Jesse fixed the man with a stare now, but then seemed to think better of it. “No, Your Honor. I do not.”
“The Alouettes wanted him under contract,” Crook said. “That’s why they signed him for two years.”
“Did the Alouettes know they were signing a woman?”
“We did not consider it, Your Honor.”
“Well, you got the paper,” Lorenzo said. “But you didn’t pay her, like her counsel says. So it wasn’t in fact an active contract, was it?”
It got real quiet in the room. Judge Lorenzo looked around at everyone, then took off his glasses and rubbed his hands over his eyes. Somebody on the other side started shuffling papers. The judge put his glasses back on and sighed, heavily. “Gentlemen,” he said. Then he paused, looked at Jesse. “And lady.” Jesse nodded. “I might have taken some time with this. In the past I have always given myself at least a day between hearing a case and rendering a decision. But here, I’m afraid I don’t have much to consider.”
Now everybody leaned a bit toward him. My heart thrummed along with everybody else’s. This was going to be it.
Judge Lorenzo put his hands out flat on the table in front of him. “This case is brought before me in this jurisdiction in an attempt to cause the Washington Redskins to refrain from employing one Jesse Marie Smoke. The arguments advanced—that she is under contract to another team as a man, that she is a detriment to the integrity of the league because of the inability of some players to hit a woman as hard as they might hit a man—have been … subtle and persuasive.”
Uh oh, I thought, but then he went on.
“They also happen to be frivolous. I cannot think of a single legal case in our whole history where one side sought to limit an individual’s right and ability to play a game. Nor do we have a very healthy or happy history when one side seeks legal means to prohibit a person from a particular field of endeavor because of gender or sex. It is frivolous. The claims of the plaintiff are clearly unreasonable and not worthy of consideration by this court or any other court in this land. My ruling is that I will not allow this case to go forward. The temporary restraining order is hereby revoked.” Then he looked at Zabriskie. “You fellows ought to be ashamed of yourselves. This is the twenty-first century, by god.”
We started celebrating, while the other side began putting their papers in briefcases and folders. I gave Jesse a big hug. She wrapped her arms around my neck and as we were standing there gripping each other, she whispered in my ear, “This means I can play, right?”
“It sure does,” I said. “Maybe even this weekend.”
The commissioner came around to our side of the room and congratulated Edgar Flores. “Really am glad it turned out this way,” he said in a low voice. “She’s good for the game.”
I was elated to hear him say that. It gave me hope that he wouldn’t discipline her for what she did to the Alouettes. Though, in truth, I couldn’t see why he would want to do anything about that. All she did was use up a little practice time and convince them she could play. It was their fault that her sex, and their ingrained attitude about it, caused her to withdraw and prevented her from giving them exactly what they’d wanted.
I couldn’t wait for the press conference.
Thirty-Nine
I begged Flores to release Charley Duncan’s video to the media, but he didn’t want to embarrass the league or the commissioner any more than he had to. No, he was gracious at the press conference in the grand ballroom of the hotel. We walked out, all of us—Duncan, Flores, Benjamin Frail, Jesse, and me—onto a sort of stage with a bank of microphones in front of us and the usual assortment of bright lights and cameras, Liz Carlson stepped up to join us. She and Jesse embraced, and the crowd gave a cheer.
At first, Flores went to the microphones and spoke for all of us, answering each question with patience and sincerity. I don’t think I’d ever seen him so serious. He said he was glad it was over, glad we could get back to what we were all about, which was playing football. Our goal was still, as it always had been, to win our division first and then go from there. No, he had no hard feelings toward the commissioner, or the players’ union. In any unprecedented event, in any sea change to what has been, you had to realize there would be disturbances and upheavals until people had a chance to get used to the new circumstances.
“Jesse,” he said, “may be a groundbreaker. She may not be. Who knows if there’ll ever be another like her? She may be just an anomaly—a onetime phenomenon that we should all enjoy and revel in. Delight in. Either way, I’m awful proud to be a part of it.”
It would have been a terrible mistake, he went on to say, to end what promised to be “one of the wonders of our time.” It was the closest he came to criticizing the league or the players’ union.
Finally, he said he would like to show everyone a home movie of Jesse, if she would allow it—a home movie of her, at age nine, winning the Punt, Pass, and Kick competition in Guam. He turned to her, and Jesse nodded. It was just the right thing to do for making peace with the league office. The whole room broke into loud cheers.
The hotel staff, clearly prepared for this, set up a large screen at the back of the room, and as the press conference went on, the film ran for everyone to see. Within twenty-four hours, every TV in the country had that film of the young Jesse—standing all of five feet six inches, already—kicking the ball high and far; throwing it almost as far as she could kick it; punting it high and deep. As many sportscasters pointed out, even at age nine, she was as good as any high school player. Had there been any room left for her legend to grow? You wouldn’t have thought so. But it did. I think the whole country was in love with her.
Flores narrated as the film played. He talked of her athletic skill and prowess even at such a young age. You’d have thought it was Flores himself who had taken the footage, that he’d been there from the beginning, helping her compete. He spoke like a proud father.
