ll only go with me if we’re state champions? That’s ridiculous!”

  “I was kidding,” she said, laughing at his outrage. “Sure, I’ll go with you.” She paused to watch his face light up. “But only if you admit you’re better than Matt. You said you were back in September. And now I’m convinced.”

  “Matt would never have made the dumb play I made last night. I’ve learned a lot from watching him. You can’t say that I’m better than he is. We have different strengths.”

  “I can say it, and I do,” she answered. “But I’ll go to the dance with you anyway. I like loyalty.”

  Alex did play, for one series, in the Lincoln game, and he got one series in the game against Thomas Jefferson the week after that. (Matt Gordon called it the “presidents portion” of the schedule.)

  In both games he got in for the second offensive series of the third quarter. The Lions were leading comfortably in both cases: 21–0 against Lincoln and 24–7 against Jefferson. He followed the play calls to a tee, not even bothering to consider an audible. He threw four passes total.

  They won both games so easily it was almost dull.

  There was the usual congratulatory text from his dad after the Jefferson game with a promise to be at the next one and if not, then the playoffs! Always there was a hedge in the promises. Alex had intentionally stopped thinking about how much he missed his dad. It just hurt too much.

  Coach Gordon hadn’t said anything to him about the changed call and the benching after his stint running the steps. He was now back to splitting scrimmage reps with Jake behind Matt, although he was still listed second on the depth chart. He also alternated with Jake running the scout team offense again—which really hurt because he wasn’t even practicing plays his team would be running in the game.

  Naturally, the person who tried hardest to keep his spirits up was Matt Gordon.

  “Just learn from your mistake,” Matt counseled. “I know you felt
awful when it happened, but long run it was probably good for you. And it didn’t hurt the team, so just let it go.”

  “It didn’t hurt us because you won the game in the second half.”

  “And you bailed us out in the King of Prussia game. I don’t see you going around bragging about that. So don’t beat yourself up for one mistake.”

  Matt was right, and Alex knew it. Still, it bothered him that his playing time had been cut back as the season was wrapping up.

  They would finish the regular season at home against their archrival, Chester. The Clippers were 8–1, having lost their season opener to a school in Texas in a game televised on ESPN. Like Chester Heights, they had a 6–0 conference record, meaning the winner would advance to the state playoffs. The loser would go home.

  On Monday, there was very little of the usual joking or teasing during pre-practice stretching. Even Matt was a little tight. “The nine wins will mean nothing if we lose this game,” he said as the quarterbacks warmed up. “We’ll be remembered as a team that had a lot of potential but couldn’t get it done when we had to get it done.”

  “How good are they?” Jake said. “Do you know?”

  “We beat them pretty easily last year, but they have some transfers and a lot of returning starters. They throw the ball a lot—I checked their stats. I think their quarterback, Todd Austin, is being recruited by some midlevel D1 schools. I’ve seen some film of him and he’s pretty good—better than last year.”

  He smiled. “His arm’s almost as strong as yours, Goldie.” Everyone chuckled at that and things felt a little more normal. But there was no doubting the pressure everyone was feeling. All the coaches were a little more short-tempered than normal when mistakes were made. During Wednesday’s practice, Josephs fumbled a pitch on one play, and then Matt overthrew Jonas on a pass over the middle a play later. Coach Gordon’s whistle blew.

  “Everyone to midfield,” he said. “Right now.”

  It was after five o’clock and the sun was already starting to set. It occurred to Alex that at this hour next week it would be dark because the clocks would be set back on Saturday night. It was chilly now; it would no doubt be cold then. He hoped they would get the chance to be cold.

  “Listen, fellas,” Coach Gordon said. “We’re about to play our tenth game. I know you’re all feeling some pressure because of what’s at stake. But you have got to keep doing what you’ve been doing all season. Craig, wrap that football up! Matt, don’t short-arm your passes. You’ve got plenty of arm—just throw the ball. I know it’s late, you’re all a little tired. We aren’t going to go much longer.

  “Tomorrow we’ll just be fine-tuning things,” he continued. “Let’s make sure that practice isn’t our last one of the season.”

  “Now, that’s the way to keep us loose,” Matt said quietly as the offense retreated to huddle up.

  Everyone laughed. But it was nervous laughter. Friday was going to be a long night.

  As it turned out, Friday was the coldest day of the year, with snow flurries in the air starting at lunchtime.

  Christine actually walked Alex down the hall after French class. There was no pep rally because Coach Gordon had decided everyone should go home for a while to rest up, and as he had put it when asked to address a brief morning assembly, “If we need a pep rally to get up for this game, something’s wrong!”

  Christine caught Alex walking out the door and fell into step with him.

  “You think you’ll play tonight?” she asked.

  “I got my usual snaps in practice, so I’d think so at some point,” he said. “It probably depends on how the game’s going. I’d love to go in with a big lead.”

  “Not likely,” Christine said. “My dad talked to a couple of the high school writers at the paper. They say Chester’s very good.”

  “That’s what Matt said. It’s a championship game. You can’t expect it to be easy.”

  “Usually they’re much better in basketball,” she said. “It’s unusual for them to be this good in football.”

