by Ronde Barber
“I don’t think so,” Tiki said. “Not unless Cody stops being such a jerk.”
Mr. Wheeler nodded. “Right. But I haven’t got any idea how to turn him around.” He sighed sadly. “I guess I’m a good teacher but a lousy coach, huh? Funny, I always thought I’d be good at it. I guess you never know till you try.”
“Come on, Coach,” Tiki said. “Just act like you do in the classroom when one of us acts up! Come down hard on Cody until he backs down.”
“It’s different,” Wheeler said. “In class, my job is to teach kids, to make sure they understand the lesson. But in coaching, that’s not enough. You also have to be able to lead. And that means you have to be able to make kids follow you.”
“But Coach,” Ronde said, “most of us are following you. At least, we are now.”
“Yes, all except the most important guy on the team. Cody has set himself up as the leader, and there doesn’t seem to be room for the both of us.”
He shrugged. “I don’t want to start a rookie at quarterback when we can’t afford to lose even one more game. But what’s the alternative? To let Cody keep trashing everything I try to accomplish? Let’s face it, if I bench him next game, and Manny fizzles, I’ll get blamed anyway. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I got fired if we lose another game anytime soon.”
“Coach, could I make a suggestion?” Ronde asked.
“Sure, Tiki, go ahead.”
“It’s, um, Ronde,” said Ronde.
“Really?” Wheeler shook his head and smiled. “Amazing. Just amazing . . . anyway, let’s hear it, Ronde.”
“I think you should have a talk with Cody—privately, when it won’t embarrass him. I mean, I know he wants to win as much as any of us do. Maybe he’d listen if you took the time to explain things.”
“I know that’s what Coach Spangler would have done if he were still around,” Tiki agreed.
Someone cleared his throat behind them, and the boys turned around.
“Coach Spangler!” Ronde gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, can’t a guy get a sandwich?” he asked with a laugh. “Actually, I’m on a break from practice, and I thought I’d drop in for a bite to eat.”
“Well, have a seat, Steve,” Mr. Wheeler said.
“Thanks, but I’m getting it to go,” said Spangler. “Listen, Sam,” he said, putting a hand on Wheeler’s shoulder. “You see these two kids here?”
Wheeler nodded. “I know. They’re gonna be big-time players someday.”
Ronde beamed, swelling with pride. Tiki was all smiles too.
“I agree,” Spangler said. “And when they’re done with that, they might want to consider being coaches. I mean, they’re learning fast. That was some terrific advice I heard them give you just now.”
“You heard that?” Ronde moaned. “Oh, no!”
“Don’t be embarrassed, Tiki—you were totally right!”
“Um, it’s Ronde,” Mr. Wheeler corrected him.
Coach Spangler shook his head and smiled. “You boys are going to have to start wearing your uniforms all the time so people can tell you apart.”
Ronde grinned, and Mr. Wheeler winked at him and Tiki. “Even that doesn’t do the trick anymore,” he said. “They sometimes switch clothes.”
They all laughed. “Seriously, though, Steve,” Mr. Wheeler said. “How am I going to talk to that kid? He’s a handful—you know him.”
“I do,” Spangler said, “and I know how I’d handle him. But you’ve got to do it your own way, Sam.”
He clapped Wheeler on the back. “You can do it—I know you can. Get your mental game together, Coach.” He looked at Ronde, then at Tiki. “If these kids can do it, so can you.”
• • •
Ronde was ten minutes late, and in a state of total panic—he’d never been this late for a practice before!
On the Eagles, if you were late, you had to pay a fine. Not in money, but in some dumb stunt the other players would make you do, like wearing your winter coat to school on a hot day, or wearing shorts in the winter.
If only Ms. Rosa hadn’t made the kids stay until they’d copied the entire algebra assignment from the blackboard. It was a series of formulae that Ronde kept getting mixed up, and he had to erase his figures and rewrite them a bunch of times.
By the time he got to the locker room, the entire team was already out on the field! He smacked himself on the forehead, knowing he would surely have to pay the price.
He quickly got into his practice clothes and had just finished tying his cleats when he heard soft voices coming from the direction of Coach Wheeler’s office.
The office was in the hallway that led from the lockers to the field. Ronde had to pass the door on his way out, and he couldn’t help noticing that it was open a crack.
The conversation was just loud enough for him to hear most of what was being said—and to know that the other person in the room with Coach was Cody Hansen.
Ronde was torn. On the one hand, he knew he should get out onto the field with his buddies and practice for the big game.
On the other hand . . .
He knew it was wrong to spy on people, to listen in on their conversations. But this was such an important conversation—not only for Cody and Coach, but for the entire team, and that included Ronde!
If they hadn’t wanted me to hear, he reasoned, they would have shut the door all the way, right?
He knew he shouldn’t be standing there, tucked into the alcove so that no one would notice him. But he stayed where he was, riveted by what he heard on the other side of the door:
“This team needs you to lead them,” Coach Wheeler was saying.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” Cody responded.
“Yes, but don’t you see, if you’re leading one way, and I’m leading the other—”
“Well, then why don’t you change what you’re doing?” Cody interrupted.
