by Mike Lupica
But now they were moving to Arizona. Done deal. Tim’s dad had found out that morning, but wanted to wait until after the Merrell game to tell Tim and his sister. Tim said he’d called Will right away, but he’d already left for Shea.
Now here they were, just the two of them, the way it had been so many other times in their lives. Just never like this.
“We leave next Sunday,” Tim said. “My dad said I can still play in the Becker Falls game, on account of it being such a big game.”
“I don’t care about the stupid game!” Will said, the force of his own words surprising him. “I care about you leaving!”
“The first thing I told my dad when he told us was that I couldn’t leave the team,” Tim said. “And he said he understood how I felt, but we were a family, and from the first day, we were gonna start our new life together as a family.”
“I liked your old life just fine,” Will said.
“Same,” Tim said. “Trust me.”
They sat there at Shea, lit only by the lights from the parking lot, sometimes going a few minutes without either one of them saying anything, because there was nothing for them to say, nothing was going to change the fact that Tim was leaving.
Will had never known his mom, so he’d never thought of her having left him the way his dad did. So there was nothing in his life that had ever made him feel as if he were being left behind, or alone.
Until now.
“I even asked my dad if I could live with you guys just until the season was over,” Tim said.
“That’s an awesome idea!” Will said. “I’m sure my dad would go for it in a heartbeat.”
“Yeah, but mine didn’t. He gave me his speech about family all over again.”
“Dads will do that.”
Tim said, “I’m gonna miss you most of all, dude.”
“I never felt cheated about not having a brother because I had you,” Will said.
“And that won’t ever change. We can talk every night on the computer. Or do that Skype deal. And talk on Facebook as much as we want. The only thing you won’t have to do is carry me in school anymore.”
“Facebook friends instead of Forbes friends,” Will said.
“And you can visit Arizona and I can come back here for a couple of weeks in the summer,” Tim said.
Trying to find all these ways of telling Will that things weren’t going to be different. Even though they both knew that things between them would never be the same.
After a while, they finally ran out of ways to lie to each other about how this wasn’t such a calamity after all.
Will said, “You want to come back to my house and hang out?”
Tim said, “Maybe tomorrow; I’m pretty whipped tonight.”
They walked together until they got to the corner of Knollwood, Tim’s block, bumped fists and then shoulders the way they always did. Will walked the rest of the way to Valley alone, ball still under his arm. Trying to remember what he felt like when he’d taken the walk to Shea tonight.
Back when life was good. Before he found out that the part of Forbes, Pennsylvania, that mattered the most to him was moving away now.
His father was watching the Auburn-LSU game when Will walked through the door. He took one look at Will’s face and immediately muted the sound. “What’s wrong?”
“Tim’s moving. His dad found a job in Arizona.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“I don’t even want to think about it,” Will said.
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” his dad said. “But you’ll get through this.”
“What if I don’t want to?” Will said.
“I’m here if you need me,” Joe Tyler said. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”
Will went upstairs, closed his door to close out the sound of the football game from downstairs. Turned on his laptop. They’d done all that talking about Facebook at Shea, so Will went to Tim’s page now, even knowing exactly what it looked like, what pictures were on it, knowing how many were of the two of them, laughing their stupid heads off in just about every one of them.
They hadn’t just talked about going to high school together, playing high school football together; they were already planning to go to the same college.
My best friend, Will thought.
For one more week.
Where did he write a letter to change that?
CHAPTER 26
You guys know I’m not big on speeches,” Will’s dad said right before the Becker Falls game at Shea.
“You’re joking, right, Coach?” Tim said. “You can’t believe how many of your pre-game talks are on YouTube already.”
Tim being Tim, to the end.
Will knew it was an act, knew how much Tim was hurting, knew how it was eating him up to be playing his last game for the Bulldogs before his farewell pizza party at their favorite restaurant, Vicolo’s, tonight.
But he wasn’t going to let it show.
“Very funny,” Joe Tyler said.
“Keepin’ it real, Mr. T.,” Tim said.
Will’s dad went and stood next to Tim now, put his arm around his shoulders.
“I don’t even want to think about playing the rest of the season without this knucklehead,” he said. “But for today, he’s still a Bulldog. And we’re all gonna do our best to put him on that plane with one more win.”
“This is your championship game today,” Will said to Tim. Then grinned and said, “So please don’t you be the one who screws it up.”
“Win one for me!” Tim yelled.
And yet despite that rallying cry, it was 13–0 for Becker Falls before the first quarter was even over. They took the opening kickoff and went on a long drive, using only two short passes, the rest of the time just coming right at the Bulldogs with the first option offense they’d seen all season, mixing it up with their quarterback, tailback, fullback.
They were wearing the Steelers’ modern-day colors, black and gold, and this was just old-fashioned, smashmouth football. And when the Bulldogs couldn’t make a first down on their first series, the Panthers got the ball back and did the same thing again.
They weren’t winning one for Tim now; they were losing one. Badly. It was why they started hearing it out of the stands the way they usually did when things started to go wrong.
