by Mike Lupica
The people were still applauding. Over the continuing roar of the crowd, Cassie yelled, “I’ll take the fifteen yards!”
The band played a couple of songs while the votes were counted. Mrs. Brandon came out for the big moment, an envelope in her hand. She opened it up and smiled as she looked at the card she’d just pulled out. Then she announced that Katie Cummings had won.
Jack and Gus brought out the trophy from behind the curtain. Katie went back to the microphone and thanked Mrs. Brandon and Teddy’s mom and Cassie. She congratulated Gregg, right before she said she was donating the hundred dollars she’d won as champion to what she called “the Mrs. B fund.”
Mrs. Brandon took the microphone from her and said, “This was never about me. It wasn’t just Katie who won tonight. The music won.” That got the people cheering again.
With the show nearly over, Teddy looked across the stage at his mom. She had a card in her hand too. And despite all the noise and excitement in the gym, and talk about winners, she looked totally defeated.
Then somebody was standing next to her: his dad. He put his arm around her, said something into her ear, and began walking out onto the stage, making Teddy wonder if another show was about to begin.
THIRTY
Teddy looked out at the audience. The people were just waiting, probably thinking this was part of the show.
Cassie leaned over and whispered in his ear. “What’s he doing?”
“Not a clue.”
Teddy looked back at his mom. He tried to read her face now. But he couldn’t. She was just one more person in the gym waiting to see—and hear—what was about to happen.
“I’m David Madden,” his dad said. “I see a lot of familiar faces in this crowd. But the best way for me to introduce myself, at least the way one football season is going in this town, is as Teddy Madden’s dad.”
He turned and smiled at Teddy. Teddy gave a quick wave toward the audience, just because he felt as if he ought to do something.
“Of course you all know Teddy’s mom,” his dad continued, “because she is the person who did the most to make this night happen, along with our wonderful champion, Katie, and all the other people who performed on this stage. Why don’t we give everybody involved one more round of applause?”
He did, and they did. Cassie leaned over again and said to Teddy, “I thought Mrs. Brandon was the emcee.”
“Not anymore,” Teddy said.
“We all know why we’re here tonight,” Teddy’s dad said, “and the way we voted not just for Katie and Gregg, but with our wallets.”
He paused, to let that sink in.
“Anyway, Teddy’s mom was just handed the final numbers raised by this event. And, sadly, it turns out that we’ve come up short of the figure needed to keep Mrs. Brandon’s music department, which she loves, up and running at a school that she loves.”
No cheering in the gym now. Just a collective groan.
“Where’s he going with this?” Cassie said.
“Why don’t we both be quiet and find out?”
She didn’t punch him this time. She kicked him under the table.
He had to hand it to his dad. Whatever was coming next, he was milking it for all it was worth. Then his dad reached into the inside pocket of his blazer and came out with a check. He held up the check so the people in the audience could see.
“I just covered the difference,” David Madden said. “All the people who put on this wonderful show have come too far to be stopped at the one yard line.”
He turned now toward Teddy’s mom. “Alexis, please come out here so I can hand you this check,” he said.
As she did, the crowd jumped to its feet once more with an ovation to rock the gym one last time. Teddy’s mom looked embarrassed as his dad handed her the check. But she smiled as she accepted it.
Teddy wondered how she felt now that her moment had become his.
“What just happened here?” Cassie said to Teddy.
“My dad’s the one who ended up throwing the Hail Mary pass,” he said. “Completed it too.”
THIRTY-ONE
It was an hour before the Walton-Greenacres game at Holzman Field. Teddy and Gus were stretching on the field along with their teammates.
Teddy’s dad hadn’t arrived yet, but when Teddy looked over to the sideline, he saw Jack standing with Coach Gilbert and Coach Williams. Why not? Jack had been acting like an assistant coach from the time he got hurt.
Behind them the bleachers were already starting to fill up. Cassie and Kate and Angela were sitting in the front row, laughing about something. The day at Holzman was beginning to take shape.
“No way Norris loses to Brenham today,” Gus said.
“We just gotta keep winning,” Teddy said.
“Still doesn’t seem right, losing a coin flip being this big a deal after we haven’t lost a stupid game.”
“It won’t matter,” Teddy said, “because we’re not losing this game.”
“That’s why they made you quarterback,” Gus said. “The way you can break things down like that.”
They were done stretching. When Teddy stood up, he looked around again, wanting to take it all in, because a part of him—a big part—still didn’t believe that he was the quarterback of this team, and that he was here.
Maybe they would have still gotten to this day undefeated with somebody else at quarterback. Maybe the Wildcats were just that good. But he’d never know that, and neither would his teammates.
“Even though there’s no script in sports,” Coach Gilbert had been telling Teddy and Jack just the other night after practice, “there’s always a reason why things happen the way they do. Who steps up in the big moment, who doesn’t. Who’s there, who’s not.”
