by Tiki Barber
Abingdon had gone 11–1 in the regular season, and had obliterated their district competition in the play-offs. In winning those two games, they’d scored a combined ninety-two points—an incredible feat. At the same time, their defense had allowed only twenty points in those two games.
The Owls were likely to be their toughest opponent yet. And the Eagles would have to play them with one hand tied behind their backs!
CHAPTER SIX
A HOLE IN THE LINE
TIKI AND RONDE TRUDGED HOME FROM THE BUS stop together. The weather had turned cold, and they could see their breath making clouds in front of them as they walked.
Neither twin said much. What was there to say? Nothing good, that was for sure. Neither of them wanted to bum the other one out, but anything they said would be a downer for sure.
Mrs. Barber noticed right away. “What’s the matter with you two?” she asked. “Are you feeling sick? Come on over here and let me feel your foreheads.”
“Ma, we’re not sick,” Tiki told her.
“We’re fine,” Ronde said.
“If you’re fine, then I’m Santa Claus,” said their mother. “Now, which one of you is going to tell me what’s going on?”
She looked Tiki straight in the eye—probably because he talked about twice as much as Ronde did.
“Aw, Ma,” Tiki said. “We’re gonna lose the game on Saturday. Sam Scarfone’s got the chicken pox, and so do two other guys.”
“If not more by Saturday,” Ronde added. “Who knows? The whole team could have spots by then. We might even have to forfeit!”
He and Tiki both sighed together. But their mom wasn’t having any of that.
“You boys cut out this nonsense right now,” she ordered. “The way you talk, you’ve already lost the game!”
“We have, Ma!” Tiki said. “How can we possibly win? It isn’t fair!”
“You know, life isn’t always fair—that’s just the truth,” she said, putting one arm around each of their shoulders. “But you can’t let it get you down. You’re a good team, and if you play proud, and give it everything you’ve got, then win or lose, you’ll be able to hold your heads up when the game is done.”
“Yes, Ma,” the twins said together. But neither Tiki nor Ronde looked up from the ground.
“And don’t give me lip service,” she added. “You think about what I said. Nothing ever got done by folks moaning and groaning. You’ve got to go in with a winning attitude if you want to come out winners. You’re still a great team, if you play like you know how.”
“But Ma, the whole school is counting on us!” Tiki explained. “Everywhere we go, they’re whooping and hollering, bragging about how we’re gonna mop the floor with the Owls. . . .”
“If we lose, we’ll be letting them all down!” said Ronde.
“Boys,” said their mom, “in every football game, one team loses. And whatever team that is, the players have to live with it—and so do their fans. But if the players give it everything they have—if they play proud—then they can stay proud of themselves, win or lose.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me, Ronde. You boys just think about what I said. I’ve been around a long time—much longer than you—and I know it’s true. If you want to have any hope of winning on Saturday, you’ll make yourselves believe it too.”
Every day that week was like the countdown to an execution. Everyone came to the lunchroom dreading to see if there would be some new empty seat where an Eagle had sat the day before. It was bad enough that Sam’s seat was empty. He was one of the four or five best players on the whole team, and maybe the best on defense except for Ronde.
And Mark and Alister’s seats remained empty too, which meant Ronde would be back at safety again. That wasn’t so bad in itself—he’d played out of his mind in the Pulaski game—but it also meant that Justin Landzberg, a seventh grader with almost no game experience, would be filling in for him again at corner. . . .
Maybe they’d gotten lucky during the district championships. No, definitely, they’d been lucky. Not to mention that they’d been incredibly lucky to even get in the play-offs!
But this was different. They were in the regionals now, playing the best teams in all of western Virginia—teams they’d never seen before, except on some very impressive video. Teams that were scary good—like the Abingdon Owls. Winning this game without Sam and the others wouldn’t just be lucky—it would be a near-miracle.
On Thursday, and again on Friday, Tiki and Ronde called Sam at home, just in the hope that, somehow, he was getting well ahead of schedule.
