Go Long!

by Ronde Barber

  If he was trying to rally them behind him so they’d play their best, the Eagles’ new head coach was getting off to a really miserable start.

  Kind of like the team.

  • • •

  Out in front of the school, Tiki and Ronde saw their mom standing in front of the car. Seeing them, she waved and tried to smile.

  Ronde knew she was trying to pick up their spirits and make them feel better. But nothing could erase the sting of the terrible opening-game loss—nothing but a resounding victory in tomorrow’s game.

  “Somebody’s got to talk to Cody, man,” Tiki said as they walked to the car. Tiki nodded his head in the direction of the quarterback, who was standing in the parking lot waiting for his own ride to show.

  “Yeah,” Ronde agreed. “You’re right. Go on, go talk to him.”

  “Me?”

  Ronde blinked. “You’re not saying you think I should do it?”

  “Yeah, man,” Tiki said. “I’ll back you up.”

  “How ’bout I back you up?” Ronde countered.

  “Aw, Ronde, I can’t talk to that kid.”

  “So? Me neither. He’s way too . . .”

  “I know,” Tiki agreed. “So . . . you gonna talk to him?”

  Ronde did a double-take. “Tiki, man—it was your idea!”

  A car drove up, and Cody got into it. “Now, you see?” Tiki said, shaking his head. “It’s too late! Why didn’t you go talk to him when you had the chance?”

  Ronde sighed. Sometimes it was impossible to talk to Tiki. And if that was impossible, forget about talking to a kid like Cody!

  • • •

  Two long days had gone by. After practice Wednesday, the boys returned home, and Mrs. Barber already had dinner cooking. Ronde and Tiki were both hungry, and they settled right down to eat—their favorite, Mom’s world-famous mac and cheese.

  They were still annoyed at each other. All week long neither one of them had said anything to Cody. So instead of talking, they took turns leafing through the Roanoke Reporter, looking for the article about last week’s game.

  Because the paper only came out on Wednesdays, and the Eagles played their games on Thursday, it was always a long wait till they got to read about it.

  Last year, it hadn’t been that interesting reading about the team, because as bench players, they were rarely mentioned. But this year they were starters. And so this week, they both knew their names would be all over the article.

  “Listen to this,” Tiki said. “‘The first game of the new era for the Hidden Valley Eagles was a huge, mistake-filled disappointment. The Eagles, a preseason pick to repeat as District Champs, lost to a William Byrd Badgers squad they should have handled easily. Worse, the Eagles had every chance to win, and didn’t take advantage.’”

  “What does it say about you and me?” Ronde asked.

  “Now, Ronde,” their mom said, “let your brother read.” She had been about to dish out another helping for both her sons. But now she just stood there, as curious as they were.

  “‘New Eagles Head Coach Sam Wheeler says the team’s first game may not be a good example of how they will play in the future. He says he is putting in a new system that should bring out the best in his team.’

  “‘“I’m a believer in the mental game,” Wheeler said, adding that the Eagles need to be the best-prepared team on the field, mentally as well as physically.’”

  “Mom, did Tiki tell you we didn’t even get onto the field at practice today?” Ronde said.

  “What?”

  “Coach just played videotape of our game and made us imagine winning,” he told her.

  “He probably thinks you boys aren’t focused enough,” Mrs. Barber said.

  “That’s right, Mom,” Tiki agreed. “Coach Wheeler’s really smart. I’ll bet if we all just do what he says, we’ll start winning soon.”

  “There you go,” said Mrs. Barber. “That’s the spirit. You need to get with the program, Ronde.”

  Ronde wished he could believe in it, but he had his doubts. Most of the other kids thought Wheeler was weird.

  Sure, Cody had gone way overboard about him, but Wheeler wasn’t exactly perfect. Ronde couldn’t see how the new coach was ever going to get the Eagles to play their best for him—tape or no tape, mental game or no mental game—especially if he couldn’t stop a kid like Cody from stirring up trouble.

  “‘The team did show flashes of greatness,’” Tiki went on reading. “‘The Barber brothers, Tiki and Ronde—’ Hey, that’s us!”