And, as usual, it was just one, loud, constant, unhappy voice.
Dick Keenan’s.
“They’re doing everything except telling you the plays,” he yelled. “And you still can’t stop them.”
“Toby Keenan, did you forget everything I taught you about playing linebacker?”
After another play when the quarterback faked a pitch and kept the ball for a first down, they all heard this:
“Borrrrrrrring.”
When Toby finally did fight off a couple of blockers, get into the backfield and bring the tailback down for a five-yard loss, this is what passed for positive reinforcement from his dad:
“Wait a second: You finally figured out that the game started?”
When the Bulldogs got the ball back at 13–0, Will’s dad gave Toby a couple of plays off and sent in Hannah. In the huddle Tim said, “You know what I’m not gonna miss when I get to Arizona? Listening to that guy.”
Will said, “I have a feeling you’ll still be able to hear him.”
“Well, let’s go make some first downs,” Tim said, “that’s the only way we can shut him up.”
And they did, going on a long drive of their own, Will carrying the ball most of the time. Chris hit Tim for a big play on third-and-twelve from the Panthers’ thirty-two-yard line and Will followed up by blowing through a huge hole and scoring untouched from the Panthers’ twenty for the Bulldogs’ first score of the game. Hannah kicked the extra point and it was 13–7. After a Panthers fumble and a couple of traded punts, it was still 13–7 at halftime.
“Listen,” Joe Tyler said when he gathered them around him. “We’re fine.”
Fine
? Will thought.
“We wouldn’t be if their quarterback could throw even a lick,” Will’s dad said. “But he can’t. As big as he is, he’s got a rag arm. So even though we’re still gonna line up the same way as always on defense, I want our cornerbacks to think of themselves as just two more outside linebackers. As soon as they snap the ball, you’re selling out on the run right away. If he wants to try to beat us throwing, I say, bring it on. We’re not losing to these guys, I promise.”
Will said, “And we’re not letting Tim go out with an L.”
One last time, with just one half left in his football season, Tim was Tim.
“I already have enough ways to be a loser,” he said.
But things didn’t change at the start of the second half. The Bulldogs made a couple of first downs before getting stopped, Hannah punted, and the Panthers started in with their option running game all over again, pounding away.
So did Dick Keenan.
“You call that defense? ’Cause it’s pretty offensive to anybody who knows anything about football.”
Both the quarterback and tailback from Becker Falls were almost as big as Toby. And it seemed that every time they lined up, they were sure to get four or five or six yards. Toby was trying to disrupt them, trying to move around right up until the ball was snapped sometimes.
Nothing worked for more than one play.
With three minutes left in the third quarter, the Panthers scored another touchdown. Only a great tackle by Toby kept them from making a two-point conversion.
“A stop!” Dick Keenan yelled. “Will wonders never cease?”
Joe Tyler was waving his players to the sideline, telling them to hustle over before the kick. On their way, Toby said to Will, “Sorry.”
“Don’t you apologize,” Will said. “You’re playing your butt off.”
“I’m talking about my dad,” Toby said. “If I could play better, maybe he’d yell less.”
“Don’t start blaming yourself for the way he acts at games,” Will said. “You’re not the problem. He is. So don’t think about him.” He pointed to where the Panthers were getting ready to kick. “Think about the two scores we’re gonna put on them between now and the end of this game.”
Will’s dad knelt down in the middle of the circle, telling them they were going to go to a no-huddle offense on the next series, telling Chris the first three plays they were going to run.
“There’s still plenty of time,” Joe Tyler said. “But let’s speed things up, anyway.”
They did. Pass to Will in the flat, pass to Hannah on the sideline, a screen for Toby that Will’s dad had drawn up at halftime and went for twenty yards. On the last play of the third quarter, Will seemed to have gotten stopped on the goal line, told himself to keep his legs moving, fell into the end zone.
It was 19–14 now at Shea, one quarter to go, in a game they couldn’t afford to lose.
Because the Bulldogs only had twelve players, Will noticed that the refs would give them a longer break every chance they got, on changes of possession or the ends of quarters. By now, Joe Tyler knew to expect it, so he had the players come to the sideline again, get some water or Gatorade.
As they did, he went up to every one of them, either slapping them on the pads or helmet, stopping to hug Tim, and then Will.
“We’re doing this,” Will’s dad said.
Will nodded.
But right then, as if on cue, they heard Dick Keenan. Will noticed that the longer the game went on, the more the yelling was directed at all of them, Will’s dad included, and not just Toby.
“While you’re hugging it out with them, maybe you could tell them to tackle somebody.”
Joe Tyler turned toward the bleachers now and said, “That’s it.”
Turned back toward the field, waved the ref over, asked if he could call a time-out even if they were basically in a long time-out already.
“What’s up, Joe?” the ref said.
Will’s dad said, “I need a minute to shut somebody up.”
The ref said, “The guy at the top of the bleachers with the leather lungs?”
“Him.”
“Be my guest.” With that he blew his whistle, extended his arms in the direction of both benches, said, “Official time-out.”