“Yesterday I had a fever of 102,” he told them. “Today it’s down to 101.”
“Good!” said Tiki.
“That’s great!” Ronde added hopefully. “Right?”
“Guys,” Sam said, his voice catching. “Let’s get real—I’m not gonna make it tomorrow. Just . . . just win one for me, will you?”
“Sure thing, man,” Ronde promised.
“You got it, Sam,” Tiki said.
“Because if we lose . . .” Sam’s voice trailed off into a terrible silence.
Neither Tiki nor Ronde said a word. They both knew what Sam would have said if he wasn’t busy choking back tears. He would have said, “If we lose, it’ll be the end of everything—and it’ll be all my fault.”
“You hang in there, Sam,” Ronde finally said. He remembered what his mom had told them. “We’re gonna play proud tomorrow—and we’re gonna take it home for you.”
“Truth,” Tiki added.
And that was all there was to say.
Before the big game, Coach Wheeler gathered the Eagles together to psych them up. Tiki and Ronde were ready, having spent all week digesting their mother’s advice. Ronde had realized somewhere along the line that she was right—and he knew Tiki had too. They’d both come to play football today, and each was prepared to leave everything they had on the field.
Still, most of the other Eagles looked down in the dumps. In addition to their sense of dread, they kept checking out one another’s faces, hoping not to find any spots.
“Listen up, Eagles,” said Coach Wheeler. “Great teams are great because their players always pick each other up. When one guy goes down, another steps up and holds the fort till he can get back.”
He motioned to Tiki and Ronde. “Look at the Barbers if you want to know what I mean. Look at how Tiki stepped up last week, with that big run at the end of the game. Even though they double-teamed him, he managed to find a way to score. And Ronde—well, what can you say about a kid who’s never played safety before, and then steps up the way he did? How many big plays did he make?”
An approving murmur went around the locker room. “A lot, that’s right,” Wheeler continued. “And Cody kept his wits about him all game. I know you all played your hearts out, and that’s why we’re here today.
“So, we haven’t got Sammy. We haven’t got Mark or Alister. But we’ve still got all the rest of us, and that’s got to be enough.” He looked at each one of them in turn. “Now, tell me—have we got it in us to win this game?”
“Yeah!” came the response, loud but not deafening.
“What? I can’t hear you!”
“Yeah!” Louder this time.
“What’s that you say?”
“YEAH!” The whole room shook with noise, added to by half of them banging on their lockers.
“Then let’s go out there and take this game!” Coach Wheeler shouted over the din.
The Eagles poured out of the locker room and onto the field, running at full speed and shouting their war cry.
The game was on!
Ronde took the opening kickoff and ran it all the way out to midfield. From there, the Eagles offense went to work. Behind a ferocious block from John Berra, Tiki broke a big run right off the bat. Before the game was five minutes old, Cody had thrown a dart to Joey Gallagher for a touchdown!
Ronde let out a big whoop from the sideline,
and slapped five with the rest of his teammates on the defense. “Let’s go!” he yelled as he led them charging out onto the field. They were fired up now. For the moment, all their worries had flown right out of their heads.
But the Abingdon Owls were famous for their fearsome offense, and now they showed why. They ran right through the Eagles’ line for big gains, hitting hard at Sam’s replacement, seventh grader Ian Robertson. They kept on running, not passing much at all, until they’d rammed the ball into the end zone for a tying score.
From that time on, the game became a slugfest, with the teams trading touchdowns on almost every drive. Both the Eagles and Abingdon were running the ball at will. With Cody mixing in the occasional pass, the Eagles had twenty-eight points by halftime.
The only problem was, so did the Owls.
By the time the fourth quarter rolled around, the score was a hefty but still tight 49–42 in favor of the Eagles, with the Owls driving for the tying score yet again.
Ronde and his fellow defenders were exhausted. So he was glad when Coach Wheeler called two time-outs in a row. Some might have called it foolish, because those time-outs were likely to be needed at the end of the game. But Ronde saw the wisdom in Wheeler’s move. He was giving his defenders a chance to catch their breath—hoping that it would give them the strength to finally—for the first time—stop the Owl assault.
