“Don’t mention it.”
“No, now I was out of line. I’m sensitive about Helena and—”
“I understand.”
“Actually, I would appreciate some company tomorrow.”
“Count me in,” I said.
“Okay, but I’m still gonna need a copy of your new offense so I can start studying this heresy.”
27
Morning came early, and on the drive to Fairhope Coach told me it was unlikely Miz Schuler would want to see me or even know I was there. “She doesn’t even want me there,” he said. “Doesn’t want herself there.”
“Is there a waiting room?”
“You can wait in the hall. Actually, I wouldn’t mind you hearing how we talk. Or don’t talk. Maybe you got some ideas. I’m out.”
“She still mad at you?”
“I wish. She doesn’t talk to me at all now.”
We pulled in a few minutes later. “She sleeping?” Buster asked the receptionist, removing his hat.
“No, she’s been up pacing already. She’s in her room now, though.”
Coach motioned me to follow, grabbing a straight-back chair from the lobby. He set it outside her door for me and went in.
“Hello, darling,” he said, and I heard him slipping off his jacket and a chair squeaking. “Hope they’re taking good care of ya and that you’re getting some rest. Need anything? Nothing? I can get you what you want or call somebody for ya. Nothing? Okay.
“Teaching’s going all right, but kids ain’t like they used to be, ya know. I try to make it as interesting as history can be coming from a guy who looks like he was there when it happened. You were always good in history, weren’t you? Well, you were always good in everything.”
I heard nothing for a while and checked my watch. He sat in there more than ten minutes without saying a thing. I thought I heard him sniffling. Finally he says, “You ought to see Cal Sawyer’s girl. Remember her? Rachel. She’s a junior now, a beautiful young woman and a wonderful Christian.” There was another long pause. “Well, love, I won’t keep ya. Just wanted to check in. You let me know if you need anything, hear?”
She was still ignoring him, and his pain came over me so fast I could feel my face scrunching up to keep from crying. I lost the battle. But just as I heard him turning to leave, she spoke. Her tone was so cold it made me shudder. “You think I’m blind and deaf besides drunk and insane?”
“Of course not, Helena. And they tell me you’re making progress.”
“You think if you don’t tell me you’re back coaching, I won’t know?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you myself.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want to upset you.”
“So it’s better I find out elsewhere.”
“I apologize.”
“Typical,” Miz Schuler said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Typical jock logic.”
“All I can say is I’m sorry, darling.”
“Won’t be satisfied until you kill someone else’s boy?”
I don’t know how Coach kept from responding to that, but maybe he didn’t trust himself to say anything civil.
“You don’t need to keep coming here, you know,” she said.
“I come because I want to, Helena.”
“You don’t care what I want.”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you wouldn’t come.”
“I have to do what I think is best for you.”
She swore at him, and again he said nothing. Finally, “I’ll see you again soon.”
“Don’t bother,” she said.
“It’s no bother.”
“It bothers me.”
“I know. You said that.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said sarcastically, “I need more sleep.” And the visit was over.
In the car I said, “You want me to keep my nose outa this?”
“No, go ahead. Got an idea?”
“I was just wondering if she means it. How about not showing up for a while and seeing what she says? The staff would tell you.”
“What? You think she’d start asking for me?”
I shrugged. “It’s none of my business.”
“No. It’s a thought.”
Coach took me home and I sent him off with a new play-book. He thanked me but left shaking his head.
An hour later I was leaving the house for the hospital when I took a call from Mrs. Raschke. “They tell us Beverly is out of danger, so Clifford and I are going to have to get back home,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for every kindness.” I offered to have them driven to Mobile, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “I don’t know if Clifford has another trip like this one in him,” she added. “But I believe he understands she’s on the mend now, and I’m glad they were able to see each other.”
She told me Bev was to be moved to Room 316 by noon. I changed into a suit and tie. That would surprise her. I took a bunch of work with me in a leather portfolio, including some baseball glove catalogs. I got there early and found 316 empty, so I set my portfolio on the window ledge, sat in the visitor’s chair, and started going through my stuff.
A nurse’s aide showed up about half an hour later and made up the bed. “This room will be occupied soon,” she said.
“With Miss Raschke,” I said. “Right?”
She pulled a printout from her apron. “Right.”
“I’ll be feeding her lunch,” I said.
“Oh,” she said. “All right, then.”
Pretty soon a techie rolled in some machines. “You waiting for Ms. Raschke?” he said.
“Sure am.”
“Shouldn’t be long.”
The words were swimming on the page and I was almost dozing when two men and a woman, all in dark suits, stepped in. “Morning,” I said.
“Hello,” one of the men said. “You represent Miss Beverly Raschke?”
“That would be correct,” I said, standing.
“You people don’t waste any time, do you? You local?”
“I am,” I said. “And you are?”
They all produced business cards. I took them and patted my pockets. “Didn’t bring mine,” I said. “Name’s Sawyer.”
“Mm-hm,” the woman said. “I don’t suppose we’ll have an opportunity to talk with Miss Raschke.”
I sneaked a peek at her card and noticed she was with a law firm. “Not for a while,” I said. “Better give her several days.”