Teddy walked over to the bench and picked up a ball, then waved at his receivers to follow him toward the ten yard line at this end of the field. Then Gus and Mike and Nate and Jake and Brian took turns running some simple pass routes, like now they were beginning to stretch out the Wildcats’ passing game. Charlie Lyons joined them after a few minutes, direct-snapping some balls to Teddy before they switched to a shotgun formation.
The Giants were at the other end of the field, their quarterback going through the same progressions Teddy was. Greenacres was more than an hour away, but Teddy could see from the bleachers on the other side of the field that they had brought a lot of fans with them.
Jack came out and stood next to Teddy.
“Is this where you give me my pregame pep talk?” Teddy said.
“Nope. You don’t need one today.”
“It should be you out here throwing the ball around. You know that, right?”
“Nope,” Jack said again. “This is your team now. Like your dad says. Stuff happens for a reason.”
“I hear you,” Teddy said. “Like there was a reason why my dad came back.”
He told Jack to go out for a pass now, threw him a beauty over the middle. Then he walked toward the sideline, as ready as he was ever going to be.
That was when he saw his mom standing behind their bench, waving at him. He grinned as he got closer to her, seeing that she already had her game face on.
“Hey,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be up in your lucky spot by now?”
“Teddy,” she said, “there’s no easy way to tell you this.”
“Tell me what?”
“Your father’s not coming today.”
“That’s not funny,” he said.
He’d been so busy focusing on his pregame routine that he hadn’t looked for his father in the past few minutes. But he looked over his shoulder now, to where Coach Gilbert and Coach Williams and Jack were looking at the play sheet in Coach Gilbert’s hand.
No sign of his dad anywhere.
“Maybe he’s just late,” Teddy said, turning back to his mom.
“Teddy, listen to me,” she said. “He’s not coming. He left early this morning, while you were still sleeping, for California. I hadn’t ch
ecked my phone for messages until I got to the field. I couldn’t quite understand him, but he said it was business.”
“But . . . it’s the biggest game of the year,” Teddy said.
He was afraid his mom might cry. Teddy knew the feeling.
“I waited until you stopped practicing,” she said. “I told Coach Gilbert. He thought I should be the one to tell you.”
Teddy just stood there, feeling his head start to spin, wanting to go sit down on the bench. He didn’t know what to say, or what he was supposed to do next. All he knew was that the game was starting in a few minutes, with or without his dad, a game his team needed to win, even if Teddy had already lost something before it began.
His dad had left him.
Again.
THIRTY-TWO
Teddy’s mom told him to just try to clear his head and go win the game; that was the most important thing right now.
“Not for him,” Teddy said.
“Just control what you can control,” she said.
Then she added, “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He walked over to where Coach Gilbert and Jack and Gus were waiting for him, thinking that he really shouldn’t be surprised. He should have expected this all along.
Coach Gilbert put an arm around him. “Listen, I know how disappointed you must be. I’m a little disappointed in him too, not gonna lie. I just want you to know that I’ve got your back today. So do your teammates.”
“So do I,” Jack said.
“So do I,” Gus Morales said. “We still got this, right?”
“Oh, we got this all right,” Teddy said.
He wished he were as sure of that as he sounded.
Jared Stadler, the Giants’ quarterback, had the best arm Teddy had seen on an opposing quarterback all season and was showing it off on his team’s first drive of the game. Jared threw on all but two of the plays and missed only one open receiver. He finally hit his slot guy for a twenty-yard touchdown pass and followed that by connecting with his tight end for the conversion. It was 7–0, Giants. The whole drive had taken just three minutes.
“Okay, now it’s our turn,” Coach Gilbert said to Teddy. “We don’t have to get even all at once. Let’s just run out stuff, mix it up with runs and passes like we have all season.”
“Okay,” Teddy said.
“You okay?”
“Please don’t keep asking me that the whole game, Coach.”
Teddy didn’t throw his first pass until Jake and Brian had gotten the Wildcats two first downs pounding the middle of the Giants’ line. They were at the Giants’ forty-eight by then. But Teddy overthrew Mike O’Keeffe on first down, before doing the same to Gus on second, even though Gus nearly made an impossible catch on the left sideline.
Coach Gilbert, calling all the plays now, tried to fool the Giants on third-and-ten with a draw to Jake. But they didn’t fool the Giants’ middle linebacker, who stopped Jake at the line for no gain. Gregg Leonard punted the ball away. The Giants took over on their twenty-five. On first down Jared Stadler threw the ball as far as he could down the middle of the field to his fastest wide receiver. Gregg read the play perfectly and came over to help out on the coverage. He timed his jump perfectly but couldn’t get high enough to get two hands on the ball. He ended up tipping the ball forward. It fell right into the hands of the Giants’ receiver, like the play had been designed that way. The kid ran the rest of the way untouched. Max Conte broke up the conversion pass to the same kid. But it was still 13–0, Giants. The first quarter was only half over, and Teddy felt as if he hadn’t even been in the game yet.
“They’re gonna score every time they have the ball,” Teddy said to Jack.
“You know,” Jack said, “that hardly ever happens in football.”
“First time for everything.”
“Tell me something,” Jack said.
“What?”
“What’s your absolute favorite pass play?”
