Football Genius (2007)

by Tim Green

  Troy gripped the edge of his seat, narrowed his eyes, and leaned forward. The Raiders ran the ball, then threw a pass. Two more runs. Two passes. Another run. Troy saw his mom look up at him from the sideline, and his stomach flipped. He felt his breakfast of scrambled eggs and ketchup boiling up into his throat and he choked it back.

  Seth’s words came back to him. If you can’t do it under pressure, it’s just a stunt.

  “Relax,” Tate said, offering him a bottle of soda. “You want a drink?”

  “How ’bout popcorn?” Nathan said, stuffing a fistful into his mouth and spilling some onto the seats.

  The Raiders completed a long pass on third down and got into field-goal range. The defense held them for three plays, then the Raiders lined up to try a field goal. The crowd sent up a wave of jeers. Troy pressed his hands against his ears, drowning out the noise, and concentrated. The Raiders’ kicker missed and the cheers roared through Troy’s hands. The Falcons’ defense jogged to the sideline. Seth took off his helmet and looked up at Troy. Troy shifted his eyes.

  A few seconds later, the cell phone rang. It was his mom.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Okay, honey, because Seth was asking me.”

  “I know,” Troy said. “I’m trying. Something’s wrong.”

  “Oh, honey,” she said. “It’s all right.”

  “Not really,” he said. He felt those hot tears welling up behind his eyes. It made him furious.

  “Was my father a crybaby too?” he asked.

  “What?” his mom said.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I’ll call you, Mom. When I see it.”

  He hung up the phone and bit into his lower lip. The Falcons drove down and tried for a fifty-two-yard field goal. They missed. The Raiders opened up with a long pass to Randy Moss. Touchdown. The Dome erupted in boos while Moss jiggled his backside.

  The Falcons got the ball back, drove down, and made a short field goal. The Raiders took the kickoff and started to move, running five yards at a clip, completing almost every pass.

  The crowd erupted and Troy looked down on the field. Randy Moss was in a shoving match with DeAngelo Hall. Yellow flags flew into the air. Both teams got penalized. The crowd’s booing was like long, low thunder that just wouldn’t stop rolling. Troy saw two wide receivers come off the sideline and head for the huddle as the fullback and tight end left the field.

  “They’ll motion Moss and throw a go route,” Troy said, talking to Tate from the side of his mouth, his eyes intent on the field and the slouching, disrespectful body language of Randy Moss as he yelled and pointed his finger toward the referee. A “go route” was when the receiver used his speed and tried to just outrun everyone to the end zone.

  “What did you say?” Tate said, grabbing him and shaking him.

  “I said—”

  “Call your mom!” Tate shouted.

  Troy looked down at the phone and dialed. His mom answered, and he yelled the play into the mouthpiece. He squeezed the phone in his hand as he watched her. She was signaling to Seth, but he wasn’t looking.

  He must have given up.

  But Troy’s mom waved her hands furiously and got Seth’s attention before dashing back behind the thick white line. Seth rolled his hands over in circles, motioning to Troy’s mom to give him the signal again. She did, and Seth nodded and turned to the defensive huddle, pointing at Bryan Scott.

  Moss sauntered back to the Raiders’ huddle to hear the play, then they broke and came to the line. Moss went into motion. Troy stuffed a knuckle into his mouth. The quarterback snapped the ball and dropped into the pocket. Moss shot up the field. Troy saw Bryan Scott backpedal deep and drift toward Moss’s side. The instant the quarterback started to throw, Bryan Scott took off toward Randy Moss. But the angle wasn’t quite right. Moss was running too fast.

  Even though Bryan Scott knew the play, Troy thought he wasn’t going to make it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  TROY WAS RIGHT.

  But it didn’t matter. Even though Moss beat Bryan Scott to the end zone, the quarterback’s throw didn’t quite reach his receiver. Because Seth knew the play, he had blitzed through the offensive line and chased the quarterback, making him throw off balance. Bryan Scott spun, intercepted the wobbly pass, and ran it all the way back, ninety-one yards, for a touchdown. 10–7, Falcons.

