by Ronde Barber
• • •
“Let me show you boys,” Coach Wheeler told the team, “why Pulaski is undefeated. I’ll start by saying, it’s not their defense. We can score on them, all right—but stopping them is going to be tough.
“The Wildcats run a Wing-T offense. It’s your basic T formation, with one running back off to the side of the QB, and the other directly behind him.
“So far, no team the Wildcats have faced has figured out how to stop them, because their quarterback has too many options.
“There are the two running backs, Miles and Tullo—everybody knows about them. Plus, they run a lot of quarterback keepers to throw teams off balance. And, of course, when they do go to the air, there are three fine receivers to worry about—all highly skilled players. It’s impossible to keep them all in check.”
Everyone held their breath. Was Coach really saying they couldn’t win against Pulaski?
Wheeler stopped the videotape. “But there is one player we can key on to stop the Wing-T machine right in its tracks.”
Everyone exhaled, relieved that their coach thought there was a way to win.
“There,” he said, pointing to one player in Pulaski blue. “Their left tackle, number eighty-four—Burt Golub. He’s a two-ton tank. The Wildcats key everything around him. If we can take him out of the play, I believe their whole offensive scheme will collapse.”
An excited murmur rose from the darkened room.
“So we counter with one defensive end—Sam Scarfone—and one linebacker—Matt Schulz. Your job tomorrow, on every running down, is to shadow number eighty-four. Wherever he goes, you two go—and you take him out of the play.”
“But Coach,” Ronde said, “doesn’t that leave us one man short in coverage?”
“Good point, Ronde,” Coach Wheeler said with a smile. “You’re right—you and the rest of the secondary will have to play man-to-man all game. But I think you can handle it.” He gave them the eagle eye. “Can you?”
“Yeah!” Ronde and the other defensive backs all yelled together.
“That’s what I thought,” Wheeler said, cracking a smile.
“Coach?” Adam said in a small voice, raising his hand. “I was reading in the paper that—”
“Gunkler,” Wheeler interrupted him, “give me that paper.”
“But—”
“No, no, no, just hand it over.”
Wheeler took the newspaper, balled it up, and took a jump shot across the video room. The paper landed right in the wastebasket.
“Yesss!” Wheeler shouted. “Two points!” Then he turned to Adam. “That’s what I think of the paper.
“Never listen to what reporters say about you,” he told the team. “Their job is to sell newspapers, not to help you win. That’s your job!
“Believe in yourselves, unshakably. I want you all to take the hand of the players on either side of you. . . .”
A week ago, there would have been a chorus of groans. But now, the Eagles just reached out and grabbed one another’s hands.
“Now close your eyes,” Wheeler told them. “I want you to travel in your minds to a place of unshakable belief in yourselves. This team cannot lose. I want you to repeat after me—WE REFUSE TO LOSE.”
“WE REFUSE TO LOSE!”
“NO ONE CAN DEFEAT US.”
“NO ONE CAN DEFEAT US!”
“IF WE PLAY LIKE CHAMPIONS, WE WILL BE CHAMPIONS.”
“. . . WE WILL BE CHAMPIONS!”
“Now let’s get out there!” Wheeler yelled.
And even though it was only a practice, the screaming Eagles roared out onto the field, ready for anything.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MAKE OR BREAK
* * *
THE DRUMS OF THE HIDDEN VALLEY MARCHING BAND thundered, keeping time with the pounding of Ronde’s heart. Tonight was the Eagles’ big night—the night their season would take off like a rocket, or crash and burn.
Cody Hansen was soft-tossing the ball back and forth with Manny. Well, maybe “soft-tossing” wasn’t the right word. Even taking something off the ball, Cody’s spirals had plenty of zip on them.
“That’s it, Hansen,” Coach Wheeler said. “See how, when you take a little off the throw, it makes it more accurate and easier to catch?”
Cody threw another one, smack into Manny’s numbers. “Like that, Coach?”
“Just like that.” Coach Wheeler patted him on the back and kept walking, giving last-minute instructions to his players along the sideline.