As soon as he did, Joe Tyler walked over to the bleachers behind the Bulldogs’ bench, yelled up to Dick Keenan, “Hey, Dick, come down here; there’s something I need to tell you.”
In that moment, it was as if all sound completely disappeared from Shea Field.
Will watched Toby’s dad, arms crossed in front of him, face clenched like always, staring down at Joe Tyler.
“Just coach your team,” he said.
“Trying,” Joe Tyler said. “But you won’t let me.”
“Free country.”
Will stood and watched it all, heart pounding. He wondered what the Becker Falls kids, their coach, thought was happening over here. Not knowing that this was the real action now at Shea, before the fourth quarter even started.
“Oh, I know it’s a free country,” Joe Tyler said. “And that means free speech, too. Just come down here for a second. I’m not like you.” Will could see his dad grinning. “I don’t want everybody to hear.”
It was as if he’d challenged him, in this easygoing way. And left Toby’s dad no choice. He walked down through the bleachers now, the other parents giving him plenty of room, staring at Joe Tyler the whole time, looking the way he always did, like he spent his whole life being mad at the world.
Then the only thing separating Will’s dad and Toby’s dad was the fence.
This is it, Will thought.
This is what we’ve been waiting for, somebody to tell this guy off. Will stole a look at Toby, who’d taken his helmet off, was just watching the scene play out the way everybody else was.
How long had Toby been waiting for somebody to tell off his dad?
Dick Keenan spoke first.
Of course.
“There’s a game going on,” he said. “Not that the guys on your defense seem to have noticed.”
Now, Will thought.
Now.
“You noticed, huh?” Joe Tyler said, surprising Will, still keeping his cool.
“Your kids, starting with my kid, couldn’t stop a nosebleed today,” Dick Keenan said.
“You’re right.”
He still had his arms crossed in front of him, still looked as if he would come right over the fence if Will’s dad said the wrong thing.
But now he looked confused, as if Will’s dad were trying to trick him somehow.
“I’m . . . right?”
“It’s why I called you down,” Joe Tyler said. “I said I wanted to tell you something. But the truth is, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Well, hurry up, before they flag you for delay of game.”
“You still think you know everything about defense, right?”
“More than you, that’s for sure.”
“Then here’s my question: why don’t you come over here and help me try to win this game?”
And to everybody’s amazement, starting with Toby, that is exactly what Dick Keenan did.
CHAPTER 27
As soon as Toby had brought down the Becker Falls kick returner at the thirty-yard line, Joe Tyler signaled to the ref for a real time-out, waved the Bulldogs over to the sideline all over again.
And once they were in the huddle around Dick Keenan, they found out that when you could get him to stop acting like a blowhard—or a bully—even for a couple of minutes, he actually knew what he was talking about.
It was almost like he’d been waiting for somebody to give him the chance to prove it.
It wasn’t like he turned into a good guy all of a sudden, or got better at talking to guys their age, or even acted like a good dad. But he knew his football; you could hear that right away. Especially defensive football.
When he started talking too loudly, Joe Tyler said in a muc
h calmer voice, “Dick, we can hear you fine.” He nodded at the Panthers. “We just don’t want them to hear, too.”
Will saw something pass across Dick Keenan’s face for a second, a look that he was sure Toby knew like his own name, but then it was gone.
He said to the Bulldogs: “Listen up, we got about a minute to put in a defense. We used to call it the ‘50’ when Joe and me played. This won’t be that. But we’re gonna put five in the box, put four backers behind ’em. Leaving us with two cover corners, no safety.”
He pointed at Johnny and Hannah, the two corners. “You get up on their receivers, because there’s no chance that kid can throw deep with that wet noodle arm of his. And give run support whenever you can. Got it?”
They all nodded.
Dick Keenan said to Toby, “You spy on the quarterback. The two linebackers on the outside”—he pointed at Tim and Gerry Dennis—“you do not let the stinkin’ ball get to the outside one more time today. You git it?”
Tim and Gerry nodded, like they were afraid not to.
They all heard the whistle now. Will turned and saw the ref walking slowly toward them, like a baseball umpire ready to break up a conference on the mound.
“You follow the ball,” Dick Keenan said, “not where you think it might end up.” He was kneeling. Now he looked up at them. “Any questions?” Nobody said anything. “This ain’t rocket science. It’s about who wants it more. If you do, now would be a good time to show it.”
Joe Tyler had told Will that Dick Keenan was always the quarterback of the Forbes High defense when they were teammates. Now that became Toby’s job. Somehow he was playing even harder now than before, which was saying plenty. Like there was a chance for him to do something more than beat Becker Falls today.
Dick Keenan’s defense started working right away. On first down, the Panthers’ quarterback faked the pitch to the tailback, but Toby didn’t bite, planted the quarterback instead for a three-yard loss. On second down the tailback got the ball, looking like he could get to the edge the way he had all day. But Tim beat him to his spot, forced him to the inside. Toby was waiting for him. The kid was lucky to hold on to the ball.