by Tiki Barber
THE MORNING OF THE GAME WAS WEIRD FROM the moment Tiki woke up. He had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a weird sense of doom hung over him.
Paco didn’t seem like his usual bubbly self either. When they went down for breakfast in the cafeteria with the rest of the team, it was unusually quiet. Nobody made any jokes, the way they usually did.
Yesterday, they’d been all revved up and ready to play, Ronde or no Ronde. After their interviews with the press, and their pre-game meeting with Coach Wheeler, the team had been as primed as they could be. And then, the ice storm had changed everything.
A whole, boring day had come and gone. It was too miserable to go outside, so they’d all stayed in their dorm rooms and watched TV. They’d gone to bed early, but to look at them now, it was clear that not many of the Eagles had slept well last night.
Coach Wheeler and his assistants came into the cafeteria and sat down with the rest of them. “Hey, hey,” he said, noticing the unusual quiet. “What’s this, a funeral or something? Come on, you guys, pep it up!”
Nobody did, though.
“Boy,” said the Coach, “I hope you get more excited when it’s game time.”
“How’s the field, Coach?” Cody asked.
“Good enough to play, they tell me. You guys ready?”
“Yeah . . .”
“What? I can’t hear you!”
“YEAH!!”
“That’s better,” Wheeler said.
But Tiki thought it wasn’t all that good. In fact, it was pretty weak, when you came right down to it. Not a great sign. He thought he knew what was really bothering the team—Ronde wasn’t there with them.
Tiki wondered if they’d missed him as much last week, when he’d been the sick one. If they did, at least they’d gone out and given it everything they had. Now, it looked like the team had already spent its last ounce of energy—as if this last blow was just one too many. After all, he thought, how many setbacks can one team overcome in a season and still come out champions?
“Tiki,” Coach Wheeler called, waving him over. “I want to talk to you a minute.”
“Okay.” The coach walked him to the other end of the room, where they could speak in private.
“You all right?” he asked Tiki.
“Sure,” Tiki said, trying to sound convincing.
“Good. Because you know, you’re the man today.”
“Huh?”
“You’re the one who’s going to have to really step it up, if we’re going to win.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you’re the best player we’re gonna have out there today,” said the coach. “And because Ronde’s your brother. I know you’re gonna win this one for him—and for us all.” He clapped Tiki on the back. “Remember, on those kicks—just make sure you hold on to the ball. Whatever you do, no drops, okay?”
“Got it, Coach.”
“Good. Let’s go get ’em.”
The day had brightened up, and the field, as promised, was playable. The bleachers were filled with over 8,000 fans! Tiki had never played in front of this many people. But that wasn’t what scared him. It was lining up to receive the opening kick that had him so jumpy he couldn’t stand still.
Coach Wheeler had laid out the game plan days ago. They were going to run Tiki at the Falcons all day long, until Fredericksburg brought their whole backfield up to help out. Only then would the Eagles take to the air.
On defense, they were just going to try and hold the fort. Hopefully, Tiki and the running game would eat up enough clock so that the Falcons didn’t have the ball very often.
The Eagles won the toss, and Tiki trotted out onto the field to receive the opening kickoff. Standing there all alone, far from any of the other players, with 8,000 fans screaming, air horns blowing, and the tension mounting as the seconds ticked down before the start of the game, Tiki felt his legs getting wobbly.
His nerves were threatening to get the better of him. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate, willing himself not to give in to his fear.
He was concentrating so hard that at first, he didn’t notice the sudden commotion on the Eagles’ sideline. The ref’s whistle blew, but instead of the ball being snapped, the teams both broke formation and stared over at the Eagle bench.
There, the players were jumping up and down excitedly, as if they’d already scored a touchdown. But it wasn’t seven points they’d added—it was a new player!
“RONDE!” Tiki yelled, sprinting over to his brother’s side.
Ronde, grinning a mile wide and holding his helmet in his hands, was accepting hugs from all his teammates.
“What are you doing here?” Tiki asked him, amazed.
“The ice storm gave me an extra day to get better, and Mom drove me all the way here!”
