by Andrea Cale
Amie belched, which both caught her by surprise and mortified her. Caroline couldn’t contain her laughter.
“So sorry to laugh, Amie. That was impressive, that’s all.”
In a world where young ladies put their best foot forward around him with spray-on tans, fake eyelashes, and expensive perfumes, Devin had looked at Caroline with added appreciation over her ability to find humor in her friend’s crass behavior.
This one really is different, he had thought. She’s dangerous.
The trio, all with a few too many drinks in them, walked toward the T—one stumbling, one sauntering, and one walking just fine despite the booze.
“So are you going to give me your number?”
Caroline had waited for Devin to retrieve a cell phone from his pocket. But the thought of being spotted by passersby as he plugged numbers in his phone next to a girl was a move that suddenly felt too desperate for him.
“I’m good with numbers,” he had said instead while tapping his temple with his index finger.
Caroline had wondered if the comment meant he was good with math or remembering girls’ digits. She sensed it was probably the latter, but gave hers to him anyway. His smile was a little too disarming, she thought. As they reached the outdoor platform, the frigid air of early December sobered them all just a little. Their lungs felt frozen in place. Devin wondered if it had been this cold on the morning of his father’s failed bowl game, the Chicken Soup Comeback. In a brief moment of sobriety, he wondered if he had what it took to pull his team to a better outcome.
Amie lowered herself unsteadily onto the bumpy, yellow painted line to fend off an impending wave of nausea. Belching in front of the star quarterback was enough, Amie thought to herself. She was determined not to get sick in front of him too. Her mouth watered. Devin’s did too, but for an entirely different reason. Bundled in a belted heavy coat that still managed to show off her figure, Caroline seemed to glow against the snowy cityscape.
“Can I get a kiss goodnight?” her suitor had asked.
“I thought I told you,” Caroline said. “I’m not that type of—”
“Just one kiss.”
For the first time that evening, Caroline had opted to break one of her steadfast rules.
Devin had happily sauntered back toward the party and plugged Caroline’s number into his cell phone. In his long list of contacts, Caroline’s number became sandwiched between those of girls named Carissa and Catolina. Back at the gathering, the golden boy had grown eager to find another, more temporary girl to appease him for the night. Despite giving his attention to someone else all evening, he would have no trouble.
Devin’s receiver exchanged anxious glances between his watch and the offensive coordinator’s whereabouts.
“That’s a good story, man,” the receiver said. “I was hoping you’d get lucky at first, but after hearing that, she sounds different. As hard as it’ll be for you, player, you gotta treat this one like a lady, my man.”
A giant defensive tackle overheard the receiver’s comment and puckered his lips before mocking them in the matching, popular classic by the Temptations.
“Hey, singin’ wannabe,” a defensive coach finally called out. “How about playing a little football? If you like singing and dancing so much, you can do a few extra rounds of karaoke drills.”
The defensive tackle hung his head before stepping on the field without further protest. The three-hundred-pound player began working his feet quickly in grapevine fashion. His upper body twisted right and left with each movement.
Devin and his receiver shared a laugh before heading back, unscathed, to their own work.
CHAPTER 17
JP
The Destined One
JP sat patiently and quietly inside the office of Syracuse College’s head football coach.
“Damn, when it rains it friggin’ pours,” Coach Flash barked into his office phone to an obvious bearer of bad news.
Unable to help eavesdropping, JP glanced quickly at his coach with a look of surprise that the backup to a backup to a backup running back was unable to hide. Coach Flash’s demeanor on most days was remarkably calm, especially for a man carrying the weight of players, assistant coaches, a chancellor, an athletic director, media, faculty, students, fans, and critics alike—all on some overworked shoulders.
Whenever JP observed other coaches lose control on the opposing sidelines or in SportsCenter highlights from post-game press conferences, he appreciated the strong line of leaders that had guided him to the unlikeliest of spots on a D1 team. Coach Flash was perhaps the one he respected most out of the esteemed group.
Something was off today.
“We were on a roll,” Flash whispered through the phone with a bow of his head. “We were on one hell of a roll.”
Flash had taken leadership of the team following a rare decade in SC football history when the Orange and Navy had faced disappointing defeat after disappointing defeat, losing more than twice as many games than the decade before it. There was a lot of pressure to turn things around. There were a lot of ideas on how to do it. When Flash had assumed leadership, there were a lot of complaints about having someone with a funny, unfamiliar name and without D1 coaching experience call the shots.
Flash had taken the rough first few years at the job with a clumsy grace, tiptoeing through fans following some inevitable losses. He had resisted boasting this season when, finally, the record had turned drastically around for the team. Even the harshest sports critics had been impressed by his effectiveness in piecing a competitive team together again in the campus arena. A few months into the season, Flash’s Orange and Navy were undefeated in conference games and had lost only one match in overtime to the better-ranked West Virginia Mountaineers. The coach believed the team’s success this season was due to a solid defense and offense behind two superstar players: a defensive end named Whistler who had the most sacks this season and a go-to running back inevitably heading to the NFL.