Finally, he let Jesse herself step up to the microphone. Blinking those deep blue eyes in the lights, she gave that innocent, childlike smile of hers, just as the film looped back to the beginning and started playing again. Jesse leaned over to the microphone. “I’m just happy this is all over,” she said.
Questions flew at her now. “Are you ready to get back to playing?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think you can play this Sunday?”
“I haven’t practiced,” she said.
“Ms. Smoke, have you cheated anyone, do you think?”
“Not the Redskins.”
“But you cheated the Alouettes?”
“No. Not really. I cheated them out of telling me I couldn’t play, maybe. The two-year contract I signed, though, that didn’t count because I never took any money.”
“What were you doing for those two years?”
“Traveled a lot. Then, as some of you know, I spent a year in the Independent Women’s Football League.”
Behind her, in the film, (they let it play over and over again during the press conference) she kicked a ball high into the white sky. It was quiet for a minute while everyone in the room concentrated on the grainy image of Jesse Smoke taking a ball into her hands and throwing it high and far. Everybody clapped.
“What would that little girl say about the woman you’ve become, Jesse?” somebody asked.
Jesse just smiled. “You know, it’s funny,” she said. “Sometimes, even now, I feel like I’m only nine years old.”
Then Colin Roddy stepped out of the crowd, carrying a microphone. There were as many cameras on him as on Jesse. “Do you think the players’ union should apologize to you, Jesse?”
“I do, actually.”
“Are you a member of the players’ union?” A woman in the back row asked.
“We all are.”
“Did any of your teammates join in the effort to keep you from playing?” asked Roddy now. Leave it to this guy to look for the worm in the apple.
She hesitated. I saw her
look a bit back in the crowd. Was she looking for Ambrose, for some sign of what she should do? But then she just said, “No. Everyone on our team was behind me.”
“Did you watch the game against the Bengals?” another woman asked.
“Yes. I was in the owner’s— I was in Mr. Flores’s box.” She glanced at Flores and he raised his hand a little, smiling like a politician.
“You think Ken Spivey did a good job?” Roddy asked.
“Of course. Ken’s a great quarterback.”
“But you’ll be glad to get back on the field?” said another voice from the crowd.
“If that’s what coach wants. I just want to win.”
“But you do want to be number one again.” Roddy was persistent. He leaned forward, his microphone held high.
“Sure I want to play. Of course I do. I haven’t practiced this week, though. I don’t even know what plays we’re going to run …” she stopped. “But, look, we’ll figure it out, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to play.”
Somebody asked then if she’d reunited with her mother. I was surprised that anyone in the press was even aware of their troubles. Liz looked at Jesse, smiling, and for a moment they seemed to really see each other, to understand something the rest of us could scarcely guess at.
“We’re fine,” Jesse said, turning back to the cameras and lights, smiling that broad, freckled smile. “At least my mother never doubted I was a girl.”
Liz had bright tears in her eyes, and the laughter in the room was loud and full of genuine affection. Even reporters, collectively and individually, can be moved to empathy and warmth on occasion, you know? With all their lights and cameras and notepads and recorders, they can still be human beings at times.
Jesse ended the press conference by stepping down off the stage, and we all followed her into the crowd. On the way to the exits some of the more hardworking reporters wanted to know if I was going to try and get Jesse ready to play in three days. I just said I’d have to see where we were. I really didn’t know if it was realistic for her to play so soon. Sometimes it’s possible for a player to run through the plays we’ve put in, participate in the walk-through, and then manage to get it to work on the field. But Spivey had put in a full week’s work preparing for this game, and I knew our coach.
Forty
I was right about what Coach Engram would do that weekend. We had a walk-through on Friday and he let Jesse go through a few things with the first-team offense, but for that week, it was Spivey’s team. Tampa Bay came in as fired up as any team we’d played that year. They had to win.
Spivey started and did well enough. He finished with 13 completions in 28 attempts, for 244 yards and 1 touchdown. He threw two interceptions, one of which led to a Tampa Bay field goal. Walter Mickens rushed for 159 yards on 33 carries. We pounded him into the line over and over again, trying to keep Tampa Bay’s offense off the field. But our defense was really incredible. With Orlando Brown sitting it out, Dave Schott played the game of his life. He was always good at stopping the run, but in this game he even pressured the Tampa Bay quarterback and caused a fumble. He didn’t get a sack, but he was in the guy’s face all day. He must have learned something from watching Orlando all year.
We won the game 17 to 13.
The following week we had to travel to San Diego. With a full week to prepare, Coach Engram announced that Jesse would take over the number one spot again, though not without complimenting Ken Spivey on the job he’d done in her absence. Spivey really had come through for us, even learning to control his famous temper. (It didn’t hurt that, with our crack offensive line, he wasn’t getting bumped very often.) Asked how he felt about being demoted for Jesse, he said, “She’s the best player at the position. Look, I want to play, and I’ll be ready. But Jesse’s our number one and I’m behind her. I’ll say it.” I was really beginning to like the guy.