Ronde shook his head in amazement. A week ago, Cody would have been moaning and groaning about how the receivers should be able to catch his passes, no matter how hard he threw them.
It was like a lightbulb had switched on in Cody’s head. He suddenly seemed to understand that nobody was perfect—not even him—and that everyone on the team was trying his best.
Ronde strapped on his helmet for the start of the game. He and Tiki butted helmets. “Play proud,” they told each other.
They turned toward the bleachers and waved to their mom, who was sitting next to Matt Clayton. They stood up and cheered for Ronde, Tiki, and the rest of the desperate Eagles.
Adam kicked off to the Pulaski Wildcats. Ronde and the rest of the Eagles’ coverage unit sped downfield. They all knew about Patrick Walsh, Pulaski’s big-play receiver and kickoff returner. Ronde’s job was to key on Walsh, no matter where the ball looked like it was going.
Adam arced the ball to the other side of the field, away from Walsh, where the second return man grabbed it. Most of the Eagles swarmed him, but Ronde stayed focused on his man.
Sure enough, the player with the ball ran across the field and handed it off to Walsh. Seeing it coming, Ronde leapt at his man and knocked him flat!
Pulaski’s famous Wing-T offense went into action at their own twenty-two—but the Eagles’ defense was ready for them. They all keyed on Burt Golub, the big left offensive tackle. Just as Coach Wheeler had predicted, that strategy forced the rest of the Wildcats to adjust on the fly.
The result was chaos. On first down, the whole pile was shoved backward for a loss of five yards. On second down, John Miles nearly dropped the handoff.
Third down, and Ronde knew it had to be a passing play. He also knew the Wildcats needed ten yards, so he gave Patrick Walsh a lot of room coming off the line. Then he hit him, a legal bump, just short of five yards downfield.
Walsh staggered. He put a hand down to right himself, then darted toward the center of the field. If the QB was going to throw to his man, now would be the time, Ronde knew.
Not even looking for the quarterback, he watched Walsh’s eyes grow wide as his hands reached out for the ball. . . .
Ronde leapt, stuck out his hand, and knocked the pass down—incomplete!
Now the Wildcats would have to punt. Ronde dropped back to his own twenty yard line to receive the kick.
It came at him, a tumbling, short, end-over-end kick. Ronde ran forward, keeping his eye on the ball, even though he knew that the Wildcats were all coming straight for him.
He grabbed the ball and tucked it in firmly. There was no time to look around for running room.
But even without looking, he could sense someone about to hit him from the left. Ronde took the hit and was able to stay on his feet by bracing himself with his free hand on the ground.
He pushed himself forward, getting hammered left and right. Somehow, he kept his footing as he zigged and zagged downfield.
Finally, someone hit him so hard that he flew through the air, landing with two hundred pounds of Wildcat on top of him—but with the ball still firmly in his grip.
He had given the Eagles the ball at the Pulaski forty yard line—excellent field position. Out of breath but feeling fantastic, Ronde got to the bench with a little help from his happy teammates.
“Way to go, Barber!” they shouted, clapping him on the back. “That’s taking it to ’em!”
Ronde sat there catching his breath. With sweat pouring down his face,
he watched as Cody Hansen took the Eagles’ first snap of the day from center.
Cody handed the ball to Tiki, who blasted through a gigantic hole in the line that Paco had created by totally crushing his man.
Tiki burst into the backfield, faked out two linebackers, and was off to the races! By the time the Wildcats’ safety dragged him down, the Eagles were at the six yard line and knocking at the door.
Cody led his team back to the line, took the snap, and faked another handoff to Tiki. With the Wildcats totally fooled, he spun around and tossed a soft lob to the weak side, over the head of the cornerback and gently into the arms of Fred Soule. Touchdown, Eagles! “What a pass!” Coach Wheeler shouted as Cody and the offense trotted back to the sidelines. “Nice touch on that ball, Hansen!”
“Nah, that score goes to Tiki and Ronde—talk about some running!” Cody answered.
Ronde couldn’t believe it—for once in his life, was Cody Hansen really giving somebody else credit? Or was it only a beautiful dream?
