A few minutes later, the game began.
The Milwaukee Jefferson Wildcats kicked off. After a decent kick return, the quarterback kept handing off to the tailback. The Wildcats made steady gains. Five yards and then eight yards. They steadily advanced. The Wildcat tailback, Richardson, aided by a big ox of a fullback, kept pushing through. Suddenly, he swept right and took off. The way was clear in front of him. He practically flew for thirty yards. Touchdown!
“Cool,” Cam sat up a little straighter. “That’s more like it.” He glanced over to where Coach Murray stood with his player. The Warriors are in trouble, Cam noted with some satisfaction. Sure, they were his high school team, but he had never made it to a state championship game with them, and he didn’t like to be shown up, especially by Odgers, who had always seemed to be coming up behind him, getting all the love. It’ll be fun to see him knocked down a notch or two.
The Wildcats kicked off to the Warriors. The receiver made it to the thirty-yard line before he was stopped, his green and white uniform lost under a pile of orange and black much larger ones.
Then, Odgers jogged onto the field. Cam couldn’t resist looking over at Kjersten. She had stopped speaking with her friends and was watching the field. Bitch. She still wants him.
Galen’s long, lithe frame dwarfed more of the other players, and he moved with the loose limbed grace of the natural athlete. Fucker. Why does he have to look so good?
Odgers dropped back. Immediately, Cam noticed the intended receiver, a little dude, but he could move. The receiver beat his man. Odgers threw and it was a beautiful, spiraling textbook throw. Cam and everyone else in the stadium held their breath, and then the receiver dropped it. Yes! Cam was into it now.
On Eagle River’s third play of the game, Odgers dropped back, and planted the football right in the middle of the fullback’s chest. The fellow charged nine yards before being tackled.
It was fourth and one at the Warriors own thirty-nine-yard line. Cam watched Murray send in the kicking team. Cam recognized that this wasn’t the time to go for it, but he could see Odgers was pissed; he ripped off his helmet angrily and walked over to the bench.
“Here we go,” Cam chuckled.
Kjersten sat down next to him.
“Where did your friends go?” he asked, not looking away from the game.
“I want to watch the game.”
“You mean watch Odgers.”
“Don’t be a jerk.”
The punter shanked the ball off his foot.
Cam burst out laughing. “I could make that kick.”
“They’re high school kids, Cam. This is your old team. You should be pulling for them.”
“Oh, get over it, Kjersten. I don’t give a shit about Eagle River.”
“What about Coach Murray? He was good to you.”
Cam ignored her comment, but still sought out Coach Murray on the field. He could see that Coach was starting to blow, too. He was pacing, “He’s gonna throw the clipboard,” Cam muttered.
“What?” Kjersten asked.
“His team’s falling apart. Coach is gonna lose it and throw the clipboard.”
The Wildcats got the ball. Stung perhaps by the embarrassment of the past few minutes, the Eagle River’s defense made them work hard for every gain. Orange and black clad receivers even got stuffed a few times, but they were eating the clock. Suddenly, Richardson, the Wildcat running back, broke for another twenty, scored, and then the quarter ended.
Cam watched as the team huddled around Coach Murray.
Kjersten, following his gaze, commented, “Coach Murray looked out for you. That’s what you told me.”
“You don’t know shit about anything, Kjersten. He recognized that I was going to be a good ball player. I won lots of games for him.”
“Don’t be so rude. No, there was more to it than that, and you know it, Cam.”
“Nah, he didn’t do anything for me that he wouldn’t have done for his other players.” He slouched back in his chair. Especially for Galen Odgers. He thought I was something special until Odgers came along, then, he didn’t even see me.
The Warriors were a different team in the second quarter. The defense managed to hold for two series, then the Eagle River offense began to make some plays. On their next possession, through a combination of short passes and runs, the Warriors advanced to their own forty-five-yard line. With a minute and twenty seconds left in the quarter, an Eagle River receiver put the burners on. He took off, streaking down the side line.
“They gotta get something done now,” Cam commented.