All week in practice, Jesse seemed a bit rusty. Her passes sailed a bit on her—either too high or just a little bit out in front of where they were supposed to be. Darius was fully recovered from his injury, as quick and fast as ever, but we were afraid he’d get hurt leaping for those high throws in practice, so we let him sit out the last day of full-contact drills. Rob Anders also sat out a while, and Jesse got used to throwing to Sean Rice, Jeremy Frank, and Jerome White. Coach Engram said we would have the hottest corps of receivers in the playoffs, if we got that far. Happily, near the end of the week, Jesse started to settle back in and throw more accurately.
Every day after practice, she went through several field goal drills—the same ones she’d been doing when I first discovered she could kick, only this time she had her long snapper and holder on each one. On Friday I stayed out there and watched her. They worked from one side of the field to the other, with the center snapping it from the 7, the 17, the 27, the 37, and even at the end from the 47-yard line. At the 47, it’s 63 yards to the goalposts. She made 7 of 10 from that distance. All of them went right at the opening. Two of her misses bounced off the crossbar, and the last one fell short. While I was out there, Edgar Flores sidled over to me. He was more relaxed, wearing a tan leather jacket and black slacks. I only glanced at him and looked away, afraid he’d notice the expression on my face when I saw him coming.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Just watching, like you.”
“Really?”
“She’s something, isn’t she?” he said, just after Jesse made one of her 63-yarders.
“Never seen anything like her,” I said. “Male or female.”
“She’s certainly big enough to be a man. I couldn’t stand to be with such a horsey woman.”
For some reason this really hurt my feelings. I can’t explain it, except to say that I was always very protective of Jesse—not that she needed it—and Flores’s remark was so rank and insulting it infuriated me.
“Come on, she’s a beautiful woman,” I said. “You’re pretty nuts if you can’t see that.”
He didn’t seem to notice my ire. “Is it true that she never dates anybody on the team?”
I looked at him. “Is there something on your mind? I mean, you already asked me that.”
“And she pretty much hangs around …” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“She hangs around the wide receivers and her offensive line,” I said. “If that’s what you’re asking. They’re all pretty close.”
“Well, birds of a feather.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Don’t blame ’em either. They’re better people than most of us.”
He glared at me, but he had nothing more to say.
We were going to have a battle on our hands with the Chargers. They were 11 and 4, just like us, and leading their division. The flight to San Diego was long and bumpy. Jesse slept next to Dan Wilber up in front of the plane with me, Coach Engram, Walter Mickens, Darius Exley, Rob Anders, and Edgar Flores. Before Jesse fell asleep, all of us went over the game plan again, briefly. The hope was that we could take advantage of San Diego’s rather light defensive line, and their corners, who were a bit shorter than most. It was probably a good thing, I said, talking about how to play them, that Jesse’s passes had been a bit too high during the early part of the week, as it prepared our receivers for leaping and catching balls over the hands of defenders.
“My passes won’t be high in the game,” Jesse said.
“Even so. Wouldn’t hurt if they were,” I said.
She smirked. “If you want them high, I’ll throw them high …”
“Just run the plays called, Jesse,” Engram said. “And throw it like you always do.”
I don’t know whether our game plan was wrong or what, but in the first quarter we couldn’t seem to get anything going. We kept stalling on third down and soon fell behind 3 to 0. A dropped pass here, a holding penalty there, several blown assignments and lost yardage at crucial times—all of that kept us scoreless for the entire first quarter. Luckily, early in the second, Jesse managed to tie things up wit
h a 33-yard field goal.
There was no scoring for the remainder of the first half. Jesse drove us downfield on a couple of very long drives, but Mickens fumbled on the San Diego 12-yard line on one of those, and on the other, Jesse tried to hit him in the flat and the ball got knocked into the air by a linebacker and intercepted by the safety. The interesting thing on that play is that Jesse ran the safety down and collared him from behind. Took him down like a damn coatrack. He was really surprised, and the crowd—the San Diego home crowd, mind you—went wild for a while.
At the beginning of the third quarter, San Diego got a drive going. Orlando was sitting out again and they started running to that side. Dave Schott was usually great against the run, but his success the week before rushing the passer made him a little too aggressive that way in the second half. Twice they ran right by him while he was taking a wide rush to the quarterback. Each time they used that play it was third down and their running back gained enough yardage to keep the ball.
On the sideline during a commercial time-out, Coach Bayne showed Dave a few pictures so he could see what they were doing. They kept running that play by him, showing pass and then running it. Bayne got him to see how they were doing that, and with his help the defense stiffened inside our 30-yard line. With a little less than 3 yards to go, San Diego showed pass again and handed off to their running back, but Dave held his ground and hit him just as he cut toward the line of scrimmage. They had to go for a field goal, which they made.
Now the score was 6 to 3. It almost stayed that way. Their defense was really good, and everything we tried they seemed to have the answer for. Their defensive backs kept knocking balls out of the air and their pass rush forced Jesse to hurry on several plays. She didn’t dance a lot, she stood her ground and got hit plenty of times, but they were on her so fast a lot of the time she was forced to throw it before she was ready. The clock just kept ticking away, and we kept punting back to the Chargers.
The Legend of Jesse Smoke Page 31