  “What’s it say? What’s it say?” Ronde asked, suddenly excited.

  “‘Although his fumble of the opening kickoff cost his team seven points, Ronde Barber ran an interception back the length of the field for a key touchdown, as well as batting away a sure touchdown pass from Kyle Martin of the Badgers. And his identical twin, Tiki Barber, had two long touchdown runs of his own.’”

  Tiki looked up and grinned, and Mrs. Barber rubbed his head lovingly, planting a kiss on it, and then one on Ronde’s head, too. “My boys,” she cooed. “I’m so proud of you both.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Tiki said, grinning.

  “Keep reading,” Ronde told him. “I want to hear the rest.”

  “‘Quarterback Cody Hansen, however, had his challenges in the game. His play, as well as the whole team’s, will have to improve if the Eagles are to live up to their promise this year.’”

  “Man,” Ronde said darkly, “Cody’s not going to like hearing that.”

  “It’s the truth,” Tiki said. “Let’s just hope he takes out his anger on the Patriots tomorrow.”

  “You boys just focus on doing your best,” said Mrs. Barber, doling each of them out another scoop of mac and cheese. “What do I always tell you, before every single game?”

  Tiki and Ronde looked up at her and grinned. “Play proud!” they said, and slapped each other five.

  • • •

  “It’s all Wheeler’s fault,” Cody said, crumpling up the paper and tossing it into the garbage bins filled with lunch leftovers. “Maybe if he was there on the sidelines with us, instead of hiding in the stands, you guys would’ve played better and not made me look so bad.”

  “Hey, man,” Fred Soule said. “You’re the QB. The buck stops with you.”

  “Wrong,” Cody argued. “The buck stops with the head coach. Ask anyone.” He looked around, and most of the kids surrounding him at the lunch table nodded their heads in agreement.

  Ronde wasn’t about to say anything. Like Fred, he didn’t think Cody had played all that great. But he knew if he said anything, Cody would make him look stupid, and all the other kids would probably pile on, just like they did on the football field. Except for Fred and a few others, they were just a bunch of followers and would do whatever the leader did.

  He looked over at Tiki, and Ronde could tell that his twin was annoyed too. But for now, Cody was the unspoken leader of the team, and everyone seemed to be falling in line behind him—or at least keeping their mouths shut. Like Ronde, Tiki was too afraid to speak out.

  Except that Cody must have noticed the expression on Tiki’s face. “What, Barber?” he challenged. “You got something to say?”

  Ronde could read his twin’s thoughts. Should he say something? Should he back down? Ronde thought Tiki would be too scared to come back at Cody.

  But he was wrong. “I think you messed up as much as anybody,” Tiki said simply.

  Cody’s face grew red. “Maybe if I had a back who could block for me . . . or hold on to the football when he’s tackled . . . or get with the program!”

  “Yeah, shut up, Tiki!” Sam Scarfone said, getting up and staring down Tiki with his six-foot-tall, two-hundred-pound frame. “Quit dividing the team! We’ve gotta be united, or we’re going down.”

  “Yeah!” a bunch of the others agreed.

  Tiki looked to Ronde for help, but Ronde kept silent. He didn’t want the team members ganging up on him like they were on Tiki.


  Tiki frowned, grabbed his books, and said, “Later.” He walked away, and Ronde went after him.

  “Tiki, wait up!” he called after him. Tiki didn’t stop, and Ronde had to run down the hallway to catch up with him.

  “Tiki, man, I—”

  “Why didn’t you back me up, yo?”

  “I . . .”

  “You were scared!”

  “Was not!” Ronde defended himself.

  “What, you agree with them?”

  Ronde shrugged. “Not really . . .”

  “Why didn’t you say anything, then?”

  “’Cause in a way, I think Cody’s right about Wheeler—sort of.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, the video was okay—just kind of boring after a while. But that ‘close your eyes’ stuff is totally wack.”

  “It is not!” Tiki insisted. “Listen, if Mr. Wheeler thinks it’ll help us, we should try it. I mean, he’s the coach, right?”

