by Tiki Barber
Not bad for starters.
After the kickoff, it was the defense’s turn. Ronde lined up in the backfield, with the Wildcats starting on their own twenty.
This is so weird, he thought. Last time the Eagles and Wildcats had locked horns, he’d played man-for-man on Patrick Walsh, the Wildcats’ best receiver, and stopped him cold all day. He knew he could do it again today, too.
But this time, his job was to watch not just Walsh, but all the other receivers as well—and they were no slouches either. Every time they broke from scrimmage and made their moves, Ronde would have to make a snap decision about where the ball was going to be thrown.
In their early-season matchup, the Wildcats kept trying to gain ground on the Eagles by running behind their huge lineman, Burt Golub. But the Eagles had double-teamed him, throwing a monkey wrench into the Pulaski attack.
This time, Coach Wheeler was guessing the Wildcats would try something different. He’d warned Ronde and Justin Landzberg, Ronde’s sub at cornerback, to be ready for the long bomb on Pulaski’s first drive.
Sure enough, that’s what happened. Ronde was ready for it—he’d dropped back about fifteen yards from scrimmage. Still, with his inexperience at safety, he had trouble guessing where the ball was going to be thrown. The quarterback faked him out to the weak side, then threw to Patrick Walsh for a twenty-five yard gain.
Two plays later, the same thing happened. Justin, left alone on Walsh, got burned for thirty-two yards on third and long.
“No!” Ronde screamed, but to no avail. The Wildcats were in the Eagles’ red zone at the nineteen yard line, and driving. Ronde was sure they’d be looking to throw to Walsh again.
When the ball was snapped, and the quarterback rolled to the right, Ronde knew he could throw to only one corner of the end zone. Walsh’s corner. Ronde held his ground, cutting off the run, daring the quarterback to throw it.
The moment the quarterback’s arm went back, Ronde made his move. He got to the ball just in time to bat it away from the outstretched arms of Patrick Walsh.
Pulaski ran on second down, for no gain, thanks to a ferocious tackle by Sam Scarfone. Then, on third and ten, they passed again—and once again, Ronde was ready.
This time, he guessed, the quarterback would fake to Walsh and throw to the middle. He held back an extra instant, fooling the quarterback into thinking he could complete the pass. Then Ronde darted in front of the receiver, and made the interception in the end zone!
Mobbed by his teammates, Ronde broke free and ran for the sideline. He headed straight over to Coach Wheeler, who threw his arms around him.
“That’s my man!” he yelled. “Way to go, Barber! I knew you could play safety!”
Ronde was happy, all right. But he also knew the game was just getting started. There were still more than three quarters to go. Sooner or later, he was bound to mess up at his new position. And what would happen then?
Deep in his heart, he was sure the only way to an Eagle victory was for Tiki to rack up enough points to cover the ones he, Ronde, was going to cost them.
“Come on, Tiki,” Ronde muttered under his breath. “Break one big! Break one for me!”
CHAPTER FIVE
AN EPIC BATTLE
TIKI WAS GETTING TO KNOW THE WILDCAT defense very well. Too well, in fact.
John Berra and Luke Frazier were supposed to be keeping the huge Pulaski linemen off Tiki’s back—but it wasn’t working. They were getting pushed straight back into Tiki, or thrown out of the way like a couple of bowling pins.
So far, the Eagles’ running game was going nowhere. Going to the air wasn’t working either, since on passing downs, the Wildcats were coming at Cody with every blitz known to mankind—or at least, to junior high school football.
This was a far different Pulaski team than they’d faced early in the season. That team had been totally taken by surprise when the Eagles, prepped by Coach Wheeler with video of the Wildcats’ weaknesses, came in better prepared and made short work of Pulaski, 38–3.
This time, it was the Wildcats who had come prepared. Everywhere Tiki went, he was shadowed by at least one linebacker. By the end of the first quarter, Tiki, Cody, Coach Wheeler, and everyone else could see that the Eagles needed to change their game plan.
In other words, they were going to have to improvise if they hoped to come away with the district championship.