For the first time during his telephone conversation, Flash observed JP fidgeting in the office. The sight of the hardworking practice dummy lifted Flash’s spirits just enough for the coach to resist another outburst.
JP’s small size was less than ideal, but Flash had been pleasantly surprised during the first several weeks of practice over JP’s speed. In addition to having one of the fastest sprints on the team, JP had successfully used his small frame to his advantage. When he wasn’t practicing in the fullback spot, he revealed his true talent at the running back position—his natural position. When he stood in the spot that supported him through the difficult elementary-, middle- and high-school years, he lit up. JP was harder to catch on the run as he slid through the defensive cracks. During a practice last week, Coach Flash had made himself a promise: if JP weren’t fourth in line for the running back position, he’d consider giving him playing time. In the game of football, a lot can change in a week.
Flash’s tired eyes broke away from JP as he wrapped up his call.
“Man, this is exactly why I’ve always said that you can never have enough running backs. It’s a damn good thing my brother is smarter than I am. I have to say he was looking out for me when we created this year’s team.”
JP’s heart soared.
“OK, my friend, thanks for the lovely news, but I’ve got to hang up ’cause a very important meeting is about to take place in my office,” Flash said. “Talk to ya.”
The coach moved a leathery palm to a sweaty forehead. The air seemed to carry a nervous charge amidst the aroma of the coach’s cologne.
“So,” Flash blared in his confident coaching voice. “Sorry to keep you waiting, JP. Trust me, the last thing I want to do these days is keep you from your training.”
JP laughed nervously, not knowing how to respond to the man whose hands held his dream.
“So I called you in here to share news that others on the team aren’t aware of just yet,” the coach said.
Flash went on
to explain that the team’s backup running back ran into some trouble over the weekend in the young man’s hometown.
“He basically lost his mind for a moment, giving up his chance at an education here. He also gave up his chance to play here. Maybe these weren’t thoughts running through his knucklehead at the time, but this is not something I take lightly. What we can all learn from this is that sometimes we think we are invincible, when we are far from it. Anyway, I originally called you in here to offer you the backup running back position. I was going to tell you that you’ll see some playing time as the backup for our superstar running back.”
“You said was,” JP said with a warm, calm smile even though his stomach felt like a cold, nauseating sea of nerves.
“But that call I just got changes everything,” Flash said.
The stressed-out coach went on to explain that in addition to losing the backup, the team’s star running back was injured.
“He’s tried to hide it but he’s got a pair of injured shoulders. A surgeon worked on him for five hours today trying to get the sockets back together with an anthroscope, or arthroscope? Damn, I don’t know, I’m far from a doctor. But I am a football coach and I need you, more than anyone, to step up. I need you to start against Tennessee on Saturday.”
JP’s weight felt heavy in the chair. His aches from extra practices suddenly felt more real. His dream of seeing some playing time as a running back instantly felt like a dream he may not have been ready for after all.
“Huh?” he said. “So you’re picking me, the fourth-string, never-to-see-the-light-of-day guy over your third one who is not only available to play, but also has some experience—some game time—under his belt? And what about some of the more talented guys in other positions? Aren’t they more qualified than I am?”
It was the same argument the players, assistant coaches, a chancellor, an athletic director, media, faculty, students, fans, and critics alike were all going to make when they learned of Coach Flash’s decision, especially at a time when their final regular season game against Tennessee would clinch a spot in a top bowl. Their combined pressure, though, wouldn’t make Coach Flash second-guess his decision as much as the fear he saw in JP’s eyes. The coach had witnessed guys twice JP’s size slam him in practice. He watched the players bully and tease him for being different. He had seen JP greet his mother on staff bravely at practice in front of those same bullies. He had observed JP through plenty of intimidating moments, but today marked the first time the coach saw fear on JP’s face. It worried him.
“Listen, JP,” Flash said. “I know you came to us under special circumstances. I know my brother recommended you as a walk-on so you could attend school and practice with a D1 team. I know you are easily a hundred pounds lighter than many guys out there. I know you probably haven’t felt like you belong. I am here to tell you that you do. If I knew during the recruiting process what I know now—your learning curve especially—I would’ve had you come play for us in a heartbeat. So, do you think you can do it?”
JP tried to find the words to assure his coach that he had picked the right young man, but he wasn’t convinced it was the truth. Always a team player, he ultimately wanted what was best for the Orange and Navy over what was best for himself.
“I don’t know,” JP said. “I mean, I know it’s what I’ve always wanted, but the team has been doing so well. God, I just don’t want you to lose a great bowl game spot because of me.”
“In football and in life, it sometimes takes a challenge to show greatness. Look at Tom Brady—damn Patriots, I’ll be a Bills fan ’til I die. Anyway, the lucky dude wasn’t drafted until the sixth round of the NFL picks. He was a backup just like you. Maybe not the fourth backup, but he was on the sidelines just the same. That was until Drew Bledsoe got injured. Brady went on to be the youngest quarterback to win a Super Bowl. I don’t care if you are the youngest, the smallest, the oldest, or the biggest. All you need is the guts and the drive to pull through.”