During the time-outs, Tiki ran over to Ronde’s side with a wet towel to cool him off. It was a warm day for December, and the heat was tiring everybody out.
Ronde was breathing hard and sweating like a water fountain. “Thanks, Tiki,” he said.
“You all right?”
Ronde just kept blowing out breaths of air, trying to get his wind back.
“Just stop them this once, Ronde,” Tiki said. “If we get the ball back, I’ll make sure we put this baby out of reach.”
“I’ll try,” Ronde said, still panting.
“Whatever it takes, yo.” Tiki clapped his twin on the back. “This is your moment. It’s Ronde time.”
Ronde nodded, and Tiki trotted back to the bench as the ref blew the whistle for play to resume.
The Owls were in the Eagle red zone, with third down and four to go at the fourteen yard line. Coach Ontkos had positioned his cornerbacks close to the line of scrimmage, to prevent any short passes. Only Ronde stood back in the end zone, in case the Owls chose to go for broke on the play.
And that’s just what they did. After faking a handoff, then faking a quick pass to a closely covered receiver at the eight, the Owls quarterback ran to his right, and lobbed a floater into the far corner of the end zone.
Luckily, Ronde had been shadowing the quarterback’s every move, and was fast enough to get to the ball in time.
The receiver was much taller, but Ronde made up for it by his amazing leaping ability. They both grabbed the ball—but when they fell to the ground, it was Ronde who still had his hands on it!
The Eagle crowd went berserk, yelling and hugging each other, and jumping up and down so much that the bleachers started shaking.
Ronde was so winded that he took a knee on the kickoff. Then he trudged off the field and collapsed onto the bench. His job was over, at least for now. He could sit there, catch his breath, and watch Tiki and the offense try to put the game away.
After the runback, it was Eagles ball at their own twenty, with five minutes left to play. Coach Wheeler ordered Cody to stay on the ground—which meant that it was up to Tiki to make first downs while the clock ran down to zero.
This was Tiki’s moment—but it was also John Berra’s finest hour. In his three-year career at Hidden Valley, he had never played with this much intensity and passion. Play after play, he pushed the defenders around, making room for Tiki to sneak through holes and gain precious yards. Slowly, the Eagles moved the ball down the field, while Pulaski had to use up their precious time-outs one after the other.
Finally, with just thirty seconds left, and the Eagles facing fourth and seven at the Owl twenty, Coach Wheeler called in the kicking unit. “Old Reliable” Adam Costa split the uprights for the field goal that put the game out of reach, 52–42.
As the gun sounded, Ronde whooped with joy, threw his towel in the air, and ran to hug his brother. They led their happy teammates off the field as the Eagle fans poured out of the stands to greet their heroes. Incredibly, the Eagles had survived to fight another day!
“You see, boys?” Coach Wheeler told the happy, exhausted team when they finally made it back to the locker room. “You see what happens when everybody steps up and does his part? This was a team victory today, so the game ball goes to each and every one of you.”
The team gave themselves a huge cheer, with hugs and backslaps all around.
“I’ll tell you something else, Eagles,” said Wheeler. “Whatever happens from here on out, to me, you’ll always be winners. This season isn’t over—not by a long shot. But if you keep playing like you played today, I like our odds.”
“Just call us the Giant-Killers!” said Tiki, high-fiving his twin so hard that Ronde’s hand was numb for the next ten minutes. But he didn’t care—it was a small price to pay for a huge victory!
CHAPTER SEVEN
UNDER PRESSURE
“HEY, TIKI! HOW’S IT COMING? WE GONNA GIVE ’em a beating next week?”
“Hey, Cootie,” Tiki said, turning from his hallway locker to greet Cootie Harris, the Eagles’ mascot.
