by Mike Lupica
The Chargers moved the ball to just shy of the red zone, but suddenly their offense stalled. They ended up with fourth and four at the Bears’ twenty-four. Given their field position they decided to go for it.
Kyle took the snap and made a sweet fake to his tailback. Tommy had read it all wrong and bit on the fake, actually wrapping the kid up at the line of scrimmage before realizing he didn’t have the ball.
Greck, though, read the play like it was one of his favorite comic books, and was hiding in plain sight when Kyle tried to hit his tight end on a curl. Greck timed the ball perfectly, stepped in at the last second, tipped the ball to himself, caught it and rumbled down the middle of the field, as if his nickname should have been Gronk, before being caught from behind by one of the Chargers’ wide receivers at Newton’s thirty-yard line.
On first down, Nick wasted no time, dropped back and took a shot at the end zone. He hit a streaking Zach McGrory down the left sideline to make it 7–6. Then Nick snuck in for the extra point.
In Tommy’s mind, Greck had made a two-score play. The game could’ve just as easily been 14–0 for the Chargers. Only now it was tied.
“You might have saved the game right there,” Tommy said to Greck on the sideline.
“Nah,” he said. “I just kind of started it over.”
“I’m the one who needs a do-over,” Tommy said, “the way I’m playing so far.”
Mike was with them, and said, “Playing scared.”
Tommy’s head whipped around. “I told you the other day,” he said, “I’m never afraid.” Knowing it wasn’t true. Tommy Gallagher, the kid who never lied, lying right now to save face.
“Okay,” Mike said. “Maybe not scared. Just hesitant, dude. And you can’t do that here any more than you can when you’re boarding.”
“They’re different,” Tommy said.
“No,” Mike said, “they’re not. You know why you wiped out the first time you went down the hill, right?”
“I tried to slow down into that curve.”
“So quit slowing down,” Mike said. “When we get back out there, get your freak on.” He slapped Tommy on the back of his helmet.
Behind them, Tommy heard Coach Fisher’s voice.
“Mr. Fallon is right,” Coach said.
“Didn’t know you were here, Coach,” Tommy said.
“Snuck in on you boys from the blind side,” he said. “But he is right. I don’t want you to act like a cowboy out there, Tommy. But I do want you to be yourself. More importantly, I want you to have fun, which it doesn’t look like you’ve been doing. Now get back out there and have some fun. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” Tommy said.
“Go get your freak on,” Coach Fisher said.
Now Greck’s head whipped around. “Did you really just say that, Coach?”
The game didn’t change for Tommy right away. He was overanalyzing every play to the point that he wasn’t reacting fast enough. And in sports, that really could be the difference between the other guy making the play and you making it. The difference between the guy with the ball getting a first down by a yard, or missing it by a yard. You were either ahead of the play, or you weren’t. He understood his problem, but couldn’t figure out how to get his groove back.
A few plays into the next Chargers’ drive, Kyle Barnum was trying to regain the lead for his team. Third and six at the Bears’ twenty-nine. Kyle in the shotgun. Coach called for an all-out blitz. But right before the snap, Tommy knew he wasn’t going for Kyle, because Kyle wasn’t going to pass.
Tommy had been watching the tailback the whole first half, even more closely after the kid sold that fake so well. And the last time Kyle had lined up in the gun, on what looked like a passing play, the kid had rubbed his hands on the sides of his pads right before Kyle stuck the ball in his belly on a modified draw.
He did that now.
What Patrick Gallagher had always called a “tell.”
Just loud enough for Greck to hear, Tommy said, “Take the outside.”
“You sure?”
“So sure.”
Greck took the outside lane, to Kyle’s left. Tommy blew through the opening between the Chargers’ center and their right guard, like Tommy was the tailback, running to daylight. And as soon as Kyle handed off the ball, Tommy dropped the running back where he stood, before he could take a step, for a six-yard loss. Fourth and twelve. The Chargers’ coach sent in his punt team.