  Alex had actually read a story in the Inquirer that morning saying much the same thing.

  “Well, we’re not playing basketball tonight,” he said.

  “You nervous?”

  “Not yet. I suspect I will be later.”

  “Especially if you play.”

  He started to nod, then shook his head.

  “Actually, no,” he said. “When you get in the game, your nerves disappear. Adrenaline takes over and you just play. I wasn’t nervous once during that King of Prussia game. Standing on the sidelines watching, that makes you nervous.”

  “Well, I’ll be a little bit nervous watching from the press box tonight.”

  “That’s nice of you,” he said. “I mean that.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’d like to see you win because this is my school, so that’s part of it.”

  “Part of it?” he asked.

  She smiled. “If you guys win, I get to cover the playoffs for the Inquirer next week. One of their high school guys read some of my stories and recommended me as a stringer if we’re playing.”

  “A stringer?”

  “Someone who writes for the paper but doesn’t work for them full-time.”

  “Well,” he said as they reached the steps where they went in different directions—she to the newspaper office, he to his locker—“here’s hoping you get to be a stringer next week.”

  “Don’t ruin my career,” she said cheerily, turning and heading down the hallway.

  They hadn’t really talked about the holiday dance since she had said she would go with him. And there hadn’t been much time at all for socializing the last couple of weeks. There had been midterms and football and that had pretty much been it. Still, it made him smile when he thought of going with her to the dance.

  That, though, would come later. It was time to worry about a football game. One game to make or break a season.

  It was snowing, lightly but steadily, when the game kicked off that night. It was by far the coldest Alex had felt standing on the sidelines, although he was not as miserable as he’d been in the rain at Main Line.

  The stadium was packed, and people were standing in any open area they could find.

  Alex knew from everything he had read that this was one of those rivalry games that old men talk about twenty, thirty, and forty years after playing in one. Chester was the so-called urban school, Chester Heights the suburban school. Translation: there were only fourteen African American players wearing the Lions’ red and white, and probably about the same number of white players in the white uniforms with the black pants representing Chester.

  Chester Heights had won six of the last seven meetings in football. Chester had won eleven in a row in basketball. So this was a chance for Chester to beat Chester Heights at its own game.

  Coach Gordon reminded his team that they were now playing a “one-game season.”

  “If you do your job tonight, you’ll have three more one-game seasons in the playoffs,” he said. “But none of that can happen if we don’t win this one.”

  The first half was everything you might expect from such a game. Each team had one turnover that set up a touchdown for the other. Matt Gordon was bulling defenders over whenever he carried the ball, but he made a mistake on a play-action pass, overthrowing an open Jonas. One of Chester’s safeties grabbed the floating football and carried it to the Chester Heights 19. Matt came off beating himself up, apologizing to Jonas.

  “I won’t miss that one again,” he promised him.

  “I know you won’t,” Jonas said.

  They went to the break tied at 7–7. If the thought of putting Alex in the game ever crossed Coach Gordon’s mind, he never said it or so much as looked at Alex.

  But things changed after halftime. Somehow, Craig Josephs, who had one fumble all season, dropped a simple pitch midway through the third quarter and Chester recovered at the Lions’ 23. From there, it took them five plays to score
and take the lead, 14–7, with 3:19 left in the third quarter.

  As the defense trudged off the field following the extra point, Alex heard Coach Gordon barking his name.

  “Myers, over here!”

  Alex trotted over to where Coach Gordon was standing. Matt was next to him. The snow had stopped, but the temperature had dropped since kickoff.

  “Matt thinks we need a change of pace on offense,” Coach Gordon said. “Are you ready to play?”

  “Give me three warm-up throws and I’ll be set,” Alex said.

  Coach Gordon nodded and Alex grabbed Nick Munson, one of the JV receivers who was in uniform, and told him he needed to play catch. Munson shucked the cape he had wrapped around his shoulders and walked over to where Alex would be able to throw to him. Alex was actually able to get five throws in before he saw the offense heading onto the field after the kickoff.

  “Run 29 toss to start,” Coach Gordon said.

  Alex nodded. In the huddle, he called the play and looked at Craig Josephs.

  “You okay, big guy?” he asked.

  It had been 28 toss, the same simple pitch play but going the other way, that had led to Craig’s fumble.

  “Just pitch it to me, Goldie,” Craig said.

  He did and Craig wrapped both arms around the ball and picked up nine yards to the 40.

  Jonas, who hadn’t been in for the first play, sprinted onto the field carrying the next one.

  “28 toss, X turn in,” he said.

  Alex nodded. It was a perfect call. He would fake the same play to Josephs, only going left instead of right, then drop back and look for Jonas—the X receiver running a turn-in pattern over the middle.

  The play came off exactly as they had run it in practice—except for one thing. After Alex hit Jonas in stride at the Chester 42, he ran right through the cornerback’s tackle, cut inside on another potential tackler, and wasn’t brought down until he reached the 21.

  The Chester Heights crowd, which had been silent for a long time, was suddenly roaring as the Lions sprinted downfield to huddle up again. The huddle was alive with chatter. After hearing the next call, Alex stepped in and looked around.