Odgers stepped back and threw a huge, arching bomb straight at the receiver. The football hung in the air for an endless moment. It was a perfect throw and the outcome seemed preordained. The ball and the intended receiver moved in harmony. Closer it came, and closer still. The receiver reached out his hands. The ball hit them and bounced off. The receiver continued in full stride. The ball hit his outstretched hands again. And bounced off again. The receiver made contact once more. He allowed the ball to fall back into his body. And then, it was his. He streaked unimpeded into the end zone and then proceeded to do his version of the end zone shuffle. He had scored! The Eagle River fans went nuts.
Cam whistled low. Odgers could really throw the football. He glanced over in the stands to where the scouts were sitting. He recognized a few of them. They’re looking at the Odgers kid like he’s turkey dinner.
“Wow,” Kjersten murmured. “That was quite a throw.”
“For a high school kid.” He pretended not to be impressed. “Let’s see your Galen boy try to do that in a college game where he wouldn’t have all kinds of time in the pocket.”
She glanced over at him. She met his glance. “He’s not ‘my Galen,’ but that was a good throw and you know it.”
“If you’re so hot for him, why don’t you just go back to him?” The jealousy and bitterness seeped through his words. “Oh wait, he dumped you didn’t he?”
Determinedly, Kjersten looked back at the field and Cam watched the muscle clench on the side of her jaw. “Yes, he did.”
“Still not over him, are you? I could find a hundred girls who’d give anything to be with me and you’re still hung up on this kid. Is it because he was your first? Is that it?”
“It’s because he wasn’t an asshole all the time.” Kjersten stood up. “I’m getting a ride home with Maggie. Cam, we’re done. Over,” she gestured with her hands, like she was flicking him away.
“Sit down. Don’t you embarrass me by walking away. You just love to make a scene.”
She just walked away and didn’t bother to respond.
Bitch! I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of following her. She can just forget it. Acutely aware of the eyes of Eagle River on them, he sat back down in his seat and watched the field.
The game had gotten exciting. With the score at seventeen to eight, the two teams began the fourth quarter. Murray held his breath during the kick off. Then, the miraculous occurred: A Wildcat fumbled on the return and the Warriors recovered at the twenty-four-yard line.
The Warriors made a couple of nickel and dime plays, not really getting anywhere and running down the clock.
Cam glanced at the clock, too. Not much time was left.
Odgers stared determinedly down the field. He checked out the defensive formation of the Wildcats.
“He’s gonna throw,” Cam muttered sitting up. “He has to throw.”
The Wildcats were clearly expecting him to throw, too. The ball snapped to Odgers who dropped back, looking for a receiver, but they were blanketed. Then, his eyes fixed on the end zone, he started running.
“Quarterback sneak!” Cam yelled, but the Wildcats clearly could not hear him.
The Wildcat defensive line began to scramble when the players realized that Odgers was making a run for it, but it was too late.
Odgers was rocketing along toward the end zone. His stride grew with every step. His long legs devoured th
e yardage remaining.
Cam sucked in a breath. The kid was not only blessed with a golden arm but rockets for wheels! It just wasn’t fair. Why did a kid like that have to have all the breaks and I don’t get shit? Kjersten is still hung up on him. Even Coach Murray loves the kid. Odgers was nearing the end zone, but Cam saw a defender coming fast. The two hit hard. Odgers’ feet were down, but he had come short of the end zone. Still, Cam had had enough. In disgust, he got to his feet and headed up the stairs and out of the stadium.
* * * *
The game was over and Eagle River had lost. I feel weird. That last hit was rough. Galen pulled off his helmet and his eyes travelled over the crowd. I won’t look for her. I won’t! Still, his gaze was fixed on the stands. He glimpsed Ben making his way down. Then, Ben’s figure was blocked out as a camera was shoved into his face.
“Have you made any decisions about next year, Galen?” A blond reporter demanded.
“What do you think of Milwaukee Jefferson and Marvin Richardson?” another demanded.
