by Tim Green
He rang the bell and Seth came to the door, wearing Falcons shorts and no shirt, crunching an apple. On the front and back of both his knees were ice bags wrapped in place with Ace bandages.
“Hey,” he said, swinging open the door and saluting him with the apple in hand. “Private Troy, reporting for duty, huh? Why am I not surprised? My day off and here you are. Unannounced.”
“You said Coach McFadden could help us,” Troy said, trying to catch his breath. “Let me show him.”
His hands were on his knees and he was bent over in an effort to catch his breath.
“And your mom will then…what? Ship you off and claw out my eyes?” Seth said. “No blind men yet in the NFL, kid. I pass.”
“What if McFadden says it’s okay? How can they blame my mom? They’ll blame you, if anyone,” Troy said.
“Nice,” Seth said.
“You know what I mean,” Troy said. “No one can do anything to you.”
“You’d be amazed, kid. That’s how the NFL works. N-F-L, Not For Long. Especially when you get a little long in the tooth, like me.”
“Long in the what?” Troy said.
“The tooth,” Seth said, “like a gopher. They get old, their teeth get long. Let me get a shirt and I’ll be right down.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EXCEPT FOR THE GLOW of the big screen, Coach McFadden’s office was dark. Troy’s palms began to sweat. His mouth went dry.
“Coach?” Seth said, pushing the door wide open. “I gotta show you something.”
McFadden was sitting at his desk but facing the side wall. He spun their way and flipped on the light. Seth gasped and pulled up short. Troy bumped right into him, then saw why Seth had stopped so suddenly. Sitting on the leather couch at the far side of the big office was Coach Krock.
“Seth,” McFadden said, “what can I do for you?”
“I…didn’t know you were busy,” Seth said, looking from the head coach to Krock and back.
“Carl and I were just going over some film,” McFadden said. He stood up and shook Seth’s hand, then adjusted his glasses and looked at Troy. “Who’s this?”
“A kid I met,” Seth said. “You gotta see what he can do, Coach. He’s like a genius. A football genius.”
McFadden chuckled and said, “Well, we got the Saints coming up and any ideas on how to slow them down are welcome.
“Wherever it comes from,” he added, looking over the tops of his glasses at Troy, obviously amused.
“Oh, bull crap,” Krock said, leaning back in his chair and splaying his plastic leg out to the side. “I seen this parlor trick, Bart. Don’t waste your time.”
“It’s not a trick,” Seth said, glaring at Krock until McFadden cleared his throat.
“Run a couple plays, Coach,” Seth said to McFadden. “Go ahead. I’m serious.”
Krock snorted and shook his head, muttering something about work.
“We got work to do, Seth,” McFadden said, his face turning serious.
“Please, Coach. You have to.”
McFadden shrugged, nodded his head, and went back to his chair. He flipped off the light and ran the film. One play. Two. Three. Four.
Krock started to snigger.
“Sweep left,” Troy said, looking at the three men quickly before turning his attention back to the screen.
It was a sweep. To the left.
“Probably saw that game on TV, Bart,” Krock said. “You get that dish, you can see them all.”
“Coach,” Seth said, “I’ve seen him do it live. He did it with the Georgia Tech game on Saturday and the Giants-Jets game on Sunday Night Football. He can do it with any game, just not preseason.”
“Why?” the head coach asked. “No strategy in a preseason game?”
“I think,” Troy said.
McFadden nodded and got up from his desk. He walked over to his bookcase and removed a cassette from a high shelf.
“I know he didn’t see this game, Carl,” McFadden said to Krock. “He wasn’t born when this was on.”
McFadden put in the tape and let it run. After six offensive plays, Troy began to tell them what the next ones were going to be. He got ten plays in a row right.
“What’d you call him?” McFadden asked Seth, turning off the machine.
“A genius,” Seth said, “a football genius. All the tendencies and formations that we study and plug into computers, his brain just calculates it all. Instantly. But he does it better than the computers. We just get little bits of it, like whether in a certain formation on third down they’re more likely to run or pass.
“He calculates it all. Everything. What yard line they’re on. The positions of the players. Formations. And what they’ve run on the previous plays. You know every coach has his game plan scripted out to run certain plays in certain situations? It’s like he sees a little of what they’re doing and his mind fills in all the blanks. He knows the whole game plan. All he needs is to see a few plays to get the pattern.”
“My mom says it’s like the weather,” Troy said. “I say ESP.”
“Your mom?” Coach McFadden said.
“She’s the new PR assistant,” Seth said. “That’s how I found him. He was the one on the sideline at the Cowboys game.”
“I tried to tell everyone they were going to run T.O. to the outside instead of to the inside,” Troy said, getting excited.
“All right,” Krock said, growling and rising to his feet with a clank from the metal joints in his leg. “That’s enough. We’re oh and two and we haven’t had a winning season in three years. Now you’re going to bring a twelve-year-old in to save us?”
“You gotta take this chance, Coach,” Seth said. “We could win it all with this kid.”
“Carl, go ahead and sit down, okay?” McFadden said.