Ronde was about to pinch himself, but he didn’t get the chance. Tiki plopped down next to him, breathing hard, and gave him a playful punch in the arm. “How ’bout that drive, Ronde?” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
“I like it, I like it,” Ronde said, nodding and smiling back as they exchanged the Eagle handshake.
“Okay, Ronde, it’s your turn again. Let’s keep it going!”
This time, Adam’s punt went straight to Patrick Walsh. Ronde had been barreling right toward him, but now he stopped on a dime and backed off. From watching the videotape, Ronde knew how shifty the speedy runback specialist could be.
Cradling the ball, Walsh avoided one tackle, then another. Ronde waited till he made his move, committing to the outside. Ronde, in perfect position, cut him off, forcing him out of bounds right in front of the Eagles’ bench.
“Great job, Barber!” Coach Pellugi roared. “Way to play smart!”
Ronde beamed, and slapped the coach five. But he had no time to bask in his glory—he had to get back out there on defense!
Ronde watched his man in the huddle and saw Walsh nodding attentively at the quarterback. He even thought he heard him clap his hands together and say, “Yesss!”
Ronde guessed that Walsh was the play’s intended target. He was also willing to bet, judging by his man’s reaction, that it was going to be a long bomb.
So Ronde decided not to give him a bump at the line, but instead drop back a full ten yards, giving himself a head start on the lightning-quick Walsh.
Ronde paid no attention to the fake handoff, and he did not react to Walsh’s quick fake to the left.
When the Wildcats’ receiver put on a burst of speed, Ronde was ready for him. He matched Walsh stride for stride and turned just as he saw his man’s eyes go wide. The pass hit Ronde right in the numbers!
Cradling the ball, Ronde dug his back foot into the turf to keep from sliding. Walsh’s momentum made him tumble forward, taking him out of the play.
Ronde was now free to run. And there was never a doubt in his mind that, with Walsh on the ground, he himself was the fastest player left on the field.
It was like running back a kickoff, except better—easier, because the other team was taken by surprise, and their best coverage unit was on the bench.
Hands tore at Ronde’s jersey as he dashed by. They grabbed at his ankles, too, but no one got a firm grip on him.
He kept the ball tucked tightly under his arm and focused like a laser on the end zone. He was at the twenty . . . the ten . . . touchdown!
Ronde dropped to the ground, gasping for breath, and let the ball roll away from him as his teammates lifted him up, smacking his helmet and shoulder pads in a frenzy of joy.
Adam’s extra point made the score Eagles 14, Wildcats 0. It was still the first quarter, but already, the pattern of the game had been set. The Wildcats had never trailed by this many points all season, and they didn’t seem to know how to react.
Their Wing-T offense kept going nowhere against the better-prepared Eagles. And on the other side of the ball, the Wildcat defense couldn’t seem to stop Cody Hansen, who was having the greatest game of his young career.
Every pass he threw was right on target and easy to catch. He led his receivers perfectly, as if they were inside each other’s heads. His handoffs and fakes were crisp and effective.
And whenever one of his receivers dropped a pass, Cody didn’t blame them or insult them. He put his arm around them and patted them on the chest, telling them it was okay and that they’d catch the next one.
Ronde could feel it—something had clicked for the Eagles, both on offense and defense. They were finally playing as a team—not last year’s team, but a new one, with new leaders.
And all of them were on the same page—Coach Wheeler’s page. Their mental game was sharp now, and that just made their outstanding talent play up to its potential.
And then there was Tiki, who was having another monster game himself. On the Eagles’ next possession, he swung to the outside and rumbled fifty-six yards, for a crushing touchdown that had the Pulaski players slumping in disappointment and disbelief.
“They’re beaten already!” Paco told his teammates excitedly in the locker room at halftime. “Totally defeated. Eagles reign supreme!”
“Don’t be too sure, Paco,” Wheeler said. “Pulaski’s still a good team, and their coach will make adjustments for the second half. You guys have to be ready. If they change their game plan, so will we.”
He drew some Xs and Os to show them alternate formations, and then said, “We may even go with a zone defense if they drop the Wing-T.”