“Now, see, that’s what I mean,” said Wheeler. “Try to remember that you’re still in eighth grade, okay? Kids your age need adults to help show them the way.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got adults showing me the way,” Cody said confidently. “My brother, my cousin, my—”
“None of them have anything to do with this team,” said Wheeler. “You think they know more about coaching than I do—you’ve made that clear enough. But none of them can help this team win once you’re on the field. And if they think they’re helping you by telling you not to listen to your coach—”
“They never said that.”
“Oh? Then why are you doing it?”
“Because . . . well, because you do things that are so dumb!”
Ronde thought Coach Wheeler would start shouting at Cody. But he didn’t even raise his voice.
“Let me ask you something, Cody,” said the coach. “Do you care if this team wins? Or is it all about you—your numbers, your heroics, your own personal football season?”
“No!” Cody insisted. “I care about the team first!”
“Oh, really?”
There was a brief silence. Ronde wondered if they’d heard his heart beating. It was so loud he was sure they could hear it in the silence.
“It doesn’t seem to me like you care,” said Wheeler. “And I think if you asked your teammates, they’d say the same thing.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Quite a few of them have come to me and said so,” said the coach.
“Who?”
“I’m not going to give away names, Cody. But football is a team sport. No matter how good a player is, he can’t win this game all by himself. Not at this level, and not at any level higher than this. Maybe you got away with it in Peewee League, but—”
“Got away with what?”
“With ignoring your coaches, taunting the other team when you score, and blaming everything that goes wrong on your teammates instead of taking responsibility for it yourself.”
“But none of what went wrong was
my fault!”
“First of all, that’s a lot of garbage. You’ve made your share of mistakes on that field, just like every other member of this team. And I include myself on that list. But if the quarterback doesn’t take responsibility for what goes wrong, but only for what goes right, this team is going nowhere fast.”
“I don’t have to listen to this—,” Cody said, and Ronde could hear him getting out of his chair. Ronde looked behind him to see if he could get away before they found him hiding there.
But he needn’t have worried. Cody wasn’t going anywhere.
“You’ll stay right here until I say this conversation is finished,” Coach Wheeler commanded. “Now I’m going to be totally honest with you. We’ve got a two and two record right now. If we lose again, we might not make the playoffs. I wouldn’t even be surprised if we had a losing season overall.
“But if you will go with my program, like the rest of the team—if you’ll come to practice, attend the video sessions, and play things one hundred percent my way—I will stick my neck out right now and guarantee that this team will beat Pulaski on Thursday.”
“If they’d hired my cousin to run this team—” Cody began.
“But they didn’t,” said Coach Wheeler. “They hired me. I’m the only coach you have right now, and right now is all that matters. Because if we lose on Thursday, even if I do get fired, it won’t matter who the new coach is, because it’ll be too late!” Another long silence, and Ronde held his breath.
“Now I will agree that a lot of the blame falls on me,” said Wheeler. “I should have taken this up with you right away, the first time you refused to follow my instructions. I should have benched you then and there, and kept you on the bench until you decided to fall in line.”
“Ha!” Cody laughed. “We would have been zero and four by now if you had.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think we’d be any worse off than we are now. Manny might have made more mistakes, but his teammates would have played better behind him—because he wouldn’t have been yelling at them every time they did something wrong.”
Another silence—an even longer one this time.
“Don’t you think every kid on this team wants to win as badly as you do? Don’t you think each and every one of them is trying his best, even when he messes up?”
“I . . . I guess,” said Cody, his voice softer now. “I never really thought about it like that. . . .”
“Well, now’s the time to start,” said Wheeler. “Think of every one of them as being exactly like you—wanting the same thing, trying just as hard, caring just as much, and feeling just as bad when they make a mistake. Now, how do you think they feel when you rag on them about it?”
“I . . .”
“Notice that not one of them has ever called you out for throwing an interception, or a badly thrown pass. You know why they haven’t? Because they put themselves in your shoes, and they realize how miserable you’d feel if they did yell at you. Besides, they know it would only hurt the team. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“I . . . I think so. . . .”
“It’s not just what you do on the field, in the game. It’s how you treat the people you count on to help you win. A winning team has to be like a happy family—any bad feelings, any anger or resentment, has to be aimed straight at our next opponent. Got it?”
“Uh-huh,” said Cody softly. “I guess I have kind of yelled at people a couple of times.”
Now it was Coach Wheeler’s turn to be silent.
“See, my dad, he always yells when I mess up at home. Sometimes it feels like I can never do anything right. That’s why I love this game—it’s the only place I can . . . I can . . .”
Cody stopped talking, and Ronde thought he could hear a sniffle or two from behind the half-closed door.
“I understand,” Coach Wheeler said. “Hey, lots of people have it tough at home. But in here, we’ve got to leave all that behind. We can’t dump all our problems on the guys we trust to have our backs out there, right?”
“Right . . . I guess . . .”
“Okay, then,” said the coach. “For my part, I apologize to you, for letting things get so out of hand for so long. And I hope we never need to have this conversation again.”