Galen ignored the questions that rained down on him. His entire attention was focused on the stands. He’d seen Ben, but where was Kjersten? Had she come? He saw Ben turn back, as if hearing someone calling for him, and then he moved back up into the stands. He watched as Ben stopped and stood talking to someone. The person rose and Galen made out that familiar tall, slender shape and that fall of silvery hair. She’s here! Kjersten came! He watched as she stood up and followed Ben.
“That was awesome!” Seamus, an Eagle River defensive end, pounded Galen on the back.
“We lost,” Galen commented, still staring up into the stands. He couldn’t be sure because of the distance, but it seemed as if Kjersten was looking right at him, too.
“Good game, boys, good game.” Coach Murray pushed his way through the crowd. “Galen,” Murray clapped him on the back. “You worked hard. Nothing to be embarrassed about. There’s no such thing as a good loss, but we played hard.”
Galen didn’t respond. Where had Kjersten gone? Would she speak to him or just leave?
“What’s with him?” Murray gestured at Galen.
“I don’t know, Coach.” Seamus shrugged.
“Make room. Make room.” Coach Murray interpreted the blank, searching expression on Galen’s face. “The boy took quite a hit. Give him some air!”
Galen felt Coach propelling him along towards the bench, but his attention remained fixed on the stands. Kjersten. He couldn’t make out the features of her face, but the way that she carried herself and moved remained the same.
“Galen, boy, you in there?” Coach Murray placed his hands on his shoulders, pushing him down into a seated position on the bench.
Galen felt strangely detached and separate from his body. It feels like I’m in a dream.
As he watched, Kjersten tentatively raised her hand and waved.
He tried to raise his arm to reciprocate, but it felt heavy. Too heavy to raise. When he didn’t respond immediately, her arm dropped.
“Galen. You all right?” Murray squatted down right in front of Galen, blocking his view and tilted his chin up. He looked into his eyes, trying to make him focus on his face. “You hearing me okay? Nod your head... Where’s the trainer?” Murray shouted as he stood up.
“Let me through,” a thin, hard bodied, older woman pushed her way through the crowd that had formed around the bench. “What’s your name, young man?”
He shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs. “Galen Odgers. I’m okay.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. You took quite a hit on that last play. Look at my finger,” the trainer ordered, holding her index finger just in front of Galen’s eyes. “Now follow it with your eyes.” She ran a few other quick tests on him and then stood up.
“Is he okay?” Murray asked.
“I think so. His eyes are tracking correctly. Still, we need to check him out,” she explained to Murray.
“Yes, absolutely,” Tom agreed.
So, Galen sat on the bench, doing as he was told. Then, when the trainer was satisfied that he was in reasonable condition, he rose to his feet and followed Murray and the trainer down to the locker room. The entire time, he couldn’t stop thinking: “I wish she knew I tried to wave back.”
Chapter Ten
Bearcat
~ Galen ~
On a bitterly cold Friday evening in January, while Galen toweled off following his shower, he could hear bits of the raucous conversation downstairs. He made out Kyle’s tenor and Sandra’s loud, joyous laughter, as well as squeals of joy from her children, but he couldn’t make out the words. He rubbed his head vigorously, and buttoned up his pale blue shirt. Next, he pulled on a clean pair of Wranglers, a pair of socks, and then grabbed a boot brush and swiped at the most offensive crud on his Ropers. Perfunctorily, he combed the half inch of hair that covered his head, and splashed some cologne into his hands and then onto his neck and his face. Galen liked to smell good, particularly after an evening of work in the cow barn. Then, he headed down to the kitchen.
“That you, Galen?” Coach Murray’s voice boomed out in greeting as Galen strolled into the kitchen.
Coach was sitting near the front door, stogy in hand. The kitchen was unusually clean looking and smelling. With guilty pleasure Galen noted that Joe, Sandra’s school teacher husband, who was compulsively tidy, had been at work.
“Thanks for cleaning up, Joe,” Galen commented to Joe who was runner thin, blond, and chronically cheerful.