  “You did it! You did it! You did it!” Nathan and Tate screamed at him, jumping up and down and hugging him.

  Tate kissed his cheek, and Troy felt tears spilling down the sides of his face, not tears of pain or fear, but tears of joy.

  Pure joy.

  Seth jogged to the sideline with his teammates, slapping high fives, head-butting, and hugging everyone around him. Troy kept his eyes glued to the old linebacker, so he saw Krock grab him by the front of the jersey and yank him close enough to say something into Seth’s ear. Seth’s face went dark. He shook his head, scowling at Krock, and walked through the cluster of players to the bench.

  Seth looked up at Troy, gave him the thumbs-up, and winked with a big smile. Troy felt his insides glowing.

  Troy’s mom appeared and shook Seth’s hand. He pulled her to him and gave her a quick hug. From up where he was in the stands, Troy saw Krock limping their way through the crowd of players. He sensed danger and knew Krock shouldn’t see his mom talking to Seth. He dialed his mother, shaking his phone as if to make it ring faster.

  She stepped away from Seth and answered.

  “Get away from him, Mom,” Troy said. “Krock’s coming.”

  “Krock?” she said, taking another step back.

  Krock broke through the wall of players and stood staring at Seth and Troy’s mom. She turned her back to the coach, keeping the phone to her ear.

  “What’s he doing?” she asked Troy.

  “Just looking at you,” Troy said, hissing the words. “Walk away.”

  Slowly, she did. Krock eyed her for a moment, then turned his attention to Seth. Stabbing his finger at the linebacker, he began shouting.

  “What’s he shouting about?” Troy asked.

  “He’s telling him to play the defense that’s called,” his mom said, taking a quick glance over her shoulder. “He’s saying Seth was supposed to cover, not blitz, the quarterback. I guess Seth changed the defense Krock told him to call after he got my signal.”

  “And he’ll have to change it again,” Troy said. “Rats.”

  “Seth can handle him.”

  “Let’s hope. I’ll call you when it’s time for the defense to go out there, Mom.”

  Troy hung up and watched the Falcons’ offense start to move the ball. They got to the fifty-yard line, and Josh Lock threw a perfect pass to Brian Finneran on a fifteen-yard crossing route. Finneran caught the ball but was instantly smeared by the strong safety. The ball popped loose and the Raiders recovered.

  Nathan and Tate looked at him, and he nodded his head. The Raiders’ offense came out and lined up in an I formation, running a simple run up the middle for a four-yard gain. Troy watched the field. The Raiders replaced the fullback with a third wide receiver. He dialed his mom.

  “Draw play,” Troy roared into the phone. “They’re going to fake the pass and run right up the middle again.”

  Troy’s mom had positioned herself right near the first-down marker, just as Seth asked her. She motioned her hands, signaling the play to Seth. The linebacker darted his head back and forth between Troy’s mom and Coach Krock. He had to at least make it look like he was paying attention to the coach.

  When Seth got the signal, Troy could see him shouting to his teammates. He was yelling and swirling his hand over his head like a cowboy in a rodeo. The Raiders lined up on the ball. The Falcons’ defense started to crowd in. On the snap, everyone on the Falcons’ defense blitzed through. Seth shot up the middle and nailed the running back just as he got the ball. The ball popped loose and a Falcons lineman came up with it, holding th
e ball high for the thundering crowd to see. The Dome shook under Troy’s feet, and he and his friends hugged each other and screamed at the top of their lungs.

  Josh Lock threw a touchdown pass to Alge Crumpler on the very next play. The place went wild.

  After the kickoff, the Raiders went back out on offense, down now 17–7. Troy watched the people they sent out onto the field and dialed his mom, telling her they’d run a sweep play to the right. His mom signaled Seth, and the defense tackled the Raiders runner for no gain.

  “Yes, Mom! Yes!” Troy shouted into the phone, pumping a fist into the air.