Tommy had finally gotten himself ahead of the play. Finally felt like he was playing downhill again. Like he was flying on Mike’s board.
He couldn’t help himself as he ran off the field, after what felt like a sack to him, even though technically it wasn’t. He looked up to the corner of the stands behind the visitors’ bleachers, where his dad would have been. In the past, when Tommy would come off the field after smelling out a play like that, his dad wouldn’t yell or pump his fist, or act the way a lot of the other parents did, as if they’d just made the play.
He’d just smile and point to his head.
Tommy did that himself now, not in a showy way, just ducking his head and putting his index finger to the side of his helmet.
Wondering, as he did a lot these days, when he wasn’t keeping himself busy, when he had too much time to think, if his dad was still watching him.
TWENTY-TWO
IT WAS 13–7 BEARS, with four minutes left in the fourth quarter, third and ten for Kyle Barnum from his own fifteen-yard line. The Bears had gone ahead on a Mike Fallon punt return for a touchdown, but missed the extra point attempt. A stop here and the Bears would get the ball back with good field position, and plenty of time to score again or make enough first downs to run out the clock. A win was so close Tommy could practically taste it.
Coach called for a blitz. Greck was taking the inside route this time. Tommy planned to come hard from Kyle’s right, sure he could beat their tight end off the ball, because he’d done that for most of the second half in passing situations. Tommy didn’t want anybody else to beat him to the quarterback. It was one of those moments when he didn’t just feel as if he were competing against the other team, he felt as if he were competing against his own guys.
Kyle took the ball out of the shotgun and looked left, setting himself as if he wanted to go deep down that side of the field. Tommy ran right past the tight end, brushing him like he was a speed bump.
Nothing between him and Kyle now as Kyle raised his arm to throw.
Somehow, though, maybe using that radar that good quarterbacks seemed to have, he saw Tommy coming for him at the last second, and pulled the ball down just as Tommy swung his arm at it. So Tommy didn’t get the ball as he swung his arm.
He got a handful of Kyle Barnum’s face mask instead.
Tommy stayed with the play, got his hand loose, and brought Kyle down. But it was too late, and he knew it. It didn’t matter whether it was intentional or not. The penalty was fifteen yards regardless.
What happened next was like a bad dream, Tommy feeling as if he were watching it in slow motion. The whistle. The flag landing right next to him. The ref walking off the fifteen yards, putting the ball down, then signaling first down, Chargers.
Still their ball. Still plenty of time left for them to tie the game with another touchdown and then win it with a conversion.
Almost like a repeat of last Saturday for Tommy Gallagher.
He felt sick. Especially because they had fought back after the Chargers took an early lead.
If they lost now, if they went to 1–2, they might have to win every game for the rest of the season to still have a shot at the championship, and even that might not be good enough.
Tommy Gallagher didn’t just feel sick, he felt as if he might cry, something he’d never done on a football field in his life.
“Bad luck,” Greck said.
>
“You’re the one always telling me you make your own luck in sports,” Tommy said, feeling as if he were spitting out the words.
“It was one play,” Mike said. “They’ve still got seventy yards to go. We got this.”
“I got nothing,” Tommy said, “except Kyle’s face mask.”
“Hey!” Greck said. “Snap out of it. We’ve got work to do.”
First play after the penalty, Kyle dropped back to throw again. Tommy charged, thought he had another clear shot at him, but slowed down at the last second, afraid of a late hit, and another flag.
Kyle hit his slotback for fifteen yards. Another first down for the Newton Chargers. Still over three minutes left.
Clock still running, Kyle decided to keep airing it out, hitting his tight end on the right sideline, the guy putting a good move on Tommy before creating enough separation to make the catch. Two and a half minutes. Newton was past midfield now.