“Mom’s here too?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Man! We can’t lose!” Tiki said, hugging his twin fiercely. “That’s my bro! Ronde to the rescue!”
“No, how about Mom to the rescue,” Ronde corrected him.
All this time, Coach Wheeler had been busily explaining to the officials what had happened. The officials nodded, made a note in their scorebook, and informed the other team’s coaches. Then they blew their whistles again, and it was time for the game to start.
As Ronde strapped on his helmet and ran out onto the field, the voice on the sound system announced, “Receiving the kick for the Eagles, number five—Ronde Barber—number five.”
Tiki grinned and clapped his hands, jumping up and down with the excitement he’d been missing all morning. Now he was ready for the biggest game of their lives.
The kick went up, and Ronde grabbed it on the move. Stutter-stepping, he left two defenders grabbing air, and two others tripping over their own feet. Spinning, he left three more slamming into each other. Then, he turned on the burners, showing everyone in the stadium that no mere case of chicken pox was going to stop him, or the Eagles, on this great day.
When he crossed the goal line, he was holding the ball over his head. He never let go of it until he was safely back on the sideline, carried there by his teammates. “Here, Tiki, hold this!” he said, handing it over. “I’ve gotta get back out there!”
Tiki shook his head in amazement. Ronde seemed totally better, as if he’d never even been sick! He looked ready to run right down the field again, without even stopping to catch his breath.
But of course, that was too much to hope for. Ronde suddenly kneeled down to catch his breath, and he wound up having to sit down for the first few plays of the Falcons drive. By the time he got back in the game, Fredericksburg was into the Eagles’ red zone and driving. On his first play at corner, Ronde’s man was able to beat him easily for a touchdown to tie the game.
“Tiki!” Coach Wheeler yelled over to him. “Get out there and handle the kickoff! Your brother needs a break.”
Tiki was about to object, but he could see that it was true. Ronde was doubled over, his hands on his hips as he staggered back to the bench.
“Don’t worry about it, bro,” Tiki told him. “I’ve got this one.”
He lined up to receive the kick, just as he had at the beginning of the game. But this time he wasn’t nervous. He felt no fear. He was going to step up for his brother, come what might.
He grabbed the ball, making sure he had it tight in his arms. Then, he ran straight at the first defender to reach him. Just before they would have slammed into each other head-on, Tiki did a 360-spin at full speed. Before the defender knew what had happened, Tiki was five yards past him. Somehow, he kept his balance as he stumbled forward.
The defense finally caught up with him, but not till he’d reached the Falcon fourteen yard line. From there, he was able to run it into the end zone on the very next play!
“Now we’ve each got a TD,” Ronde told him when Tiki got back to the bench. The twins hugged each other tightly.
“You’re the best!” Tiki told him.
“No, man, you are!”
“Okay, okay, you win,” Tiki said. “I’m the best.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Tiki pushed him away playfully. “Let’s go get us some more points!”
They were going to need them, for sure. The Falcon offense was hard to stop. By the end of the first quarter, they’d racked up twenty-one points. But the Eagles, led by Tiki, stayed one touchdown ahead, matching them score for score.
The second quarter was a different matter. Even though the field had been cleared of ice, the turf was still wet, and getting sloppier by the minute as the Eagles and the Falcons ground it up with their cleats.
Neither team was able to make much headway. Tiki couldn’t get enough traction to break any big runs. On the other side, Ronde kept slipping on punt returns and getting nowhere.
By halftime, the score was still 28–21, Eagles. But Tiki could tell Ronde was totally gassed. Coach Wheeler saw it too, and said, “Ronde, I’m sitting you down till the fourth quarter.”
“No, Coach!” Ronde protested.
“Coach, he needs to play!” Tiki urged.
Wheeler shook his head. “They’re scoring off us anyway. I’d rather have one great quarter of defense from you, Ronde, than two quarters of halfway effort. You shut them down at the end, and we’ve got this game in the bag.”