Cootie followed the team to all their games, wearing a really silly-looking eagle suit, and flapping his wings whenever Hidden Valley made a big play. He was one of the team’s biggest fans, naturally. And even though the players liked to poke fun at him, they also looked at him as a good-luck charm.
He and Tiki exchanged the team handshake, which consisted of a high five, a low five, and a hip-wagging wiggle, all topped off by a ferocious double high five.
Tiki’s hands were already sore from slapping so many hands all week, and the week before that, too. Everyone at Hidden Valley had gone “Eagle crazy,” dressing in blue and orange, the team’s signature colors, and screaming the team chants between periods and in the lunchroom.
It was all a lot of fun, but things were starting to spin out of control. Now that the Eagles were district champs, all of Roanoke had begun to take notice. A man from the Roanoke Reporter had interviewed many of the team members, saying the article he was going to write would be on the front page, not in the school sports section!
Every morning, the kids on the school loudspeaker system would finish their daily announcements with “Go Eagles!” Even the principal, Dr. Anand, had caught the spirit, calling a special booster assembly after the Abingdon game, just to honor everyone’s new heroes.
Tiki was glad about it, for sure. But underneath all the excitement, and partly because of it, he was becoming more and more uneasy. Everyone was pulling for the Eagles to go all the way to the state championship. And while rooting for a title was okay, a lot of people were starting to expect it.
That was a heavy burden for Tiki and the rest of the Eagles to bear. And as if that weren’t enough, they had to worry about the chicken pox too!
“We’re counting on you this weekend,” Cootie told him. “How many touchdowns you think you’ll get?”
“I don’t know, Cootie,” Tiki said uncomfortably.
“I’ll bet you score at least three—maybe even four or five! I hear Charlottesville West has no defense.”
“Oh, yeah?” Tiki doubted it. No team could have gotten this far without being really strong both on offense and defense. Cootie was just letting himself get carried away. Tiki didn’t blame him, but he knew it was important for him and his teammates to focus on the game, not the hoopla and hype that went along with it.
“I’ve gotta go,” Tiki said, shutting his locker and hoisting his bookbag onto his shoulders. “See you around.”
“Go Eagles!” Cootie shouted after him, raising a fist.
“Go Eagles!” half
a dozen other kids echoed, just to join in.
“Hey, Tiki,” another boy yelled. “Sign my cast?” He held up his broken arm, and with his good hand offered a pen. Tiki took it and signed.
“Thanks,” the boy said. “Wait till the kids in Spanish see this!” He took his pen back and bopped off down the hall, floating on air.
Tiki sucked in a worried breath. He was everybody’s hero now. But if the Eagles lost this weekend, would he get blamed for it? One thing was for sure—he’d be letting down every kid in the whole school, and all the teachers besides.
“Shake it off!” he ordered himself, shaking out his whole body to get rid of the horrible thought.
But it was hard to forget the situation when everywhere you went, people were saying how psyched they were about what you were supposedly going to do in the next game.
Things reached fever pitch the day the article came out in the Reporter.
“Listen to this,” Ronde said as they sat at the breakfast table before school. “‘The Hidden Valley Eagles are the new talk of the town. Under Coach Sam Wheeler, the team has conquered every obstacle thrown in front of it, steamrolling to the district title. The Eagles are now the sentimental favorites to bring home the state championship trophy.’”
“Favorites?” Tiki repeated, surprised. “How did he get that idea?”
“Don’t know. Coach said Charlottesville West hasn’t lost a game all season.”
“I’d rather be an underdog, to tell you the truth. I’m getting a little spooked about it. You?”
“Totally,” Ronde agreed. “It’s like, if we win, it’s no big deal, because that’s what everybody expects. And if we lose . . .”
There was a long silence. Then Tiki asked, “You think we will?”
“Will what?”
“Lose.”
“No, man. We’re gonna win—we have to!”
“See, now that’s what I’m talking about. We have to win, or else.”
“True.”
Another long silence. “Anyway, he says we’re sentimental favorites,” Ronde pointed out. “That’s different than just plain favorites.”