The Chargers kept on moving the chains, getting deeper and deeper into the Bears’ territory. Tommy was in the Chargers’ backfield two plays later, but overshot Kyle and missed his chance to wrangle the QB onto the ground. Kyle ran past him for ten yards and another first down. Now the Chargers were at the Bears’ nineteen. Minute and fifty.
The sick, sinking feeling that this was all his fault was only getting worse for Tommy, as his desperation to stop this, to make something happen, kept getting stronger with every down. But he kept getting in his own head, second-guessing himself, and all the while the Chargers kept doing like their name said—charging downfield, all over Tommy and his teammates.
The Bears had one time-out left. Tommy knew that Coach Fisher would save it until he needed it, which meant he wouldn’t use it until the Chargers got even closer to a score than they were right now.
Make one play, Tommy thought. You can still make things right.
The Chargers ran it twice, two short bursts for three yards each. Third and three. If the Bears could get a stop, then Newton would only have one more shot to keep the drive going.
Kyle stepped up, releasing the ball almost as soon as it was snapped. His tight end had taken off immediately after the snap, streaking across the middle of the field, and Kyle hit him with a quick slant. Mike and Liam Cobb didn’t bring him down until he was at their six.
First and goal. Under a minute and counting. Each team had one time-out. Coach Fisher didn’t call his, as if daring the Newton coach to call his own.
The Newton coach didn’t use his either, and he didn’t seem concerned about the time quickly ticking off the clock, because he called a running play. Kyle handed the ball off, and the Chargers’ blockers pushed the Bears’ offensive line forward, giving the tailback room to work with. He rushed for five yards, Mike taking him down just in front of the goal line.
Now Coach signaled for time. Second and goal. Thirty seconds to play. Tommy looked at the spot. It wasn’t even a whole yard. Maybe a foot, less than that.
“We need a stop,” Greck said in the huddle.
“Or two,” Liam Cobb said.
“Or three,” Mike said.
“Let’s worry about the first one for now,” Greck said.
Tommy wasn’t talking. He was having trouble breathing, still beating himself up over the penalty, knowing what his teammates knew, that the drive should have been over, and maybe the game.
The Chargers took a long time in the huddle. But Tommy was sure Kyle was his own best option. He’d already snuck twice for first downs in the second half like it was nothing. The one time he’d tried to hand the ball off on third and short, the tailback had dropped it.
Two feet from being a hero, Tommy told himself.
Tommy was sure of one other thing: Kyle would go with a quick count, not wanting to give the defense a great chance to get set. It was something else he’d done on the other two sneaks.
Tommy knew he’d be taking a chance if he tried to jump the count. But so what? If he got called for offsides, all the Bears were going to lose was a foot. Besides, he’d done enough holding back in this game.
I’ve got nothing to lose by getting my freak on, Tommy thought.
As soon as Kyle Barnum leaned under center, Tommy was already coming from his left, not caring whether Kyle saw the movement out of the corner of his eye or not.
Finally, for the first time today, Tommy wasn’t afraid.
Turned out Tommy had read it right. Kyle leapt over his center, trying to launch himself right over the Bears’ nose tackle, J.J. Franco.
If he’d gotten any higher Tommy would have had to worry about a helmet-to-helmet hit, and another flag. But Kyle Barnum didn’t get that high. In the air, he reached out with the football, trying to break the plane of the goal line. But there was someone standing in his way.
Tommy Gallagher.
Tommy put his right shoulder pad on the ball, blasting it out of Kyle’s hands and into the Chargers’ backfield.
Greck saw the ball on the ground before anybody else did, and fell on it, even as guys on the Chargers tried to get underneath him somehow and tear the ball loose.
It was too late, and it was Greck.
His ball.
Bears’ ball.
Nick had to kneel down twice, because the Chargers’ coach called his last time-out after the first kneel-down. Then it wasn’t just the Bears’ ball.
It was their game.
TWENTY-THREE
GRECK AND MIKE CAME OVER to Tommy’s house after the game, just to hang out. Mike brought his skateboard with him, thinking they could all go over to Wirth Park later. But first Tommy had to babysit Em while their mom went out for one of her epic walks with her friend Molly.
