Redemption U. and other Short Stories

by Frank Perdue

  “The players are jumping up and down on the Sequoia sideline. It’s as if they had won the game, and of course, they’re a long way from accomplishing that. But they do have a chance now, and before that last play, the light had almost gone out.

  They have all three of their timeouts remaining. Coach Battaglia has managed the game well up to this point. Let’s see if he can finish the job. James the quarterback brings his players up to the line of scrimmage. He’s behind center. There’s the snap. James is predictably dropping back to throw. The defense is deeper than normal in a protect pattern. The throw goes underneath the coverage to Jones the flanker, who looped around to the center of the field at the thirty-eight. He eludes a linebacker trying to make a shoestring tackle. He’s picking up blockers at the forty-five, but he’s tackled at mid-field. Bueller, the strong safety, saved a much bigger gain with a straight up textbook tackle that stopped Jones in his tracks. Timeout is immediately signaled, with Jones not getting out of bounds. Lawrence now has two remaining.”

  Carl took advantage of the timeout on the field to return to his refrigerator for another beer. The game was far too stressful for soda pop.

  Weingold, the announcer, sat there with perspiration forming on his brow, wishing again he had a color commentator for this one. “Okay folks, here’s how we stand. It’s first and ten for the Sequoias, with the ball resting just inside Spartan territory. The clock is down to a minute thirty. They only used ten seconds on that last play. They are down to two timeouts now, while State has only one.

  James drops back to pass. He’s got a receiver on the left sideline at the twenty. Here comes the free safety to cover. It’s Incomplete. There was a collision just as the ball reached the offensive player. That might have saved a touchdown. Wait a minute! A flag is down. Pass interference, defense. The Sequoias will have the ball on the thirty-five. Remember, in college it’s not spot of the foul, but fifteen yards. That’s a break for the defense, because in pro ball the pigskin would be placed at the spot of the infraction, which was the eighteen yard line. The clock was stopped after the ball hit the turf, so there’s a minute eighteen left.

  If the Sequoias can score and, assuming they go for one on the extra point, they will tie the score, and overtime will be a possibility-as if the fans haven’t had enough excitement for one day.

  Here they come up to the line of scrimmage. State is still in a prevent defense with the linebackers deeper than usual, and the corners on the ten. The two safeties are both standing at the goal line.

  Penalty flags are down as the ball is snapped. Now we just have to wait to see who draws the infraction. The officials are huddling at the line of scrimmage. The referee is now signaling with his hands on his hips-offside, defense. That will move the ball five yards closer. They’re also adding three seconds back on the time clock, so there’s still a minute eighteen.

  James, the quarterback, used the official timeout to confer with his offensive coach. Now here he comes back to the huddle. We’re coming right down to it folks. Not many plays are left, and the Sequoias will have to dig deep in their playbook for these next snaps that will decide this game.”

  Carl Eames was fit to be tied. His beer can was empty, and he didn’t dare go to the kitchen and get another, lest he miss the end of the game. He could turn the sound up, but the kitchen was far enough away, he wouldn’t be able to hear very well. So he just sat there, biting his fingernails, a habit he thought he’d beaten three years before.

  “The ball is resting on the thirty, first and ten Lawrence. However, you might as well say first and goal.

  James drops back to pass. There’s only a three man rush, and the blockers pick them up easily. Now he rolls out to his left. Being right-handed, he’ll have to throw across his body, which is usually not recommended. It’s a screen pass to Brown the wide receiver, in the left flat. He’s a speedster, but he’s using his blocks well, and hasn’t turned on the after-burners yet. He’s down to the twenty on the left sideline. Now he cuts back,” The announcer’s voice raised an octave as the runner broke into the clear. “He’s at the ten, the five, and finally brought down on the two yard line by the free safety of the Spartans. Time out Sequoias, as the clock is down to fifty-nine seconds.