The boys remained silent. They knew from the coach’s tone of voice that he wasn’t going to change his mind. And deep down, Tiki knew Wheeler was right. Ronde didn’t have a full tank of gas to work with today. It was best to save him for crunch time.
But that meant Tiki would have to keep driving the ball until then. Okay, he thought, it’s on me to keep us ahead.
“By the way,” Coach Wheeler added, “I’ve got a little present for you.”
“Me?” Tiki said.
“Me?” echoed Ronde.
“Well . . . I guess you can share them.” He went to his locker and brought out a shopping bag. Inside was a shoebox. Coach Wheeler opened it and took out a brand- new pair of extra-long cleats! “These should help you guys get some traction on that sloppy field.”
“Look, they’ve got velcro instead of laces!” Tiki said.
“Easy on, easy off!” Coach said, smiling. “That’s lucky, huh? Just make sure you switch them quickly, before the refs hit us with a delay-of-game penalty.”
“You got it, Coach!” Tiki said.
“And thanks!” Ronde added.
“Hey!” Cody said, seeing what was up. “How come I don’t get a pair of those?”
Coach Wheeler shrugged. “They had only one pair left in the store. End of the season sale, you know? But Cody—you win this game for us, and I’ll buy new cleats for every kid on this team, how’s that?”
Cody broke into a grin. “Deal!” he said, shaking Wheeler’s hand. “Coach, that’s gonna cost you!”
Fredericksburg got the ball first. Starting at their own twenty-three, the Falcons ran straight up the middle for a first down. Then they pulled an end-around, a reverse direction play that left the Eagle defenders slipping and sliding.
For the next six minutes, the Falcons kept to their ground game, smashing helmets all along the line, rushing for three yards here, four yards there. The drive ended with a play-fake—and a quick touchdown pass, thrown just high enough to avoid the outstretched hands of Mark Zolla.
Now the score was tied, and it stayed that way for a long time. Tiki was able to get good traction with his new cleats, but his blockers, with their usual footwear, weren’t as lucky. They were being pushed around on the slick turf, and it was hard for Tiki to break any big gains.
The Eagles had to punt again, and this time, the Falcons ran it back a long way, getting the ball into Eagle territory as the third quarter ended.
“Okay, gimme those cleats,” Ronde told Tiki. “Quick! I’ve got to get back out there!”
Tiki smiled. He could tell Ronde had recovered his energy. Good thing, too—the Eagles were going to need it!
The Falcons ran on first and second downs, gaining seven yards total. Then they went to the air. The ball went up, and so did both the receiver and Ronde. They came down with it together, and fell in a tumbling heap, rolling over and over and sliding forward until they came to a stop at the Eagle seven.
They struggled for a moment—but then Ronde leaped to his feet, holding the ball high and jumping up and down with excitement.
The receiver slammed his hand to the turf in frustration. Then he took off his helmet and flung it to the ground—and that drew an immediate fifteen-yard penalty from the refs for unsportsmanlike conduct!
“Here’s your shoes back, bro,” Ronde said as he reached the bench and took a seat. “Come on now, Tiki—if we get a lead here, we can hold it for the rest of the game.”
“Oh, we’re gonna get a lead,” Tiki promised, fastening the shoes and snapping on his chin strap. “You just watch.”
Because of the penalty, the Eagles started at their own twenty-two yard line. Cody began by throwing a twenty yard out pattern to Fred Soule. Fred caught it cleanly, but as he turned to run, the ball came loose! Three Falcon defenders leaped to grab it. Luckily, it bounced away from them and trickled out of bounds at the forty-five, with the Eagles still in possession.
“Okay, here we go,” Cody told them in the huddle. “Southern Cal on two.”
Southern Cal was their name for a short pass to Tiki. It started with a fake handoff, then Cody dropped back as if to go long. The Falcon linebackers dropped into deep coverage, and that’s when Tiki slipped through the line of scrimmage, turning just in time to grab the pass.
Tucking the ball in securely, he headed toward the far sideline, meaning to break around the corner. He felt sure that with his great speed and his new, longer cleats, he could outrun anyone on the field.
