by Tiki Barber
Luckily, the Eagle linebackers were on their game, and held the Raider gains to a minimum. Still, seven minutes later, Charlottesville West was knocking at the door, parked in the red zone on the Eagle three, with third and goal to go.
Coach Wheeler called a safety blitz. Ronde’s job was to stick with his man, just in case the Raider QB got free, or managed to get the pass off before he was tackled.
The blitz was successful—so successful that the quarterback, tackled from behind, fumbled the ball. It bounced around, then got kicked forward into the end zone!
Ronde, who’d been trailing his man, sticking to him like a barnacle, saw the ball bounce toward him. He leaped toward it, and so did Stratford. The two boys wrestled for it madly, but Ronde had his body between Stratford and the ball, and came away with it. He held onto it for dear life as players from both teams piled on.
Hands tried clawing it away from him, but Ronde just kept thinking of his promise to Tiki. Nothing, and no one, was going to get that ball away from him!
“Touchback! Eagle ball!” called the referee. The whistle blew, the pile got off Ronde. He stood up, breathless, nauseous, shivering—and handed the ball to the ref.
“Nice play, little guy,” said the ref, and patted him on the helmet.
Now why did he have to go and say that? Ronde wondered, shaking his head. He hated being small. Hated it.
Still, he’d made the play of the game so far, and saved his team a touchdown. He headed back to the bench to rest, hoping to somehow shake off the sickness that was making him feel worse and worse every minute.
The Eagles still had the lead, and the ball, too. But they were deep in their own end, and time was running short. Now the Raider defense began to show why it was number one in the state. They sacked Cody back at the ten yard line. Then they sacked him again at the five. And on third down, they blitzed him so hard that he had to throw the ball away.
It was only Adam Costa and his magic kicking foot that saved them. Adam booted the longest punt of his life, sending the ball way, way downfield. With the lucky bounce it took, the ball wound up at the Raider forty-yard line—a fifty-five yard kick!
By now, it was clear that this game was going to be won by the team that scored last. Ronde, sick as he was, was determined to preserve the shutout.
The Raiders ran the ball for a few plays in a row, driving forward to midfield and a first down. Then, a pass interference call on Mark Zolla brought Charlottesville West to the Eagle thirty. The third quarter ended, and the teams switched ends of the field.
“Barber!” Coach Pellugi called him over. Putting an arm around Ronde, he said, “Listen, they’re bound to throw your way any play now. You’ve got to stay right up in your man’s face, right from scrimmage. Got it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And give him a hard bump coming off the line.”
“Right.”
“And no penalties!”
“Got it, Coach.”
“And Ronde?”
“Yes, Coach?” Ronde froze, wondering if Coach Pellugi had noticed something wrong with him—or worse, spotted his spots!
Pellugi paused for a moment. Then he said, “Good luck, kid. This is it. This is your moment. Make it happen.”
Ronde nodded. He knew it was true. All his life, he’d practiced hard, working to improve his skills, to get stronger, faster, tougher, smarter. Now, everything was riding on this next fifteen minutes. If they won, they would go on to Richmond to play one final game for the state championship.
If they lost . . .
No. No, they were not going to lose. Ronde had guaranteed it, and it was up to him to make good, even if they had to cart him off to the doctor afterward. Clapping his hands, he ran back out onto the field.
The teams lined up. The ball was snapped. Ronde smashed head-on into Stratford as he came off the line, causing him to stumble. While he tried to regain his balance, the Eagle blitz rained down on the Raiders’ quarterback, forcing him to throw the ball away.
Ronde bent over double in the defensive huddle, trying to make the nausea settle down.
“Hey, Barber, you okay?” Sam asked him.
Ronde nodded.
Sam stared at him, squinting. Then he nodded slowly, as if he knew, and understood. “Hang in there, dude. You’re doing awesome.”