“Days?”
“I’d make sure she’s at her best,” I said. “You wouldn’t want even more trouble, would you?”
They looked at each other, nodded to me, said, “Mr. Sawyer,” almost in unison, and left.
When Bev was finally rolled in and transferred to the new bed, it seemed like forever before everybody was gone. “Nice suit,” she said, trying to smile. “That good news or bad news?”
“We’re not gonna talk shop for a few days,” I said.
“Yes, we are. I’m hurting, Cal, but I want out of here.”
“Slow down.”
“I know, but I’m tired of lying around. And you and I have to talk.”
“We do?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, cowboy. I had a dream about you.”
“Tell me.”
“You wanted to kiss me.”
“So sort of a nightmare?” I said.
“I wasn’t dreaming, was I, Cal? Seems so long ago.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I was so out of it. You caught me at a weak moment.”
“I did?” I said. “You were the one making demands.”
“What?”
I reached into the side pocket of my suit jacket and produced a huge bottle of mouthwash. She pressed both hands on her abdomen.
“I’m not supposed to laugh!” she said, gasping.
“Sorry.”
“You are not.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Give me some of that,” she said.
Bev was able to feed herself that day, but I sat close and watched. Once in a while she fed me a bite. I said, “Am I gonna catch diver-tickle-eye-tis?”
“You deserve it,” she said. “But don’t worry. I’d drive you home and leave you to fend for yourself.”
“Ouch.”
“Serve you right if I never came back to work.”
“Ginny’s doing fine.”
“Calvin! Would you do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Fire her.”
“How bout I just send her back out to reception?”
“’Kay.”
• • •
The next day I whispered to Coach in church, “You read the playbook?”
“Of course, what do you think?”
“Okay, so?”
Coach pulled a pencil out of the pew back and scribbled on his bulletin: “The game has passed me by.” I just shook my head.
• • •
Monday afternoon before practice I was excited. I sent the kids out and gathered up my stack of new playbooks. When I came out of the coaches room I found Buster standing there perfectly still, gazing at Jack’s jersey. When he noticed me he straightened up and started chewing his gum again.
He pointed at the display case. “People say it was my fault, don’t they?”
“Folks say a lot of things,” I said. “That don’t make it the truth.” He looked at me, then back at the jersey. I held up my playbooks. “You ready for this?”
He fought a smile. “I can’t tell.”
“Coach,” I said, “the Bear himself said football changes, and so do people.”
He nodded but looked doubtful. “If I abandon the wishbone, you think God’ll still let me into heaven?”
On the field the guys stared at my stack of books. Coach said, “Go on, pass em out.”
I said, “Boys, the key to our new offense is how the receivers spread out. This’ll give us more ways to move the ball and it’ll give Brian a chance to throw to the whole field.”
Brian grabbed his copy and started leafing through it like a madman. “Throw?” he said. “Throw?” He grabbed Yash’s jersey and pulled him close. “Throw!”
Yash said, “As in pass?”
I said, “About thirty-five times a game.”
“Not a lot of plays for halfbacks,” Elvis said. “What happened to Coach Schuler’s commandment one?”
“I play the hand I been dealt,” Coach said. “You boys have five days to learn and execute every play in that book, so I suggest we get started. Now!”
• • •
It was a rough week, and as excited as the boys were, they still didn’t catch on to the new offense right away. They missed passes all over the place. When they were open, Brian threw behind em. When he was on the money, they had butterfingers. Coach kept shaking his head, but I knew that when they got it, things would really come together. Buster would tear a page out of the book and hold it up, showing everybody the diagram, where they were supposed to be, what they were supposed to be doing.
Elvis found out that even though the halfback didn’t run the ball much, he received passes out of the backfield a lot. Rachel told me she was helping him run through the formations in the diner after hours. “Even Tee gets into the act sometimes,” she said, laughing. “You should see her, playing like she’s Brian, hollering out the snap count and passing Elvis the ball by the front door.”
On Thursday Yash missed a pass cause he ran the wrong route, and Coach tore out the page and mashed it into his facemask. “Don’t show up until you know the plays!” he screamed. “I swear I’m gonna stick with the bone if we don’t get this.”
Rainbow 46 Gold was a pass to Elvis that Brian finally started connecting on. It called for a wishbone setup and Elvis going into motion as if he might take a pitch or make a block but instead sneaking through the line. Brian seemed to be able to tell with a glance where Elvis would go. I kept telling Coach, “That play’s gonna work.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said, and maybe I was dreaming, but I heard hope in his voice. Even Rachel and Tee knew the Rainbow 46 Gold and often worked on it with Elvis.
Friday, September 28, we showed up for our fourth straight home game with a 1-2 overall record, 0-1 in the conference, and a chance to even our record against the Fort Geneva Falcons. Coach and I were always the first ones there by a couple of hours. Normally Buster dolled up a game plan starting early in the week and we tweaked it till kickoff. This week he hadn’t showed me a thing yet, and I figured it was because we were working out of the new playbook. I asked him a couple times if he wanted me to suggest a game plan based on the new offense, but he never picked up on it. Just like he didn’t answer anymore when I asked if he wanted me to go with him to the rehab center again. “You been going without me?” I said, but he just gave me one of those looks and I left it alone.