He turned the corner, just out of reach of the Falcons’ speediest linebacker. Regaining his balance and staying in bounds, Tiki sped down the sideline, the roar of the crowd in his ears—or maybe it was the rush of his own blood pumping, he couldn’t tell.
Finally, he was ridden out of bounds at the Fredericksburg five yard line—first and goal, Eagles!
For the next three downs, they tried and failed to dent the desperate Falcon red zone defense. Finally, on fourth down, they brought Adam Costa in for a chip shot field goal, and the Eagles took the lead, 31–28.
The Hidden Valley band struck up a victory march, and the cheerleaders danced and chanted. But Tiki knew they hadn’t locked this game up yet. There were still four minutes to go, and Fredericksburg wanted this game every bit as much as they did.
Adam kicked off, and Tiki looked for Ronde to be first down the field. But no—this time he was trailing far behind, looking tired and drained.
Tiki shook his head, realizing that he’d forgotten all about Ronde having the chicken pox. He’d played so well, it hadn’t occurred to Tiki this whole quarter that Ronde was still getting over a pretty bad virus.
The Falcons wound up with the ball on their own forty—great field position—and still with two time-outs left. The Eagle defenders kept yelling, urging one another on with every ounce of strength they had left.
Three yards. Five yards. Eleven yards and a first down. The Falcons were on the march, and the entire Eagle defense was back on its heels. Worst of all, Ronde looked exhausted. Mercifully, before the Falcons could run another play, the clock wound down to two minutes, and the officials called time-out.
Coach Wheeler said, “Landzberg, get in there for Ronde!”
“But Coach!” Ronde protested. “I’m okay! Really!”
“I don’t think so,” Wheeler said, shaking his head. “Look, son, you’ve given it everything you had. Let somebody else pick you up now—it’s just the last two minutes.”
“But Coach—” Tiki started to say.
“Tiki, that’s enough,” Wheeler said, ending the discussion. “I know you love your brother, but he’s out of gas. I’m sorry, boys. Hopefu
lly, you’ll thank me afterward.”
Both Tiki and Ronde had to sit there, watching from the bench. They winced as Fredericksburg advanced, machine-like, on the ground, eating up the clock so that the Eagles wouldn’t have a chance to come back if the Falcons scored a touchdown.
Five yards. Eight yards and another first down, with one minute left to play. The Falcons were already on the Eagle twenty-eight, and their fans were screaming at 1000 decibels. Now they threw downfield to Ronde’s man—except now it was Justin Landzberg doing Ronde’s job—at the fifteen yard line for another first down, smack in the Eagles’ red zone.
“Man, he left him wide open!” Ronde complained.
“Cut him a break, Ronde,” Tiki said gently. “He’s only a seventh grader, and besides, he’s not wearing those magic cleats. And give him his props—at least he kept the receiver in bounds.”
Tiki was right. Because of Justin’s heady play, the clock was still ticking down, and Fredericksburg had to spike the ball to stop time from running out.
There were only twenty-five seconds left. On the next play, the Falcons threw a quick sideline pass to the wideout, who stepped out of bounds at the four yard line. First and goal, and the Falcons still had nineteen seconds to play with!
On first down, the Falcons tried a lob pass to the corner of the end zone. Justin, surprised by his man’s move, tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground! Tiki gasped out loud, and he wasn’t alone.
Luckily, the receiver stumbled too, and the ball sailed harmlessly over his head. The entire Eagle bench heaved a huge sigh of relief.
Fourteen seconds to go now, with the clock stopped because of the incompletion. The Falcons still had one time-out left, but they were saving that in case they needed to kick a last-second, game-tying field goal.
Their only play in the meantime was to throw the ball into the end zone. That way, it was either a touchdown or a clock stoppage.
Suddenly, Coach Wheeler called time-out. Then he came over to Tiki and Ronde. “Ronde,” he said, “You’ve had a little rest. Can you give me one or two more plays?”
“Sure thing, Coach!” Ronde hopped to his feet and started jumping up and down from sheer excitement. “Hey, kid,” he told Justin as he came off the field, “nice job out there. Thanks for picking me up.”