“That crossing pattern, off the option, the one we used to beat Brenham.”
“Go tell Coach you want to run that on first down.”
“So now you’re the new offensive coordinator?” Teddy said.
Jack grinned at him, then shrugged. “Well,” he said, “somebody’s gotta be.”
• • •
Teddy told Coach what Jack had said, and what he wanted to run.
“Go for it,” Coach said. “What’s your second favorite pattern?”
“Curl to Mike.”
“Run that after you hit Gus. If this is gonna be a shoot-out, I guess we need to start firing back.”
Teddy made the throw to Gus. He hit Mike on the curl. Now he was in the game. Coach let him keep throwing. There was a screen to Jake. A pass in the right flat to Brian. He hit Nate over the middle for ten more yards, before they ran a neat pick play to Gus. Nate ran into Gus’s area as if he were the intended receiver again, even waving for the ball. Gus snuck right in behind him. Teddy hit him in stride. The field opened up as if half the Giants’ defense had gone home, and Gus was a streak all the way to the end zone. Jake ran behind Charlie Lyons for the conversion. It was 13–7.
When Teddy got to the sideline, Jack threw him a serious high five.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Teddy said.
“Oh, you got this all right,” Jack said.
“We got it.”
The Wildcats went on a long drive just before halftime, one of their longest of the year, starting at their own eight yard line and eating up nearly six minutes of clock. When they finally ended up with a first-and-goal from the Giants’ eight, Teddy decided to fake it to Jake on the off-tackle play Coach had sent in, run the naked bootleg his dad liked so much to perfection, and beat everybody to the end zone. It was 13-all. He didn’t have to like his dad today. It didn’t mean he couldn’t like his plays.
Their outside linebacker made a terrific play in front of Mike to knock down the conversion pass. The score was still 13-all, which was what it was when the half ended. They were either two quarters away from keeping their perfect season going, or they were two quarters away from going home. Both teams knew the league had decided no ties today. They’d play until they had a winner.
At halftime Cassie came down behind their bench. She was the one waving Teddy over. Once he got to her, she didn’t waste any time getting to it.
“I heard,” she said.
“I figure by now even people on Mars have heard.”
“You good?” she said.
“I’m good.”
“I know you’re playing good,” she said. “But how are you?”
“Cass, can we talk about this after the game, please?” he said. “I know you’re being my friend. But I’ve already figured out I don’t miss him and I don’t need him to win this game.”
She smiled. “Then go kick some butt,” she said.
She turned to leave.
“Cass?” he said.
She turned back around.
“Thanks,” he said.
“For what?”
“For being here.”
“Where else am I gonna be, you big dummy?” she said, and went to join her friends.
Teddy went and got a drink before taking a seat, alone, at the end of the bench. He knew he had been kidding Cassie, and kidding himself. He did miss having his dad on the sideline. Just as a coach, not anything else. His dad still saw things that nobody else saw, in the Wildcats’ offense and the other team’s defense. He still had the feel for the game that Coach Gilbert talked about.
But that didn’t matter if you weren’t at the game, if you had more important things to do on the day of a game like this for your son’s team.
A team he said was his, too.
THIRTY-THREE
Right before the third quarter began, Coach Gilbert came and sat down next to Teddy.
“How we lookin’?” he said.
“I’m not ready for the season to end.”
“Now that i
s amazing, like we are reading each other’s minds! Because I feel the exact same way.”
“We don’t have to win a whole game now,” Teddy said. “Just a half.”
“Exactly,” Coach said. “We’ve been the best team in this league all year. No reason why we can’t be that for the next hour or so.”
Max and Andre and Gregg, the three best players on the defense, came walking over to stand in front of them. Max did the talking. That figured. He was the one who did the most talking when the other team had the ball.
“We’re not letting that quarterback beat us,” Max said.
“That sounds like an excellent strategy!” Teddy said.
“What I’m saying,” Max said, “is that they’re not getting another score. That means you only have to get us one.”
Teddy stood up. So did Coach. Somehow, in that moment, the whole team gathered around them. Teddy put his right hand in the air. The other guys did the same.
“Wildcats!” he yelled.
“Wildcats!” they all yelled back, like they wanted to be heard on Mars.
The game slowed down then, as if the stakes today, what they were all playing for, had hit them even harder than when the game had started. It was as if the offensive players had started to worry that one mistake might cost their team its season. More than once Teddy couldn’t help himself: he wondered what the game plan would be if his dad were here, wondered if he’d be taking more chances.
The Wildcats got past midfield just one time in the third quarter. The Giants didn’t get past midfield until halfway through the fourth quarter. The Wildcats had to punt the ball away with six minutes to go, deep into Giants’ territory. Jared completed a couple of passes, but then Max Conte blew past everybody and sacked him on third down. Jared, who also punted for his team, had to kick the ball away.
Three minutes left. There was an officials’ time-out because of a problem with the game clock. Coach Gilbert came over and put an arm around Teddy’s shoulders.
“This is all we could have asked for,” Coach said, “a chance to be the team with the ball last and win the game.”