“Yeah, Ronde!” Tiki yelled from the sidelines as he watched his twin bat down another long pass.
“Man, he is having himself a day!” Cody said, slapping Tiki five.
“You guys!” Coach Wheeler called them over to his side. “Listen, we’re going to have to change things up, and we can’t wait till halftime.”
“Right,” Cody agreed.
“I’m down with that,” said Tiki. “How about we run some plays for Luke? We could dump him some quick passes in the flat—no one’s covering him, because they’re double-teaming me.”
“The rookie?” Cody said, looking downcast. “No way! He’s not ready. Let’s go to Berra.”
“Berra’s only at half-strength, in case you didn’t notice,” Coach Wheeler said to Cody. “I say we go to Luke. I think the kid deserves a chance—and you’re right, Barber. They’ll never see it coming.”
He patted Tiki on the shoulder pad. “I wasn’t sure it would be okay with you—I know you’re used to being the man out there.”
“That’s okay, Coach,” Tiki said. “Whatever gets us into the end zone.”
“That’s my guy,” Coach Wheeler said. “Now let’s go put some points on the board!”
They didn’t have long to wait. On the very next play, Ronde picked off his second pass of the game. If he hadn’t stepped out of bounds on the spectacular grab, he would have had an easy touchdown of his own.
“Dang!” he said as he passed Tiki and Cody on his way to the bench. “I should’ve scored on that play!”
Tiki high-fived his twin, laughing. Nothing was ever good enough for Ronde unless it was perfect. “You look out, now, Ronde,” he shouted after him. “You keep this up, and they’re gonna make you play safety every week!”
On first down at their own forty, Cody faked a handoff to Tiki. That was the last Tiki saw of the play, because he was immediately flattened by two Wildcats. The only thing was, he didn’t have the ball—Luke did!
Tiki heard the cheering from the Eagles’ fans in the far corner of the stands. “Get off me, you big lugs!” he said, trying to shove the defenders off him. Finally, he got to his feet, and saw his teammates rejoicing and chest-bumping each other.
“Touchdown!” Cody was yelling, his arms thrust high in the air like goalposts. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” He clapped Tiki on the shoulder and said, “Good call, yo! Fantastic!”
Tiki headed for the sidelines, sore but happy. So what if it wasn’t him scoring the touchdown? The Eagles were leading now, 10–0, and the pressure was all on Pulaski as the first half came to an end.
Coach Wheeler was excited, Tiki could tell. The way he kept bouncing around the locker room, encouraging his players, keeping it light and fun, trying to defuse the sense they all had that they’d been lucky so far.
Ronde had played out of his mind, with two unbelievable picks and who-knew-how-many batted-down passes. Luke Frazier had been an unexpected find, and they’d somehow managed to get around Berra’s poor play.
But Tiki knew—and Coach surely knew—that Pulaski was not done yet, not by a long shot. It was all well and good for Coach Wheeler to be excited, and for the team to stay revved up and positive. But Tiki couldn’t help feeling they were skating on thin ice.
Sure enough, the second half started out badly. Pulaski took the opening kickoff to their own thirty-five, then drove the ball on the ground, with their two star running backs, Marty Maris and Chris Tullo, leading the way. Those two took turns chewing up yardage until the Wildcats scored a touchdown—without throwing a single pass!
After stopping the Ea
gles cold and forcing them to punt, Pulaski used the same tactics on their next drive, running behind Burt Golub and wearing down the Eagle defensive line—especially Sam Scarfone, who had been getting double-teamed all day and was starting to look tired. Although the Eagle defense bent, they didn’t break. Pulaski settled for tying the game with a short field goal.
On the Eagles’ next drive, Cody made a mistake under the pressure of a blitz. Although he should have thrown the ball away, he tried to thread the needle to Joey Gallagher. The result was an interception that left Pulaski in charge in the Eagles’ red zone.
Again, the defense made the Wildcats settle for a field goal. But now the Eagles trailed, 13–10. Tiki looked up at the scoreboard and couldn’t help worrying. It wasn’t a big deficit to overcome, three points. But the way things were going, and the way the momentum had shifted, those three points looked a whole lot bigger.