  “I guess. . . .” Ronde wasn’t sure how in-charge Mr. Wheeler really was. “I’m not sure he knows what he’s doing, Tiki.”

  “Well, don’t you think we should give him a chance?”

  “Yeah . . . but Cody—”

  “Never mind Cody!” Tiki insisted. “He’s just a kid, like us. This whole team is following Cody, when we should be listening to Coach.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever.”

  “Man,” Tiki said, shaking his head and looking at Ronde, “you should think about it.”

  “I am thinking about it.”

  “You should think again, then.” He sighed. “Well, I’ve got to go.”

  “Me too.”

  “See you after school.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ronde headed for his next class, shaking his head sadly. He and Tiki always agreed about stuff—well, important stuff, anyway.

  But this time it was different, and Ronde felt miserable about it. Still, he knew Tiki must be feeling even worse. After all, Ronde had most of the team on his side.

  In sticking up for Coach Wheeler, Tiki was pretty much alone.

  • • •

  Ronde stood at the goal line, waiting for the kickoff from Patrick Henry Junior High. His whole body wanted to tense up, but he told himself to stay calm, stay relaxed. The blood was pounding in his ears, and every breath sounded like a freight train inside his head.

  He saw the ball rise into the air off the kicker’s foot. It went up, up right into the setting sun. Ronde winced and shielded his eyes. Where in the word was the ball? It couldn’t be gone.

  No, wait, there it was! It was sinking back down toward him, spinning end-over-end. “Don’t fumble,” he told himself. “Stay relaxed . . . stay loose . . . catch it soft. . . . cradle it. . . .”

  He caught the ball out cleanly and took off like a shot straight down the field. From every direction now, he could see the purple jerseys of the Patrick Henry Junior High Patriots closing in on him. Hands tore at his jersey, but they were going the wrong way, and his momentum made them lose their grip. Ronde veered to his left, then to his right, and then downfield again.

  Behind the thunder in his ears that was his breathing and his heart, he could barely hear the Patrick Henry fans in the stands, screaming, “NOOOO!”

  He raced down the field—to the forty, the thirty, the twenty . . .

  “Ooof!”

  He was slammed down onto the turf. But this time—unlike in the first game—Ronde held on to the ball!

  He got up slowly, dusted himself off, and jogged off to the sidelines. He exchanged a high five with Tiki as his brother took the field along with the rest of the offense.

  Ronde took a seat on the bench. “Nice going, Barber!” Coach Pellugi said, slapping him on the back. Now that Coach Wheeler was actually with them on the sidelines, Coach Pellugi was back to being the defensive coach.

  Ronde watched as Cody took the snap from center, faked a handoff to Tiki, then ran a naked bootleg around to the weak side.

  The Patriots were taken completely off guard, and before they could recover, Cody had turned the Eagles’ excellent field position into their first touchdown—on the very first offensive play of the game!

  As he crossed the end zone, Cody dove in, did a somersault, and came up dancing, shaking his hips as he showed off the football. Finally he spiked it between his legs and did a cartwheel before coming off the field.

  The other members of the Eagles offense seemed to enjoy the show. After Adam Gunkler converted the extra point, putting the Eagles up 7–0, the offense jogged off the field.

  As Ronde went back on along with the kicking team, Tiki passed him. “I can’t take that dude,” he muttered to Ronde.

  Tiki didn’t have to say who “that dude” was. Ronde already knew who—and why.

  Ronde ran downfield on Adam’s kickoff and took a flying leap at the returner. He knocked him to the ground—and the next thing he knew, he was at the bottom of a pile of players from both teams.

  When he was finally able to get to his feet, he realized he needed to sit down and catch his breath. He signaled for Coach Pellugi to take him out for a rest.

  Sitting on the bench and drinking a sports drink, Ronde overheard Cody telling two of his offensive linemen, “I’m going to carry us on my back today, no sweat.”

  “Hey, Hansen!”

  Uh-oh. It was Mr. Wheeler, and he didn’t sound too pleased.

  “What’s up?” Cody asked him.

  “First of all, nice touchdown.”

  Cody grinned. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “But easy on the celebrations, huh?” Coach Wheeler said. “There’s no reason for any of that nonsense.”