“We won’t, Coach,” said Cody.
Ronde opened his eyes wide. It was the first time he’d ever heard Cody call Mr. Wheeler “Coach.”
“Now, I’m not going to tell you how to handle this with the rest of the team,” said Wheeler. “I’m just going to say one thing—it’s up to you to rally your troops and take them into this next game with the feeling that we’re all a family—a real team, not just a bunch of guys who put on the same uniform every week.”
“Got it, Coach,” said Cody, sniffling one more time. “You can count on me.”
Ronde heard chairs scraping, and this time, he didn’t hang around to find out if the conversation was over. He tiptoed away from the door, then ran down the hallway and out onto the playing field.
He felt guilty for listening in, and he couldn’t wait to see what Cody did next.
But most of all, Ronde felt better about Coach Wheeler—not just because he was a smart guy, but because he was finally acting like the leader of the Eagles.
Now, if Cody would only do what Wheeler wanted him to, Ronde was sure things would get better. He didn’t know about Wheeler’s guarantee of victory on Thursday, but he sure felt better about playing Pulaski—one of the toughest squads in the entire league, and the only undefeated team left standing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A FAMILY OF EAGLES
* * *
TIKI WAS PLAYING CATCH WITH MANNY ALVARO when Cody came out onto the field.
“Yo, Tiki, what’s up?” he called, waving.
“Hey, Cody.” Tiki expected him to say something obnoxious.
But he didn’t. He came right over to Tiki and said, “Look, dude . . . I know I’ve reamed you out pretty bad a couple of times. I just want you to know—I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Tiki shook his head in disbelief. “What did you just say?”
“I said I’m sorry, man. You didn’t deserve that. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs around here, not be messing with each other’s heads.”
“I hear you,” Tiki said, nodding, still stunned that this was even happening.
“From now on, I’m just gonna concentrate on helping the team win. I mean, it’s not about me, right?”
“Whoa.” Tiki realized his mouth was hanging open, and closed it. “Yeah. Yeah, man. I mean, that’s what Coach Spangler always used to say, right?”
“So . . . we move on from here, okay? No more trash talk from me—not to you, or to anybody else on the Eagles.”
“Or the other team, either,” Tiki added. “That hotdogging in the end zone stuff has got to stop. It just makes the other team want to beat us more.”
“I get your point,” Cody said. “It’s fun celebrating, but the main thing is, you and I, and the rest of the team, we’ve got a job to do—together.”
“That’s the right stuff, man,” Tiki said, giving Cody the team handshake—fingers locked, elbows knocked.
“Well,” said Cody, taking a deep breath. “That’s one painful apology down, a dozen more to go.” He walked off, looking for other kids he’d been mean to.
Tiki stared after him. Maybe—if Cody could stick to his new take on things—the Eagles could come back from the dead and be the monster team the whole league was afraid of when the season started.
“Hey, Tiki,” Ronde said, coming over to him.
“Ronde, you’re not going to believe what just happened.”
Ronde smiled—a weird smile, like he knew somebody’s secret or something. “I’ll bet Cody just blew your mind, right?”
“Huh? How’d you know that?”
“I’m psychic,” Ronde said.
“Are you going to tell me right now, or am I going to have to bother you all da
y long?” Tiki threatened.
“Okay, okay,” Ronde said, and told Tiki what went down between Cody and the coach.
“You shouldn’t have snuck up on them like that,” Tiki said. “That’s just plain nosy.”
“I know. I just couldn’t help myself.”
Tiki could relate. He looked over at Cody, who was face-to-face now with Manny Alvaro. They were exchanging the team handshake. Cody then clapped Manny on the back and ran over to John Berra.
“Hey, you know what, Ronde?” Tiki said. “I’m getting to like the new Cody Hansen.”
“You think he’s for real?” Ronde wondered.
“Call me a fool,” Tiki said, “but he’s making a believer out of me.”
“You may be right,” Ronde agreed, nodding. “He might just be for real. And wouldn’t that be nice?”
Tiki laughed. “Nice? It would be awesome!”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Man, I just did!”
• • •
“‘LAST GASP FOR EAGLES,’” Tiki read, repeating the headline for Ronde and their mom to hear.
“Well, it’s true,” Ronde said. “If we lose one more game, we can kiss the playoffs good-bye.”
“It’s gonna be tough, too,” Tiki agreed. “Pulaski’s undefeated, and they’ve got these two running backs . . . I forget their names.”
“John Miles and Chris Tullo.”
“Yeah, that’s them—they’ve been tearing up the whole league all season. If a team keys on one, the other one runs them right into the ground.”
“Never mind the other team,” Mrs. Barber said. “If you two boys concentrate on playing your best, you can beat any team out there, I don’t care how good they are.”
“Aw, Mom,” Tiki said, rolling his eyes. “You’re our mom—you have to say that.”
“Yeah, mom, it’s not just about us,” Ronde pointed out. “The whole team has to come to play.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Barber, “you can only control your own actions, boys. Just say to your own selves, ‘Victory starts with me.’ And then, go out and, like I always say . . .”
“Play proud!” they all shouted together.