  But Troy’s mom didn’t hear. She was jumping up and down with the cell phone in her hand, cheering along with everyone else. Troy was smiling down at her when Krock appeared, shoved her, and snatched the phone out of her hand.

  The coach put the phone to his ear, and his voice snarled at Troy over the line.

  “I know you’re up there, boy,” the coach said, gazing up toward the stands, “but you’re finished!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  KROCK HELD UP HIS mom’s phone and snapped it in two. Troy watched him hand the broken pieces back to his mom and then limp away. His mom looked down at the broken phone for a moment with her mouth open, then she faded back into the crowd of photographers as if to hide. To Troy, it was almost like a silent movie.

  He turned his attention back to Krock, who was signaling Seth over to the sideline. The crowd cheered the old linebacker as he jogged off. Krock’s face was twisted and red with rage. Krock pointed to the bench, motioned for Seth’s backup to get out onto the field, and turned his back on Seth. Seth didn’t budge. He started yelling and waving his hands at the coach until Krock spun around and jabbed his finger into Seth’s chest, screaming something and pointing to the bench again.

  When Krock turned back toward the field, Troy saw Seth march right over to Bart McFadden and grab him by the upper arm, obviously telling him what had happened. McFadden frowned and nodded and walked with Seth over to where Krock stood watching his defense. The Raiders snapped the ball and threw a pass to the tight end for a fifteen-yard gain.

  Krock spun around when he felt Bart McFadden’s hand on his shoulder. Krock smiled wide. The two coaches began to talk when, suddenly, the crowd erupted. The Raiders had just scored a touchdown, making it 17–14.

  Krock went crazy, pointing at Seth and pointing to the bench before he stormed away. McFadden said something to Seth before he walked away too.

  Seth turned and threw his helmet down. It bounced off the turf and rolled under the bench. Seth followed it and sat down, his chin resting on the breastplate of his shoulder pads. They had benched him.

  Troy turned his attention to his mom and saw her ease through the photographers and up behind the bench, showing the security guard her pass as she went. She put her hand on the backrest of the bench and knelt down behind Seth so none of the coaches or other players could see her. She said something to Seth, and he slowly turned around and shook his head. She gestured at him with her hands, pointing up toward Troy, then back to the field. Seth looked at her, smiled, and started nodding.

  The crowd suddenly erupted in deafening boos. Troy looked to the field. The Raiders had intercepted a pass and run it in for a touchdown. The Raiders now led, 21–17.

  When Troy looked back, his mom was talking with one of the security guards, who took a cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. She looked up at Troy, and the phone rang.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “WHAT DID SHE SAY?” Tate asked when Troy ended the call.

  The stadium was a blur of red and black and a funnel of noise. Troy tried to focus, but he kept expecting that he would wake up and be in his bedroom. It was all too weird. Tate shook him.

  “They want me to go to Mr. Langan,” he said, still staring.

  “The owner?” Nathan said.

  Troy nodded. Tate looked up at the luxury boxes, scanning for a moment before she pointed and said, “There he is.”

  Troy turned his head. Sitting there next to his wife was John Langan, severe looking in his dark suit and red tie, gazing down at the field, his neat, thin mustache a flat line above his tightly closed mouth.

  “But how do you get up there?” Nathan asked.

  “Come on,” Tate said, dragging Troy out of his seat. “If she says we have to go, then we have to go.”

  Troy followed her up the concrete steps and into the concession area. Tate walked a little ways and yanked open a teal-colored door opposite the hot-dog stand. Concrete steps and a metal railing went up as well as down.

  “This is the emergency exit,” Nathan said.

  “So it has to go to all the floors,” Tate said. “Come on.”

  Their footsteps pinged off the concrete, echoing through the stairwell. They went past the door on five all the way to six. Tate tugged on the handle.

  It was locked.

  She turned to them and said, “Okay, when they open this door, we have to think fast and talk fast. We can’t take no for an answer. Troy, remember, your mom works for the team. She told you to find Mr. Langan, and he’s going to want to see you. You just keep telling them you have to see him, and Nathan and I will help.”