“You guys can skateboard if we go over there,” Greck said. “I’ll watch.”
“C’mon, if I can get on a skateboard, so can you,” Tommy said.
“And I would if I wanted to,” Greck said. “But I don’t. So I won’t.”
Tommy’s mom said that they didn’t have to stay in the house while she was gone, but she didn’t want them to leave the neighborhood. She did ask them to check on Em every so often, even if they were in the house, or the yard.
She yelled good-bye to Em, who was up in her room like she always was these days, probably watching a movie. Of course, before leaving, his mom reminded him again that if he, Mike, and Greck went outside, not to stray too far from the house. Then she was out the door, on her way to meet Molly, probably power-walking already.
Another one of her ways to keep busy.
And to get out of the house for a couple of hours.
Tommy and the guys played video games for a while in his room, then went downstairs to watch college football in the living room. When they got bored doing that, Tommy grabbed the game ball that Coach had handed him after telling Tommy he deserved it for his big play.
“Let’s go in the backyard and throw the ball around.”
“But it’s your game ball,” Greck said.
You got to keep the game balls that Coach handed out. He’d buy a new one every week, and then put the date on it.
“It’s a football,” Tommy said, “not a trophy. It’s meant to be used.”
So they went outside and threw it around for about half an hour before they all got bored with that. Mike said there was a street he’d scoped out on the way over that looked just steep enough to skateboard on. Not like Wirth. But decent.
“It’s, like, two blocks over, toward Market,” Mike said.
“Off Guest, right, near the public broadcast station?” Greck said. “I know which one you mean.” He grinned. “I’ll be happy to come and watch.”
“Your sister won’t care,” Mike said. “And your mom said not to stray too far. And it’s not too far. We can walk it in five minutes.”
Tommy went to the bottom of the stairs. “Hey, Em?” he said.
“Could you come out for a sec?”
When her door opened and her head popped out, he realized it was the first time he’d seen her all day.
“We’re gonna skateboard, close by, not for long. Will you be okay?”
She shrugged. “I’ll try not to miss you too much.” And closed the door.
He didn’t think that’d be a problem for her.
It was a small dead-end street, ending in a little circle, called Danforth. Tommy brought his helmet and pads even though Mike made fun of him, Tommy explaining that he’d promised his mom, and a promise was a promise.
Another thing his dad had told Tommy, even though he’d always promised him that he’d come home.
Mike had been right, the trip down Danforth Street wasn’t nearly as steep as the trail at Wirth. But his first trip down, he was happy that he was wearing pads. He hit a small pothole about twenty yards from the bottom, lost his balance, and went flying. But when he landed, the pads on both his elbows and knees protected him, ending up with just a slight scrape on the knuckles of his right hand.
“Good times!” Greck yelled from the top of Danforth.
“Shut up,” Tommy said.
“Are you supposed to get style points for your dive, like they do in the Olympics?” Greck said.
Tommy was back with them, ready to go again. “You know, Greck, I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a long time. You’re not as funny as you think you are.”
“That hurts,” Greck said. “Really, truly, hurts. Though probably not as much as you do right now.”
“Even when you fall, it’s a rush,” Tommy said.
“Yeah,” Greck said, “to the emergency room.”
“Wait till he has his own board,” Mike said. “Guy’s gonna be a total maniac.”
“Yeah,” Greck said sarcastically. “Can’t wait.”
Tommy made it down this time, no falls, no scratches. Then it was Mike’s turn. Tommy studied him on his way down, like he studied football, watching the way he seemed to be in perfect balance as soon as his feet were on his board, and wondered if he’d ever be that good, and that confident. For now, Tommy’s goal was simple enough: just stay on the board, stay vertical, until he finished his ride. That required as much concentration—and determination—as he’d shown busting up Kyle Barnum’s quarterback sneak.