The Eagle offense continued to sputter, playing three downs and out all through the third quarter. Berra seemed like he wasn’t quite over being sick. Tiki was suffering from the lack of blocking and the double-teaming, and Cody just couldn’t get free to throw. As for Luke, the Wildcats were ready for him by now. Three times the Eagles tried to get him the ball, and each time, the defense was right there waiting.
Tiki thought he knew why. Luke was telegraphing things, tipping off the defense. He had a certain extra energy that told them he was the focus of the play.
Tiki could have shown Luke how to avoid that—but he couldn’t do it in the middle of a game!
In spite of Adam Costa’s long punts that pinned Pulaski deep in their own territory, the Wildcats kept running right at the Eagle defense—particularly Sam Scarfone. Normally, Sam was like a brick wall, and teams tried to run anywhere but in his direction. But now, the Wildcats were making him look very human. Early in the fourth quarter, they marched eighty yards on the ground, and were knocking on the door again with third and goal to go from the eight yard line.
The Eagles were expecting a pass, naturally, but to everyone’s surprise, the quarterback faked the handoff, spun to the weak side, and threw a no-look floater to the corner of the end zone.
“Ronde!” Tiki shouted in alarm.
But he needn’t have worried. If everyone else was surprised, Ronde wasn’t. He played it perfectly, keeping stride for stride with the fullback, Chris Tullo, coming out of the backfield.
Tullo was six inches taller at least—but Ronde could out-jump just about anyone. He leaped, arms outstretched, with perfect timing, and came down with the interception in the end zone—his third of the day!
Tiki and the rest of the Eagles leaped into the air, whooping with joy. “Now it’s our turn,” he told Cody. “I’m gonna break one this drive. You watch.”
“How’re you gonna do that, Barber?” Cody said. “You’ve got no blocking.”
“Just give it to me on a passing down, when they won’t be ready for it. I’ll do the rest.”
Cody hesitated. “You sure?”
“Trust me on this, dude. It’s now or never. Hey, Coach!” he motioned Wheeler over and asked him if they could try his idea of running on third and long.
Wheeler stroked his chin and nodded slowly, his mouth curling upward in a cagey grin. “Sounds like a plan, boys,” he said. “Go get ’em.”
Cody started out with a couple of quick passes that got the Eagles near midfield. Then he tried a handoff to Tiki, which the Wildcats stifled for a two-yard loss. After a quick dump-off pass on second down to Luke, the Eagles faced a third and seven from their own forty-six.
With less than seven minutes to play, Tiki knew the game was on the line. If they didn’t keep this drive alive, the Wildcats would take over and grind the clock down to nothing, even if they didn’t score.
It was Tiki Time.
Cody called the draw in the huddle, much to everyone’s surprise.
“You’re calling a run on third and long?” Fred Soule said. “They’ve been burying Tiki all day. Throw me an out pattern, Cody—I’ve got this.”
“Draw play,” Cody insisted, looking over at Tiki. “They won’t be expecting it. Watch.”
The team lined up, Cody snapped the ball, and dropped back as if to pass. Tiki moved like he was going to block. Then, as the rush got closer, he took the ball quickly from Cody and dashed right through the onrushing linemen. Stutter-stepping left, then right, he made a sudden dash forward and into the open backfield!
The Wildcat secondary was caught totally by surprise. All the Eagle receivers had gone long, taking their coverage with them. Tiki now had to avoid them in the open field. But with his speed and moves, that was much easier than barreling through a bunch of beefy linemen!
The roar of the crowd was matched in his ears by the rush of his own breathing and the hammering of his own heartbeat. His legs were a blur as he changed direction once, twice, three times, then finally outran one final defender, and leaped headlong into the end zone for the go-ahead touchdown!
Tiki’s teammates practically carried him off the field, which was a good thing, because he was totally out of breath and exhausted.
“I told you, man!” Cody exulted, throwing an arm around Tiki’s shoulder. “I told you it would work!”
Tiki shook his head. He would have laughed if he’d had any breath left.