Ronde couldn’t manage an answer, but it didn’t matter. The defense clapped hands once and headed back to battle. Next time the Raiders went to Stratford, Ronde felt sure the receiver would deke to make him miss the bump. Well, whatever Stratford tried, Ronde would be ready.
The Raiders play-faked, then passed over the middle to their running back. Ronde left his man to make the tackle in the open field, but not before Charlottesville got another first down. They were at the twenty now, in the Eagles’ red zone again.
This was the game, right here, Ronde knew. He wanted so badly just to lie down—but he couldn’t; not yet.
After two running plays got the ball down to the Eagle thirteen, it was third and three. Time for another pass play, Ronde figured. Knowing that the Eagle safeties were backed up in the end zone, Ronde played right up on the line of scrimmage, making Stratford think he was going to try and bump him again.
Stratford deked, but Ronde didn’t bite on the fake. He stayed right with his man as the Eagles’ pass rush forced the QB from the pocket. He rolled right, toward Ronde and his man. Now Ronde had a choice—should he release Stratford and go after the quarterback? Or should he stick to Stratford no matter what?
There was no time to decide. Ronde did what his instincts told him to. He took one step toward the quarterback, pretending to rush him. Then, as the QB reached back to throw the ball over his head, Ronde backed off again, tracking the ball until he ran it down. Just as Stratford was about to grab it, Ronde flicked out his hand and deflected the ball—right into the hands of Sam Scarfone!
Sam looked like he’d just been handed a baby space alien. Then, he realized he had the ball, and fell to the ground, covering it with his massive bulk.
Eagle ball!
Now, Cody Hansen showed why Coach Wheeler had shown so much patience and confidence in him all season. Under ferocious pressure, he stood his ground, nailing his receivers for three short passes up the middle. They netted three straight first downs, bringing the Eagles out of their own red zone, and all the way up near midfield.
Ronde, catching his breath and trying not to lose his lunch, sat on the bench and looked up at the clock. Five minutes left. He couldn’t wait for this game to end!
But could his team hold on to the ball long enough to ice the game, or would he have to get back out there, with his last ounce of strength, and do battle once more?
The Eagles were back to the ground game now, eating up precious seconds with every play. Three times the Raiders called time-out, but three was all they had. With two minutes left, Adam Costa came out onto the field and notched his second field goal of the game.
Now it was 6–0, Eagles. The Raiders would need a touchdown, not just a field goal, to take back the game. Ronde lined up with the kicking team, determined to use his last reserves of energy to stop any runback in its tracks.
The kick was high and deep. Ronde pushed the nausea out of his mind, ignored the pounding of his head and the cold sweat running down his face, and hurtled down the field at warp speed.
Shadeik Stratford looked down at the last minute, sensing Ronde coming at him. By the time he looked back up, he’d lost sight of the ball! It hit off his helmet and bounced away, with players from both teams racing after it.
Unfortunately, one of the Raiders covered it. The good news was, there hadn’t been any runback. Now Charlottesville West would have to march seventy yards in ninety seconds to win the game.
Ronde knew what that meant. They’d be throwing deep, to their number one receiver. Which meant that the entire outcome of the game was in his hands.
Just where he wanted it.
Sick as he felt, he wou
ldn’t have had it any other way. This was his moment, and no stupid chicken pox was going to steal it from him!
Stratford stared hard at him. He seemed to sense Ronde’s weakness, and a look came into his eyes—the look of a tiger about to pounce.
Ronde thought one last time of his promise to Tiki.
The snap came, and Stratford took off. Ronde didn’t bother to hit him—he was too weak for that anyway. He just kept stride for stride with the receiver, and when Stratford made his move, Ronde was ready. He stepped between Stratford and the pass, gathered himself, and leaped as high as he could, reaching . . . reaching . . .
. . . and came down with the football!
The Eagles swarmed out onto the field to mob him, but Ronde was too quick for them. He sprinted to the sidelines, and removed his helmet just before his teammates reached him.