“My leg makes it more comfortable for me to stand, Coach,” Krock said, “if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, sure. Just be comfortable.”
“I doubt that, Bart,” Krock said, glancing at Troy. “I specifically told that little brat there to stay away from me and stay away from this team. I told Halloway that the last time he brought him around. Now here they are again, talking to you. This kid cost us the Cowboys game, running around the sideline, distracting everyone, causing confusion. The police had to take him.”
“That’s a lie!” Troy said, leaning toward Krock. “I tried to tell you the play.”
Krock turned his head sideways and shot a glare at Troy from his near eye. Troy remembered Nathan’s words. NFL players were afraid of this guy. Now he knew why.
“I grew up on a pig farm,” Krock said through his teeth. “Never knew one that didn’t make a stink. I used to wait for slaughter day like it was Christmas, and I’m looking that way for the day I don’t have to see this one.”
“Carl—” Coach McFadden said.
“Don’t do this to yourself, Bart,” Krock said, holding up his hand. “I respect what you done, as a player and a coach. Don’t go out this way.”
“Carl, you saw what he just did,” McFadden said.
“Can you imagine the newspapers?” Krock snorted. “What they’ll say on TV? They’ll laugh you out of coaching. You won’t get a high school job by the time it was done.”
“No one would have to know, Carl,” McFadden said. “We could turn this season around. We could win the whole thing if he can do what I just saw him do. If that happened, you’d get the next head coach job that opened up.”
“But Bart,” Krock said, his sarcastic drawl sweet and slow, like pancake syrup, “I’m happy right here, bein’ your assistant. Until Mr. Langan says otherwise.
“But,” Krock added, turning back to Troy and pointing his finger, his voice angry and quiet, “if things keep sliding and they do make me head coach of this team? Well, I can feel a hankering coming on for a whole new PR department. Get rid of the whole mess of ’em.”
A mean smile curled the corners of Krock’s mouth. He turned and thumped out. Troy
could hear him laughing to himself as he moved off down the hallway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“CAN’T YOU JUST FIRE him?” Seth asked.
McFadden shook his head and said, “I’m in no position to fire anyone, Seth. I’m the one in trouble if we don’t start winning.”
“We could work around him,” Seth said.
McFadden held up his hand. “I’m not going to go out that way, Seth. Carl was right—a story like that would ruin me, forever. Hey, this season isn’t over. We win a couple games these next few weeks and we’ll be back on track. You just think about that, Troy.”
McFadden mussed Troy’s hair and showed him to the door.
“And as long as I’m here, you don’t have to worry about your mom. She’s got a job with me, son.”
Troy thanked him and Seth led him downstairs and past the empty weight room.
“Will they keep him?” Troy asked when they were alone.
“We gotta win,” Seth said, swinging open the door to the locker room. “We got the Saints coming up and the Packers after that. Then the Bucs and the Panthers, all games we could win. Or lose. We lose those and he’ll get fired. He could be gone in four or five weeks.”
“And I gotta believe that’s just what’s gonna happen,” said a nasty voice behind them.
They turned and saw that Krock had come out of the elevator. He was smiling in a mean way and he moved up close to them, standing almost toe-to-toe with Seth.
“’Cause it’s gettin’ awful hard for me to make the defensive adjustments I need for us to win these days,” he said.
“You’d lose on purpose?” Seth said, disgusted and scowling at the same time. “How could you even think like that? You’re on a team.”
“Well,” Krock said softly, touching Seth’s chest, “not that I’d do it on purpose, exactly. It’s just hard for me to adjust my defense when I got an overpaid veteran middle linebacker who’s…well, I guess he’s lost a step.”
Seth clenched his hands. Even Troy knew that when a player got old and they said he lost a step it meant trouble. Whenever that player missed a tackle, or made a mistake, that’s what people would say. And once a player had that name tagged on him, there was no fixing it. The end was very near.
“I got big, fat defensive tackles as fast as you,” Krock said with a sneer.
“You know I get to the plays quicker than anyone just knowing where to go,” Seth said, his voice low but starting to waver.
“I told you,” Krock said softly, patting Seth gently on the shoulder, his mean smile widening. “This game ain’t a chess match. It’s a street fight. You lost a step.
“’Bout four weeks left, little piggy,” Krock said, turning to Troy, “before your momma’s in the welfare line. Four weeks, tops.”
Krock pushed past them, thumping through the locker room and disappearing out the far door with a shrill “soo-eee” pig call that vibrated the air.
Seth didn’t move, and Troy stood there next to him, the sound of the call still ringing in his ears. Finally, Seth sighed and muttered a curse under his breath.
“You’re still the top tackler,” Troy said, following Seth across the locker room.
“If you owned an NFL team, I’d be all set,” Seth said, pushing through the door.
“I’m sorry, Seth,” Troy said as he climbed into the yellow H2.
“Not your fault,” Seth said. “Win some, lose some.”
They rode in silence until they came up to the turnoff on Route 141 for Old River Road, the way to the Cotton Wood Country Club entrance.