  Both teams are making substitutions now, with the game on the line. State has brought in more beef up front, while Lawrence counters with Anderson, a fullback who weighs two hundred and fifty pounds. He’s been converted from a defensive tackle, and he’s a load.

  First and goal for the Sequoias. A field goal won’t help here. They must score a touchdown.

  James has the ball, and he hands off to his tailback. There’s a big pileup at the goal line as the clock runs down to under fifty seconds. It doesn’t look like he made it. Wait a minute! Bart James has the ball in the end zone. It was a fake! He skirted the right side untouched, and we have a one point game!” He should have done a little color at that point, but he was spent emotionally, and just let it go at that. His engineer looked like he wet his pants, as he was jumping up and down.

  “I don’t quite understand this folks. The extra point kicker Eames is on the sideline. There’s forty-eight seconds on the game clock. An extra point would tie it up, and they’re lining up to go for two.”

  Danny’s dad was beside himself with anxiety now. A minute ago he’d wanted to grab someone and hug them, because he was so happy, but there was no one else there. Now he was just frustrated, not comprehending what could be going through Battaglia’s mind at that point. Could Danny be hurt? Otherwise, it just didn’t make sense.

  “Well, here we go with the all important two point conversion try. It’s a direct snap to the fullback Anderson, who stayed in the game. He was a quarterback in high school, before he gained so much weight. James rolled out into the right flat as both receivers cleared out that side. The pass goes to James, but he’s tackled on the one. I don’t see any flags, so the Sequoias still trail by one point with less than a minute left in the ball game.

  Eames is back on the field now, teeing it up. Everyone knows it will be an onside kick. The odds for a Sequoia recovery are slim, though I don’t know the exact figure.” Damn, I should know that. If they’d sent me another color guy, we might have the answer.

  “The teams are set, and here we go. Eames approaches the ball. He pulls up, topping the football and causing it to tumble forward end over end. Just before it reaches the line of State players, the ball kangaroos upward. That allows the kicking team to reach where the ball is coming down at about the same time as the Spartans. There’s a big pileup at mid-field. Possession is crucial here as you well know.

  It’s Sequoia ball!

  Not much time left now, only forty seconds in regulation. To be realistic, the offense must advance the ball to the thirty-five yard line, another fifteen yards, for any chance of a winning field goal, even with the strong leg of Danny Eames. And remember folks, the ground is soggy from the earlier downpour. Footing could be a problem.

  Lawrence University will have to save their last timeout for the field goal attempt, so they will be in a hurry-up offense here.

  James has the ball. He rolls out, this time to his right, and lets it go toward the sideline fifteen yards down the field. It’s tipped by the defender and falls harmlessly to the ground. Second down.

  James keeps it this time, racing toward the sideline with nearly the whole Spartan team in pursuit. He’s at the forty-five, and stopped there. He didn’t get out of bounds. The clock is still running. Time out Lawrence U. with only eight seconds left in regulation.

  The head coach and the quarterback are conferring on the sideline, most likely planning a Hail Mary into the end zone. James has a strong arm in spite of his size, which remember is only five foot eight.

  Another player has joined them on the sideline. Let’s see if I can make out his number. It’s Danny Eames! Could it be that they are going to try a field goal?

  Let me try to set this up for you folks. The ball is on t
he forty-five yard line of State. Add ten yards to the back of the end zone where the goal post resides, then at least eight yards for where the ball will be placed. That would make it a sixty-four yard kick. The record for college and pro ball is sixty-three yards. Usually the ball is placed only seven yards back from the line of scrimmage, but I’m sure they’ll need the extra yard, because the trajectory will have to be lower to get the needed distance.

  They are, in fact, going for the game-winning field goal. James will be the holder. Here’s the snap. It’s a good one. James places the ball down, rotating it to get the laces forward.

  Eames comes into the ball hard, with his left leg.

  It’s Blocked! The clock runs out, as the ball spins harmlessly at the thirty, and State wins!”