  “How?” Troy asked.

  Tate smiled and shrugged. “We’ll figure a way.”

  Then she began pounding on the metal door and shrieking at the top of her lungs. Still, it was nearly five minutes before the handle turned and the door jerked open. A woman security guard in a dark blue vest with a silver badge peeked her head through the door.

  “What in the world?” she said.

  Tate slipped through the opening and darted behind the guard, causing her to turn. Troy and Nathan followed them out into the carpeted hallway. A curving line of doorways went for as far as Troy could see in either direction. Opposite the doors was a metal railing that opened out over the club lounge a level below. There were other guards, sitting in chairs facing the doors every fifty feet, and the two closest stood up and started their way holding walkie-talkies.

  “You children can’t come on this floor unless you’re sitting in a box,” the guard said. She grabbed Tate’s collar. “Now come on.”

  Tate shrugged her off and stamped her foot, pointing at Troy.

  “His mom works for the team,” she said, her face pinched and red. “We’re supposed to be here.”

  “I’m supposed to see Mr. Langan,” Troy said, straightening his back but unable to keep his eyes from shifting toward the approaching guards and his voice from sounding weak.

  “If your mom works for the team,” the guard said, squinting at them, “where is she? Where are your passes? Uh-uh. You three go right back down where you came from.”

  That’s when Nathan grabbed his own throat and fell to the floor. He began choking and groaning and twisting his whole body like he was doing the Worm Dance. His eyes rolled up into his head. The one guard stepped back, her face aghast. The other two ran up and knelt beside Nathan, trying to hold him and squawking into their radios at the same time.

  Tate screamed at the top of her lungs and shouted that her friend was dying.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  TATE GRIPPED TROY’S ARM and yanked him away from the little crowd.

  “Go!” she yelled into his ear, pointing at the curve of doors. “It’s gotta be one of those. Go!”

  Tate shoved him away, then turned, stuffed her fingers in her ears, and started to scream again.

  Troy felt like he’d had an electric shock. He was scared to death. Still, he put his hand on the first door he could reach and pulled it open. A man in a tweed blazer with a glass of wine in his hand looked surprised.

  “Is this Mr. Langan’s box?” Troy asked.

  The man looked him up and down and scowled, but he shook his head and pointed with his thumb, saying, “Two down. What’s going on out there?”

  Troy yanked the door shut and darted away. Tate’s screaming pierced his ears. Another guard dashed
past Troy, nearly knocking him over. Troy glanced back and saw a pair of emergency medical technicians bursting out of the elevator next to the stairwell in their white coats. Troy walked fast, two doors down, and tried the door. It was locked.

  Troy looked around the corner of the little alcove, back out into the hallway. It was chaos. Tate was still screaming, but two of the guards had her now and she was kicking her feet wildly in the air. A policeman got off the elevator this time. The EMTs were bent over Nathan, trying to hold him still.

  Troy dipped back into the alcove and knocked on the door. When no one answered, he knocked louder. When that didn’t work, he pounded with his fists. That’s when a tall, angular man in a suit appeared. Troy had seen him with Mr. Langan before—Bob McDonough, a former Secret Service Agent. His eyes were blue and hard, and he turned them down on Troy and asked him what he was doing.

  “I have to see Mr. Langan,” Troy said, swallowing.

  Bob McDonough heard the noise and leaned out into the hallway.

  Troy made a move to slip past, but Bob McDonough seemed ready. His hand clamped down on Troy’s shoulder.

  “Where are you going?” Bob McDonough asked.

  “I have to see him,” Troy said, pleading. “My mom works for him. He’ll want to see me. Something’s happening down on the field. He’s going to want to know. Please.”

  Bob McDonough narrowed his eyes and said, “You’re that kid. They dragged you out of the Cowboys game.”

  Troy shook his head. “You have to tell him. Tell him Troy White. My mom is Tessa. Please. He’ll want to listen. I know he will. Please.”