“Well, I’ve definitely had the guts and the drive all along,” JP said truthfully.
“It’s settled then,” Flash said. “Actually, there is one piece of business left.”
Flash hit the speaker button on his office phone and began dialing. The person on the other end answered without so much as a “hello.”
“Don’t you have better things to do than call me, your measly high-school coach of a brother, at a time in your life when you are finally in the hunt for a major bowl game?” Crash joked.
Flash looked across his desk at JP, who wore a smile the size of the ones he showed off in the grade-school pictures that were still perched on his mother’s desk.
“Go ahead, you tell him,” Flash whispered.
“Hi, Coach,” JP said in a voice loud enough to travel clearly through the speaker.
“Yes,” the twins responded, one in jest.
“JP,” Crash shouted back through the phone. “I hope my brother isn’t beating you up too much over there. How the heck are ya?”
“Coach Crash, I’m starting on Saturday for Syracuse College.”
Crash’s tone became serious.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered.
“You were right, bro. It always kills me to say it, but you were right. We need this little guy.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Crash said again, as though the comment were meant only for him.
“We heard that,” Flash said. “Anyway, we’ve had to pull two running backs off our roster at virtually the same time, Crash. And why, JP, do I have a feeling you’ve had some greater power looking out for you your whole life?”
The words gave JP more nervous chills. The man knew only the football side of his life, yet his comment accurately summed up the rest of it too. JP wondered what the biological mother whom he had never met would think of him in this moment. He wondered too what the only mother he’d ever known would say. He felt grateful that the professor he called Mom was that greater power who had given him this life of good fortune.
“Well, Coach Flash, you definitely picked the right guy, then,” JP said. “You’re about to need all the luck you can get.”
The twin coaches roared with nerve-filled laughter as all parties felt great truth in JP’s joke.
In what should have been another momentous, celebratory dinner that evening at the round wooden table in their central New York home, JP and his parents sat quietly as they went through the motions of eating baked ziti with garlic bread. Even the roly-poly professor had an unusually difficult time getting one of his favorite meals to go down. The smell of the spicy gravy made them all a bit queasy on this particular night.
The news of Coach Flash’s decision to have JP start against Tennessee had spread quickly through car radios, water-cooler talk outside campus offices, and student chatter in dining halls. Many called Coach Flash crazy. JP’s teammates went from seeing him as an admirable member of the team who practiced with great heart to the one who was singlehandedly going to cost them an appearance in a prestigious bowl game. Even Whistler found himself a bit short-tempered toward his roommate as dreams of leading the defense with a star running back on offense fizzled.
Earlier in the day, the professors themselves had begun feeling unpopular. They had lived their lives in a sea of Syracuse College fans who all of a sudden seemed to know of their son. But the professors didn’t care about their students’ and colleagues’ thoughts. They were worried, however, about what would happen to their son if he didn’t play well. Despite being his biggest fans, they didn’t think he had the experience or the size to pull it off.
As JP pushed the ziti around with his fork and let a cold gulp of ice-water settle in his uneasy stomach, the chill reminded him of a moment in his junior varsity high-school career when he had agreed to help manage the varsity team to learn as much as he could from the seniors. With the upperclassmen seated on a flight of steps within the school, their coach had gone over some start-of-the-season housekeeping
items ranging from sizing up uniforms to doctors’ slips for physicals. In addition, he had introduced a tiny JP on the steps as the team’s manager. One of the seniors had immediately raised his hand.
“What, exactly, are the duties of the manager?”
The senior player had spoken as though JP weren’t there on the steps with them. The coach had ignored the question. JP had not. He wished on those cold stairs that he hadn’t accepted the extra responsibility. It was not so different than how he felt in this moment, a few years later.
JP forced the painful memory to the back of his mind and finally broke the silence at the family table.
“Well, Mom and Dad, I’m used to the role of underdog. I’m used to proving people wrong. Everything is going to work out, you’ll see.”
The professors looked at each other.
“Win or lose, you are absolutely perfect,” JP’s mother said, while managing to wink at her son.
In what would kick off another unexpected turn of events on this already eventful day, the phone rang.
CHAPTER 18
MAXINE
The Lonely One
It was a sleepy Wednesday, Maxine’s day off before her weekend coverage of Syracuse College football games. Even though the photographer still disliked clichés, she classified this day as her calm before the storm. Maxine was just about as relaxed as she ever got. Her press pass was tucked away in the silk lining of a coat pocket. Her cameras and lenses were placed carefully in their cases. Her photo editing in her home office was paused. Her family and friends were carrying out their nine-to-five jobs, preventing them from pestering her about working less and dating more.
Maxine sat on a cozy window bench cushion, the warmest spot in her stark apartment. The sun made her signature short, dark hair sparkle. It also warmed her skin and released a lavender scent left over from a long, lazy bath that morning. The rays rested softly across the delicate features of her face and petite body. If she had company, someone would’ve wanted to take her picture.