  Carl nearly cried. It wasn’t for himself. He was sad for his son. He had come so far. He felt bad for the team and the coach too. They had put their faith in Danny. He hadn’t really let them down. It was just an impossible task. Maybe if the ground hadn’t been wet---maybe. And why didn’t they go for the tie when they had the chance. Chalk this loss up to the coach.

  He reached over and turned the radio off. He didn’t need to hear the infinite number of commercials, and the game recap. Besides, he was suddenly very tired, and spent emotionally.

  It would take his son nearly an hour to drive home. He was sure Danny wouldn’t go out with his friends, since they had lost the game.

  Carl laid down on the couch in their front room, and within five minutes, he was sound asleep.

  He was awakened by a noise outside. It sounded like laughter. He felt his Braille watch. The game had been over for three hours. Had his son come home and not woke him?

  The door opened, and a smiling Danny stood there, as they heard the sound of a car peeling away from the curb outside.

  “Are you okay son?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be Dad?”

  “I thought because you lost the game, you’d be a little depressed.”

  “But we didn’t lose Dad. Didn’t you hear the end of the game?”

  “I thought I did.” The older man answered, confused. “What happened? And why didn’t you kick the tying extra point on that last touchdown?”

  Danny sat down on the couch Carl had occupied earlier. “Okay, here’s the lowdown. Coach knew we were tired, with most of the team having to play every snap. He didn’t feel we could last in overtime against the bigger State team, who had many more reserves than we did. He thought our best chance would be to get the two point conversion, and hold them on defense, with less than a minute left. He knew I could kick it out of the end zone and give them eighty yards to go.”

  “But you lost by one, right?”

  “Don’t interrupt Dad,” Danny said it with a huge grin. “Were you still listening when the record field goal was blocked?”

  “Yes. I thought that was the end of the game.”

  “Not quite. The reason the kick was blocked was that the left defensive tackle jumped the snap. He was offside.

  The ball was moved five yards closer, and I made the kick that time. We won the game and Bart and I shared a game ball.”

  It was such an emotional time for them both, that the two of them stood, hugging each other, and they cried.

  When they finally separated, Danny continued, “I have some other news Dad.” He waited a few seconds before continuing.

  “Don’t leave me in suspense, what is it?” his father said, rather impatiently. He’d run the gamut of emotions since the game started.

  “After the game, when I left the locker room, some guy was waiting to talk to me. I was with Bart, but he saw Cynthia, and ran over to her.

  Turns out the man was a scout for the pro combine. He was impressed by my kicking, and wanted to know what my plans were, for staying in school. They couldn’t draft me until after my junior year, but, if I was going to stay and graduate, they wouldn’t pursue it, at least not now.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him my plans were really up in the air, but I would definitely consider leaving after next year if the offer of a pro contract was on the table.”

  “And?” Carl had perked up considerably.

  “They said they’d keep me in mind.” That would mean you could get your operation, Dad.”

  Suddenly the future looked a whole lot brighter for the men of the Eames family.

  The end

  WARNING BELL

  I set the alarm that last night in the old apartment just as a precaution. I doubted that I’d sleep much, with so many things on my mind. Even if I did, the kids would probably have us up bright and early. They seemed to have a built-in sense that told them when something important was about to happen.

  The next day, Thursday, was to be a milestone in the life of our growing family. We’d dreamt about it, talked of hardly anything else, planned and scrimped for a long time. Now, finally, the dreams and hard work were about to pay off. In just a few short hours it would be moving day. This move, for the first time, would be into a house of or own; ours and the banks that is.

  As I set the alarm for seven a.m. my mind was racing. It’s a wonder I remembered to pull the button before placing the small clock on the nightstand next to our old double bed.

  One of the thoughts filling my head that night was of Monica, my beautiful wife of four years, who was about to give birth to our third child. Our nine month grace period had expired the day before. The little tyke could come at any time. I knew she was suffering discomfort with her burgeoning weight. Still, I selfishly hoped we’d be moved before little Michele or Robert was born.