“Look,” Seth said, “I’m thinking your mom isn’t going to want to see my face.”
“I can walk from your house,” Troy said.
Seth just nodded. They passed through the gates with the guard waving cheerfully. They drove down the curving streets, passing expensive cars and homes the size of small buildings that Troy could see through the trees. He sighed and picked at the tattered hem of the T-shirt he wore, then poked a finger through the hole in the leg of his jeans. The laces on his sneakers were gray. He turned his foot on the side and saw the treads were worn nearly flat.
“So,” Seth said as they pulled into the driveway of his big stone house, “your mom must have a guy she sees, right?”
“No,” Troy said. “I don’t think she likes men in general. Outside my gramp.”
“I kinda got that impression,” Seth said.
“Why?” Troy said. “You think she’s pretty?”
“Of course she is,” Seth said, turning off the engine and putting his hands on the wheel. “But I’m far from her favorite person after what I said. You know, about the money.”
“You were trying to be nice,” Troy said.
Seth nodded and sighed.
“Women,” he said.
“Yeah,” Troy said.
Seth smiled at him and slapped both his knees before opening the truck door. “Well, at least I know where all my footballs have been going.”
“I only took one,” Troy said. “Honest.”
“I don’t care,” Seth said, swatting the air. “You need a ball, you just come get one, Troy. I got plenty.”
“You could come to one of my games sometime,” Troy said. “I don’t do much. Punt team, sometimes. Unless this jerk Jamie Renfro breaks his leg.”
“Easy, killer,” Seth said. “Maybe in about a month, if your mom cools down by then.”
“You don’t have to sit with her or anything,” Troy said. “Just see the team.”
“Well,” Seth said, “you never know. Hey, you go easy on sneaking into this place. You get caught, they won’t like it much.”
Seth looked at his watch and said, “Hey, I gotta go, my man.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost seven,” Seth said.
“Jeez, seven? Oh, Nathan’s gonna kill me,” Troy said, and he took off running for the wall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
NATHAN STARED AT THE door to Troy’s bedroom with the face of a victim in a horror movie. His eyes were as big as Ping-Pong balls. His forehead glistened with sweat. The man he was controlling on the TV screen made a mad dash around the game going the wrong way on the football field because Nathan wasn’t paying attention.
Troy looked at the door too, and the sudden pounding made him jump. Nathan closed his eyes. His lips were moving in a silent prayer.
“Troy, you let me in there!” his mother screamed through the door. “I said enough is enough and I meant it! I will break down this door.”
Troy helped Nathan to his feet and boosted him up to the window.
“She’s like a crazy mule,” Nathan mumbled, dropping to the ground outside with a grunt.
Troy pulled the door open. His mother stood there, breathing hard and glaring at him. He could see that her eyes were red and wet from crying, and he felt sick with guilt doing this to her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Sorry?” she said, arching her eyebrows. “Sorry?”
“I am,” he said.
That deflated her. She turned and hunched her shoulders and walked down the short hallway into the kitchen, where she sat down at the table and cried.
Troy stepped slowly into the kitchen. Her arms were crossed, her head buried in them, shaking. Troy reached out and put his hand on hers. It went stiff, then she opened it and grasped his fingers.
Without picking her head up, she said, “Don’t do that to me, Troy. Don’t stop talking. Don’t ever do that.”
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I won’t.”
She picked up her head and pulled him tight to her. He could feel her hair, wet with the tears, against his cheek. One of her hands was on the back of his head and he could feel the muscles in her jaw moving as she spoke.
“You’re all I’ve got, honey,” she said. “I’d die if I didn’t have you with me.”
Troy waited a minute, then said, “Like if I went to military school?”
She gripped
him even tighter, then let up and said, “I wouldn’t do that, honey. Even for your own good. I couldn’t.”
Troy sighed and said, “I know, Mom. The reason I didn’t answer was because I just didn’t hear you, Mom.”
She held his shoulders and looked at his face.
“I couldn’t not answer you if you needed me and I was really there,” he said.
Her face wrinkled with curiosity.
A lie popped into his head, an easy way out. A story about headphones and loud music and being so into his book that he lost track of time.
Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “It was Nathan in there. I asked him to play the game so you wouldn’t know I went out.”
“Out where?”
“Mom, don’t get excited, I’m trying to do the right thing. I went to Seth’s. He didn’t know I snuck out or anything, and he took me to see the head coach to show him what I can do and overrule Krock. But it didn’t work. Krock was there, and mad, and if the team keeps losing and he gets to be the head coach…”
Troy couldn’t look at her.
“Well,” he said, “then he said he’d fire you.”
When he glanced up, she was looking away, her lower lip pinched between her teeth.
“Maybe they won’t fire Coach McFadden,” she said softly. “That’s what we gotta hope for, right?”
“You’re not mad?” he asked.
“Oh, I guess I am,” she said, even though she wore a small smile. “But I’m glad you told the truth, and I’m really glad you weren’t just ignoring me. It’s kind of a soft spot with me.”
“Because my dad did that to you?” Troy asked before he could stop the words from leaving his mouth.