“WHOA!” several of them said at once. “Barber—you’ve got—”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” said Ronde, exhausted but happy. “Chicken pox?”
“Dude, how long have you known?” asked Cody.
“Me?” Ronde replied, his eyes wide with innocence. “I had no idea till you all just told me.”
Out on the field, the final gun sounded. The game was over. The Eagles were in the state championship game!
The other kids mobbed each other, dancing up and down and chanting “Ea-gles! Ea-gles!” All except Ronde. He sat alone on the bench, the player of the game, the one guy all of them would have wanted most to hug and hoist on their shoulders—if only they dared come near him!
He was now officially on the sick list. He knew that meant big trouble going forward—but for now, he didn’t even want to think about that. He lay back, shivering with chills, itching all over, sick to his stomach, and as happy as he’d ever felt in his life.
A promise made, a promise kept. It had been a foolish thing to do, but he was glad he’d done it. If he hadn’t, there was no way the Eagles would have pulled off this improbable victory without Tiki’s help.
The question now was—would Tiki have to do the same for him in the state finals?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
STEP UP
FOR TIKI, THE WAIT HAD BEEN UNBEARABLE. All that morning and early afternoon, he paced the floor, drummed his fingers on the table, tap-tapped with his homework pencil, and tried unsuccessfully to forget everything by watching TV. Seeing the Cavaliers of Virginia beat up on the Hokies of Virginia Tech only reminded Tiki of that other huge game going on at the same time over in Charlottesville.
It was late in the afternoon when the door banged open and Tiki heard Ronde let out a whoop. “TIKIIII!!”
Tiki ran from the kitchen to the living room, a jar of mayonnaise still in his hand. Ronde had caught him in the middle of making a sandwich, but this was definitely more important. “What happened?” Tiki shouted, but he already knew, from the happy tone of his twin’s voice.
“VICTORY!” Ronde yelled, throwing his hands high as Tiki burst into the room.
“WOO-HOO!” Tiki ran to hug his brother, but stopped just short when he saw Ronde’s face. “What in the—?”
“That’s right, bro,” Ronde said with a smile and a shake of the head. “I didn’t know it was coming on till halftime.”
“Did they make you leave the game?”
Ronde made a face that meant Are you crazy? and said, “No, man—I kept my helmet jammed on so nobody could see! I wasn’t gonna get myself yanked from that game!”
“What was the score?”
“Ha! Six–zip, can you believe it?”
“What?”
“That’s right, give it up,” Ronde said, nodding and strutting, doing a little victory dance. “Oh, yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Shutout city, and yours truly had two picks and a sack, in case you were wondering.”
“I can’t believe it!” Tiki said. “Hey, don’t scratch your spots—you’ll get scars.”
“I’m not! I’m just feeling them.”
“Well, don’t.”
“You should talk—you’ve been scratching all week.”
“Have not.”
“Have too!”
“Aw, let’s not get started on that,” Tiki said. Blowing out a relieved sigh, he said, “I can’t believe this—we really won!”
“I know you thought we’d fold without you. I told you we were gonna win this game. Didn’t I? Come on, admit it!”
“It’s true, it’s true,” Tiki said, grinning and shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, I am so relieved!”
“I can believe it.”
“But—”
“But what?”
Tiki gestured toward Ronde’s spot-covered face. “What are we gonna do now?”
“Hey, don’t be bringing me down, dude,” Ronde said, breezing past him and jumping over the back of the couch to lie down at last. “I’m still riding that beautiful wave.”
“Sheesh!” Tiki said, laughing.
Their mom came in, shaking her head as she saw her two sons, both spotted like leopards. “What am I gonna do with you boys?”
Tiki knew she was as happy as they were. She’d lived this whole crazy season with them, sharing their ups and downs, giving them lots of encouragement at key moments, and a kick in the rear when they really needed it.