  When I turned to look at the wondrous woman lying in the bed next to me, I saw that she was already asleep. Quietly I left her side and entered the kids’ room to double check that they had settled down for the night. Chris had his little padded dog tucked safely under his arm in his crib, and he was sleeping soundly. Perhaps we could get him a real puppy soon. He was growing so fast I knew we would shortly have to invest in a bed for him.

  Across the room, Kathy, who was a little more than a year old, was sleeping crosswise in her little crib, with her head jammed up against the bar padding. Her blanket rested nearby on the floor. I turned her in the right direction, retrieved the covering, and placed it over her. Her breathing remained steady.

  As I made my way back to our bedroom I turned out the light in the small hallway that separated the four rooms of our private world.

  When I stretched out on the bed, the springs squeaked. “Well, that will change tomorrow too,” I whispered softly.

  I tried to purge my mind of thought so I could sleep, but it was no use. It was almost a year ago to the day that I had moved my family to the Montana plains with the promise of a new life. I was still a welder, but I was now employed by the U.S. Government. There was a difference. My family had benefits for the first time; Health coverage and Life Insurance, even a retirement plan. Montana seemed to be a million miles from everything we knew and loved, but it was a good trade for the security we would now have.

  We had spent our first night in Great Falls in a motel. Outside a blizzard raged. The next day, however, was fairly nice but cold. We bought a paper, made some phone calls to prospective landlords, and finally, after trudging around the city in a half foot of snow, we found an apartment we could afford on our modest budget.

  Much had happened in the last year and a half. Of course Kathy had come into our lives, and it seemed, not long after that, the baby was conceived. I got a raise. We found the house we not only wanted but could afford.

  So here we were, at moving day, almost. In spite of the perceived jinx, I said aloud, “Jack Halloran, you’re a lucky guy.”

  The next thing I remembered was hearing what sounded like a phone ringing, somewhere off in the distance. I wondered why Monica didn’t answer it. Then I realized it wasn’t the telephone, it was the alarm clock. I sat up in bed quickly, and as I reached toward the nightstand, I smelled the acrid unmi
stakable odor of smoke.

  Suddenly I was fully awake. I looked toward the open doorway leading out of the bedroom. It was nearly obscured by a thick gray cloud.

  Quickly I reached across the bed and poked Monica hard. She awoke with a start, turning toward me. She muttered something, but I stopped her, placing my hands firmly on her arms. “Honey, the house is on fire! Get downstairs fast. I’ll bring the kids.

  She didn’t panic or ask questions, thank God. She just grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed, and headed for the front door. I rushed into the children’s room, which was already filling with smoke because the door had been purposefully left open. I picked up Chris, who was beginning to stir, and then reached in and grabbed a sleeping Kathy around her waist, lifting her out of her crib. Monica had waited at the top of the stairs to make sure I had both children, then she made her way outside quickly.

  Once she was breathing fresh air, Monica pounded on the landlord’s door. He occupied the ground floor of the building whose top floor was now engulfed in flames. When he answered she alerted him to the danger.

  Within minutes the sidewalk was crowded with onlookers, some in robes. Flames were visible all around the top floor of the house, along with some, now black, that was pouring from the eaves.

  I had chanced making a trip back upstairs for some of our belongings when the fire engine arrived. Less than five minutes later the flames had been knocked down and were no longer visible from the street. However, great rolls of smoke still billowed skyward.

  As the excitement waned, so did the people who had moments earlier filled the street near the old gray building that was now tinged in black. Only a few of the neighbors remained, mostly to see if they could help.

  When it was finally apparent the fire was out, and no longer a danger to the residents, and the adjacent buildings, the fire chief, or the man in charge, sought us out. “You the people who live here?” he asked, rather gruffly.