Now we were sitting in the coaches office and he ceremoniously dropped a laminated sheet, plays typed on both sides, onto the desk in front of me. I don’t know what made me so emotional all of a sudden, but I was so disappointed I almost cried. I just looked at it, read it, turned it over, studied it, kept my mouth shut, and looked up at him.
“It’s all wishbone,” he said.
“I can see that.”
“You don’t approve.”
“No I don’t,” I said. “I thought you bought into the new offense.”
“You know me better’n that, Sawyer. It’s worth a try, but we’re not there yet.”
I shook my head.
“If you think I’m wrong,” Coach said, “say so.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“Fair enough. But we’re going with my offense tonight.”
“You still wanna win the state championship?” I said.
“The state championship?! Calvin, the last time I looked we were 1-2 and 0-1 and outscored 69-27.”
“That’s right, and if we go 0-2 in the conference right outa the gate, we’re gonna be in too big a hole to have a prayer of making the play-offs.”
“Man,” Coach said, “I really made a believer outa you, didn’t I?”
He was making fun of me cause I had bought into his dream? Well, of course he was right. What was the matter with me?
• • •
We had even fewer fans that night, probably cause we didn’t look like a good football team. Nobody likes to watch a loser. I gotta admit Fort Geneva wasn’t a winner either. They were 1-2 just like we were, and watching em, I couldn’t imagine who they’d beat.
We led 14-7 at halftime, and Buster tried to be upbeat, but considering the opposition, he knew better. We were slopping our way through a game against a lousy team, and we should’ve been able to hold on and win.
In the second half the Fort Geneva coach finally got a clue and all of a sudden we were running into each other, calling time-out in the huddle, twice getting called for delay of game. Late in the fourth quarter they take a 17-14 lead. With just a few minutes left on the clock, we take over first and ten on our own 20. I keep looking at Coach and I know he sees me, but he won’t look my way. He knows what I want. We’re not gonna wishbone our way close enough to give Snoot a chance to tie the game with a field goal, and I want us to try something from the new playbook.
But, no. Soon we’re under a minute to go, and I’m mad. I’m still looking at Coach, hands on my hips, scowling. Now we’re fourth and one and have to go for it. I raise both arms at Coach. He ignores me. Elvis gains a yard for the first down, but we’ve only got time for just one more play.
Coach finally looks up at me and nods. “Time-out!” I scream, and Brian comes scampering off the field. I pull him close and say in his ear, “Rainbow 46 Gold.”
“Are you kidding me?” he says.
I shove him back onto the field and I can see the guys get psyched up in the huddle when he tells them. Waiting for the end of that tim
e-out was like waiting for Santa Claus. On the snap the Falcons start chasing Brian around in the backfield, knowing that as soon as he goes down it’s game over.
Elvis streaks downfield wide open, but unless Tee and Rachel figured out the play, I don’t guess anybody else in the stadium was even thinking about him. All of a sudden Brian stops and fires the longest pass of his career. Elvis catches it in full stride and the place goes strangely quiet as he scores.
We were even for the season and in the conference with five league games to go, four of them on the road. Now if I could just get one stubborn old coach to change his ways.
28
Bev’s recuperating at home, I’m seeing her regular, and practices are even getting fun again. We’re running the new plays every day, nothing from the wishbone anymore, and the kids are psyched up cause we’re tied with a couple of other teams in the middle of the league. The top two are 2-0, a few others and us are 1-1, and a couple are 0-2. We haven’t played well yet and maybe it’s silly to think we could actually compete for first place, but at least we weren’t out of it yet. With just fifteen guys, most people thought we soon would be out of it, but for now we could enjoy the dream.
On the bus to our game that Friday night, Coach Schuler was in an unusual mood. He told the guys to stay aboard when we arrived so he could give his pregame speech. “We’re a new team with new life now,” he told them. “Season’s even and we can determine our own destiny. We don’t care what anybody else does. If we can win again and keep winning, we can go places. We’re gonna take the wrapper off the new offense and show it tonight. You know this team has scouted us and thinks we’re an old wishbone ball club. If nothing else, we’ll surprise em. Let’s see how long it takes em to adjust.
“I’m asking a lot from y’all, most of ya playing both ways. But like I always say, you got to play the hand you’re dealt. This is us. Let’s see how far we can take us.”
The kids were inspired and played one of the most complete football games I’d seen in ages. Snoot was connecting on his kickoffs, his punts, his field goals, and his extra points. He even caught a few passes and made a couple of tackles. Brian threw well, the Shermanater was a terror on defense, and Elvis—well, Elvis was something else. He’d given us glimpses before of what he was capable of, but I don’t think any of us had ever seen anything like what he did that night. Any time he had the ball he was a holy terror, juking, dancing, stutter-stepping, eluding tack-lers when he had to, lowering a shoulder into em otherwise. And that speed! “Man among boys” is a cliché, but that’s what he looked like.
Hometown Legend Page 15