That was Cody for you—if someone else had a great idea, he’d always take the credit. But Tiki didn’t care. He was just happy they’d scored.
Now, Pulaski had just one last chance to avoid going down to defeat. Because their passing game had gone nowhere all day, they stayed on the ground. That plan worked in a way, gaining good yardage on every play. But it cost the Wildcats precious time with the clock winding down. By the time they reached the Eagles’ twenty-five yard line, there was only one minute left in the game.
“Go Ronde!” Tiki yelled at the top of his lungs. “You got this!”
Ronde didn’t appear to hear him. He stood in the backfield, casting his gaze this way and that, trying to scope out the whole field in front of him.
Here came the play—another run!
They’re afraid of him! Tiki realized. Ronde had gotten inside the Wildcats’ heads. Even though the clock continued to run, they refused to throw the ball—at least not anywhere near where Ronde could get his hands on it. Instead, they ran right at Sam Scarfone, twice in a row—and ended up at the Eagle’s five yard line.
Down by 17–13, with ten seconds left and deep in the Eagles’ red zone, Pulaski called their last time-out.
It was third and goal, and Tiki knew they’d have to throw the ball, or risk the game ending before they could run another play. Which meant the Eagles’ future would be in Ronde’s hands.
No better place, thought Tiki.
The quarterback snapped the ball, faked a handoff, then dropped back to pass.
But where was Ronde? Not in the end zone, as he had been before. No—this time, he came blazing in on a safety blitz, blasting through a big hole in the Wildcat line and leaping on the quarterback, sacking him back at the twenty yard line as the clock ran out!
“YES!!!” Tiki yelled.
Ronde had done it. The Eagles had won!
They were district champions!
All the way back to Hidden Valley, the Eagles laughed, sang, and relived the highlights of their glorious championship game. They passed the trophy to one another until everyone on the team had his chance to hold it, kiss it, shine it up, or whatever they wanted to do.
Tiki let himself enjoy the moment just like the rest of them. But inside, his happiness was lessened by the knowledge that he hadn’t had a very good game—for him, at least.
Sure, that magical forty-yard run for the winning touchdown would stay with him for the rest of his life. But what had he done the whole rest of the game? Nothing. Without Berra playing at his peak, and against the fearsome Wildcat defense, he’d only managed 30 yards, not counting that one great run.
In fact, if the Eagles had playe
d it conventionally on their last drive, Cody would have thrown the ball into the teeth of the waiting Pulaski secondary, instead of putting it in Tiki’s hands for the surprise draw play that won the game.
Tiki sure hoped by the time they started regional play-offs next weekend, Berra would be back to his old self. He’d better be, Tiki thought. And should be too—after all, how long could the effects of chicken pox last?
Not that long, Tiki hoped. Otherwise their two missing safeties would still be out of commission, and they’d surely have a tough time against that regional powerhouse, the Abingdon Junior High Owls.
Tiki glanced across the aisle of the bus to where Sam Scarfone was holding the trophy, examining the words on the golden plaque at its bottom. As Tiki watched, Sam handed the trophy to Cody, then slumped back into his seat and closed his eyes.
What’s up with him? Tiki wondered. Sam hadn’t played a very good game either. The Wildcats had run right at him—something no team had done with success all season long. There had been no trace today of that ferocious glare of Sam’s that had scared every lineman in the league for the past three years.
Uh-oh, thought Tiki.
Was Sam going to be the next casualty of the epidemic that was sweeping the Eagles?
The next day, his worst fears were confirmed. Not only did Coach Wheeler announce that Sam had come down with the chicken pox, but, he also told the dejected Eagles, their two safeties would not likely be back for the game against Abingdon on Saturday.
The only good news at practice was the improvement in John Berra’s game. The change was instantly noticeable. His blocks were stronger, his moves were crisper, his reaction time was shorter—in fact, he was his old self again. Finally.
Still, Tiki wondered if Berra’s return would be enough. Their offense could score thirty points against Abingdon, but without Sam Scarfone anchoring their defensive line, and with Ronde playing out of position for the second week in a row, would the Eagles’ defense be able to stop the mighty Owls’ attack?