But that didn’t happen. Pulaski had gone four and zero with its Wing-T, and one scoreless half was not about to make them change their ways.
“That’s a mistake,” Ronde told himself. “Coach Wheeler would have changed everything up. He’s really good at strategy.”
And so the rout continued. Cody threw a long bomb to Fred early in the third quarter for another touchdown. Then, after Pulaski came back with a long field goal, Cody found Tiki on a screen pass that turned into a long gainer, followed by a chip shot field goal by Adam.
At the end of the third quarter, the score was 31–3, Eagles. Ronde turned to the stands and waved to his mom, who beamed back at him and blew him a kiss.
Matt Clayton waved too and gave Ronde a thumbs-up. Ronde smiled and strapped his helmet back on. The Wildcats had just taken possession on their own twenty yard line. “Ronde time,” he said to himself as he trotted onto the field.
With a big lead, he reasoned, the Wildcats would have to go to their passing game to try and catch up fast. But if they did, he would make them pay, big-time.
Pulaski tried a long bomb on first down, but it was way overthrown. On second down, they ran a crossing pattern over the middle, but the receiver dropped the pass.
Ronde winced. He knew how badly that kid must feel right now. He’d been there himself. Hadn’t they all?
The Wildcats’ QB hadn’t thrown to Patrick Walsh since the first half, Ronde noticed. That was smart of him, since Ronde was the Eagles’ best cornerback and already had an interception and a touchdown.
But sooner or later they would have to try again—and now was the perfect time. On third down and long, needing a first down in the worst way, Ronde guessed that the Wildcats would try a quick square-out pattern.
He dropped back in coverage. But as the ball was snapped, he sprinted right at his man. Sure enough, Walsh wasn’t looking at him, but back at the quarterback, waiting for the quick pass.
As soon as he saw Walsh make his move, Ronde cut in front of him and picked the pass right out of the air. In full gallop, he streaked right down the sideline untouched, straight into the end zone!
It was the final, crushing blow for Pulaski. For the rest of the game, the Eagles kept the ball on the ground, running out the clock.
They barely even tried to score. After all, there was no need to h
umiliate a beaten opponent, and Coach Wheeler made sure they didn’t pile on the points in the last five minutes. A 38–3 shellacking of a powerhouse like Pulaski was enough of a statement.
When the final gun sounded, the victorious Eagles ran over to the bleachers to hug their fans and families. They danced up and down in one another’s arms.
After hugging his mom and giving Matt Clayton the Eagles’ handshake, Ronde happened to notice the reporter for the Roanoke Reporter in the back row of the bleachers, scribbling away and shaking his head in amazement.
“Well, why not?” Ronde said to himself. “I’d be shocked too, if I hadn’t seen it coming.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
UNSTOPPABLE
* * *
“THAT WAS A DIFFERENT TEAM I SAW OUT THERE tonight,” Coach Wheeler said to an excited Eagles team after the game.
The final gun had sounded more than half an hour ago, but only now was everyone back in the locker room. They’d all been doing a lot of celebrating.
It was only a regular season game, Tiki thought, but it meant so much more! It could have been the end of their playoff hopes—but instead, it had brought the Eagles back to life.
Everyone broke out into the team song, clapping their hands and whistling. It seemed like Hidden Valley Junior High was just one big happy family.
It was the first time all season that things were turning out the way Tiki had dreamed they would be. He pinched himself on the arm, hard. No, he wasn’t dreaming. This was for real. In fact, it felt like they had all just woken up from a long nightmare!
“You guys really took it to them!” Coach Wheeler told them. “You brought your A game all night long—and that includes your mental game!”
“You da man, Coach!” Paco shouted, and everybody started chanting, “COACH! COACH! COACH!”
Wheeler raised his hands to quiet them down. “Now you can all see what it takes to beat a powerhouse team like Pulaski. And for tonight, I just want you to enjoy this victory. Because you sure earned it. But one word of warning . . .”
He cast his eagle-eyed gaze around the room, looking each one of them straight in the eye for a moment. “We’ve got to bring this kind of effort, and do this kind of preparation, every week—that’s every single week—if we expect to reach our goal this season.”