“No biggy. But you guys gotta watch the dates on some of the stuff in your fridge. The sour cream in there was more than a month expired and had some nasty green stuff growing in it.”
Galen inhaled deeply through his nose. The air was pungent with a rich mixture of cigar and ribs. “You made ribs.” His eyes closed, as he savored the smell.
“Well, it’s a special occasion, right? What the heck are you wearing?” Joe burst out laughing.
“My Christmas present to him,” asserted Sandra with a characteristically raised eyebrow that challenged her husband.
“And a fine looking shirt it is.” Joe nodded.
Kyle chuckled. “Whipped. You are whipped, Joe.”
“I prefer to see it as well trained,” Joe countered. “And appreciative of your sister.”
Kyle pretended to gag.
“No sense in irritating the chef’s wife,” Tom commented.
“Joe knows I’m teasing. How much longer will it be?” Kyle asked. “It sure smells good.”
“Just a few minutes.”
“Watch Joey.” Sandra commented about their stocky, tow headed toddler who was clinging to his father’s leg. “Don’t trip over him.”
“I have my eyes on him,” Joe responded as he stepped away from chopping vegetables, scooped his son up in his arms and tossed him into the air. The toddler squealed in delight as he fell back into his father’s arms.
“Anyone want something to drink?” Kyle held up his glass that was empty but for ice. “I’m getting more whiskey and coke.”
“Where’s Pop?” Sandra asked.
“In his room.” Kyle answered.
“Isn’t he coming out?”
“You want to get him, Galen?” Sandra asked.
“Leave him be.” Kyle replied.
“Just make him a plate.” Galen agreed. “You know he doesn’t like this kind of thing.”
“He should be out here, with his family.”
Kyle sat back down with a refreshed drink in his hand. “When are you going to just let it go, Sandra? Dad’s been checked out for years. He doesn’t want to be out here with us. He never has. Here, Joe.” He handed a cold beer over to his brother-in-law.
“Thanks,” Joe responded, popping it open.
“But he should...” Sandra began.
“Just let it go, hon,” Joe said. “You’re not going to change him now.”
Shaking her head in frustration, Sandra nodded.
Galen kicked the toe of his
ropers against the leg of the table. He glanced up at Coach, somewhat embarrassed. Why can’t Dad just be decent? We should all be used to it now, to him, but it still bugs me.
“Joe, how do you think the Packers are gonna do this year?” Tom asked, clearly trying to direct away from a sensitive subject.
“You mean besides being demolished by the soon to be Central Division champions, the Minnesota Vikings?” Joe countered.
“You’ve lived here for seventeen years and you’re still not loyal to the green and gold?” Tom marveled.
“I’ve about given up on you, Joe,” Kyle muttered. “This fool brother-in-law of mine walked into a hole in the wall bar just outside of Superior, wearing a Vikings cap. We were lucky to get out of that place alive. Damn near caused a riot. You would have thought that I burned the flag.”
“The Packers are America’s team,” Tom asserted.
“I don’t know about that. My Vikes are looking sweet this year,” Joe argued.
“What a load of bullshit. America will never get into a team that wears purple. Even the folks over in Minneapolis don’t give a damn about them. The Dome is never filled. I’ll bet there are more Packers in Minnesota than Vikings’ fans any day,” Kyle argued.
“The Vikes will come through this year. I feel it in my bones.”
“Don’t a couple of your old buddies work for the Pack?” Kyle asked Tom.
“A couple of guys I used to play with coach down in Green Bay,” Tom said and nodded, reaching for a handful of chips from the bowl in the middle of the table.
“You ever go over to Green Bay?” Kyle asked.
“Sure. Their new offensive coordinator, Larry Kinpac, was the quarterback coach for Philadelphia when I played there. He’s a good guy.”
Kyle studied the way the mahogany tones of the whiskey became clearer higher up in his glass. “If you’re ever thinking about heading over to Green Bay again, for an afternoon or something, give me a call. I’d sure get a kick out of seeing those guys and I could probably get someone to help me out here for a few milkings.”
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