  “I just thought the team needed a little boost of enthusiasm,” Cody explained.

  Coach Wheeler stepped right up to Cody and said, “And if you don’t cut it out—right now—I’m going to take you out of this game! Understand?”

  “Huh? Cut what out?”

  “You know what I’m talking about—the disrespect. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to behind my back.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, kid. Just can it, you hear me? Or else!”

  Cody scowled. “Yes, Coach,” he said.

  “Good,” Wheeler said, and walked away.

  Cody stared after him. “Or else what?” he said under his breath. “What’s he gonna do, bench me and put the new kid in there? If he does, he’d better hope Manny wins the game for him. ’Cause if we lose, Wheeler will be the one who’s in trouble, not me.”

  Wheeler must have heard him—or at least seen him muttering—because he spun around and got right back in Cody’s face.

  “Listen to me, son,” he said quietly, staring straight at the quarterback, “I don’t care if I have to put a raw rookie in there. I will do it if you don’t get ahold of yourself—and win or lose, this team will be better off. Do you hear me? Keep it up and you will be benched—and not just for one game, either.”

  Ronde knew Wheeler was right. Coach Spangler probably would have benched Cody already.

  But he also saw Cody’s point. Coach Wheeler didn’t have much choice when it came to quarterback—not if he wanted to win this game.

  Joey Bacino, last year’s third-stringer, had moved to California with his family over the summer. The team had only two quarterbacks on its roster—Cody, and the new kid, Manny Alvaro.

  Manny had a good arm, all right, and he was a good athlete, too. But he was only a seventh grader. He’d never even played Peewee League football, which meant he’d never really quarterbacked a team before.

  Cody looked down at the ground, breathing hard, thinking it over.

  Coach Ontkos had wandered over to see what was going on and had caught the last part of the argument. “Why don’t you go out there now and prove yourself, Hansen,” he said, “before you start broadcasting how great you are? Win us a game or two before you start strutting around like a circus clown. Remember what Coach Spangler used to say: ‘Playe
rs win games. Teams win championships.’”

  Cody looked like he’d been humiliated. His face was red, and he was holding his jaw really tight.

  Coach Wheeler glanced out onto the field, then patted Cody’s shoulder. “All right, that’s over now,” he said. “Let’s get your head back into the game. It’s fourth down, kid. You’re on.”

  Ronde had to get out on the field to return the Patriots’ punt. Luckily, it was a short one, and he was able to run it back past midfield, giving the Eagles good field position for the second time in a row.

  Ronde came back to the sidelines, and saw that Coach Wheeler and Coach Pellugi were having a serious discussion while Coach Ontkos called plays for the offense.

  Ronde moved closer and overheard Wheeler saying, “I don’t know, Pete. Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe they should have just given you the job.”

  “Hey, Sam,” Pellugi said, putting an arm on Wheeler’s shoulder, “it is what it is, huh? Sure, I wanted the job. So did Ontkos. But you’re the head coach. You’re the boss around here. If you want to bench Hansen, Steve and I will back you up a hundred percent.”

  Wheeler shook his head. “Hansen’s right about one thing, Pete—if I bench him and the team goes into a losing streak, I’m the one who’ll take the heat for it.”

  “Don’t let that punk kid push you around, that’s my advice,” Pellugi said. “You’re being much too easy on him. If you believe in your way of doing things, stick to it.”

  “Thanks, Pete,” said Wheeler. “But I don’t want to crush his spirit.”

  Pellugi shook his head. “I don’t know, maybe you’re right to give him another chance. It does look like this game’s going our way,” he said as Tiki broke through the line and headed down the field.

  “I don’t know,” Wheeler said, shaking his head. “Maybe I should have benched him. It’s still early in the season. And Cody’s attitude is affecting the whole team. If we get just one or two bad breaks, things could go south in a hurry.”

  Suddenly, a cheer rose from the Patrick Henry fans. Ronde’s blood ran cold as he saw the reason—the ball was loose, and the Patriots were pouncing all over it! The bad break Mr. Wheeler dreaded had just happened.