But she had to be tired. After six straight days at two different jobs, she could now rest for thirty-six hours before heading back to work. Except for the fact that she would have to cook, clean, and take care of her two itchy, pox-ridden sons, getting them to the doctor’s and making sure they didn’t scratch their spots.
Tiki took a seat in the easy chair across from Ronde and flicked the TV back on. Virginia Tech had come back, and was now making it close against Virginia. While their mom made dinner, Tiki lay there, thinking about the future.
His chicken pox were on the mend. Surely, he’d be able to play in the state championship, thanks to Ronde and the rest of the Eagles, and the great game they’d just won.
But what about Ronde? His chicken pox were just coming on! Although there was plenty of time yet before their ultimate game, Tiki knew Ronde would probably not be able to play. Unless he recovered faster than everyone else had, he wouldn’t be ready in time.
The Eagles had won without Tiki. Could they win without Ronde? If they didn’t, it would be awful! Losing the championship would be bad enough, after all they’d gone through to get this far. But losing it because of Ronde getting sick would be even worse!
“How you feeling?” Tiki asked him.
“Uugghhh. Bad. I probably shouldn’t have been playing.” He managed a smile. “How’re you feeling yourself?”
“Better every day. I might even be able to practice by Monday.”
“Good.”
“I’ll bring you your homework every day,” Tiki promised.
“Yeah, I guess they’ll let you go to school even though I’m sick.”
“’Course they will. I’ve already had it. You can’t get it twice.”
“Right.”
“Hey, Ronde?”
“Yeah?”
“You gonna be able to play?”
There was a long silence. Finally, Ronde said, “You’d best believe I’m gonna play.”
“But what if you’re not better by then?”
Another silence. Then, “I’ll think of something. . . .”
“Well,” came their mom’s voice from the doorway, “it had better not involve my makeup.”
“Mom!”
“Because my stuff is strictly off-limits from now on. Understood? Or do I have to put it under lock and key?”
“Mom!”
“All right then,” she said, smiling before walking back into the room. “Come on, you two—dinner’s ready.”
“Smells good!” Tiki said.
“Ugh, I’m not hungry,” Ronde said.
“Come on now—it’s mac and cheese—your favorite. Fit for a couple of champions!”
Tiki and Ronde exchan
ged a happy look—but it faded quickly. They both knew the truth—in spite of everything, they weren’t champions yet. And unless Ronde played in the big game, they might never be!
That week’s Roanoke Reporter ran a full section of articles about the Hidden Valley Eagles and their amazing season. The lead article was about their chances in the upcoming state final versus the Fredericksburg Falcons.
“‘Fredericksburg is a team that has not trailed in any of its games since late September,’” Tiki read. “‘They blew away the competition in the East, while Hidden Valley had to battle a number of problems to get this far.’”
Below the lead article was a long recap of the Eagles’ troubled season, detailing all the many obstacles they’d overcome on their way to this chance at everlasting glory. “‘Even now, the team is weakened by an epidemic of chicken pox that has affected some of its key players at the worst possible moment,’” Tiki read. “Man, they sure got that right.”
On the next page, there was a box score of each of the Eagles’ games, along with an interview with Coach Wheeler, together with his assistants, Pete Pellugi and Steve Ontkos.
There were even profiles of some team members. One was of Cody Hansen. The quarterback is, after all, the on-field leader of any football team. There was also a story about Adam Costa, who had come out of nowhere the year before to emerge as the best kicker in the state. And finally, there was a big feature about Tiki and Ronde Barber, identical twin all-stars, one on offense and the other on defense.
“Hey, where’d they get these dumb pictures of us?” Ronde wondered, making a face.
“I think those are our sixth-grade school pictures,” Tiki said.
“Right! That’s why we look like little kids!”
“I don’t think mine looks so bad,” Tiki said, teasing. “Yours, though—eeuw.”
“Shut up!”
“Ha!”