by Tim Green
Troy jogged to the sideline with the rest of his team and gathered around Seth.
"Do not give up," Seth said, growling at them. "I see that look in your eyes. Well, don't do it. Don't you give up now."
Troy felt the tears welling. His words sounded choked as they came out.
"But how are we going to score?" he said. "I can't even throw a pass."
"We'll run and kick it," Seth said. "Rusty, you get us past the fifty on the kickoff. You did that once already tonight. Nathan, you and your hogs got to get us three and a half yards a carry--that's it. You've done that before, too. Now you got to do it six times in a row, get us another twenty yards, and Tate can kick a field goal to win it. She's done that before, and she'll do it again."
Everyone looked at Tate. Blood ran down from the bridge of her nose, cut after her helmet shifted from making a tackle on the last kickoff. Her eyes glittered back at them. She smiled past her mouthpiece and nodded her head.
"Bring it in," Seth said, his words now filled with an electric current that ran through them all. "We don't have to do anything we haven't done before, right? We can do this. Champs on three. One. Two. Three."
"CHAMPS!"
They broke the big huddle, and the kickoff return team took the field. Nathan lumbered to the middle of the formation and pointed at one of the Valdosta defenders, who was even bigger than he was.
"I got you, ninety-eight," Nathan said.
Troy and Tate watched, and Nathan did get number ninety-eight. Rusty also got them the ball over the fifty-yard line on his return, all the way down to the Valdosta forty-six.
"Go get them," Tate said, slapping Troy on the shoulder.
Troy jogged into the huddle and called a run play.
Three times in a row, they ran for more than three yards, giving them a first down and stopping the clock. The Tigers felt a surge of energy and confidence, but the Vipers were a great team, and the next two runs sputtered, leaving Duluth with a third down and eight yards to go. Only a pass could save them. Seth used their second-to-last time-out and ran onto the field, kneeling down in the huddle next to Troy and looking up at all of them.
"Let me try to throw it," Troy said.
Seth smiled at him but shook his head. "You can't do what you can't do. We've got to run a sweep."
"We haven't run more than three and a half yards all day," Troy said.
"Troy, you can't throw it, not a spiral," Seth said. "It's impossible. We've got to try a sweep."
"Unless," Troy said.
"Unless what?" Seth asked.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
"WHAT IF I DON'T throw a spiral?" Troy said. "What if I just lob it up? Heave it like a big rock?"
"What are you talking about?" Seth asked. "It'll get intercepted and we'll lose."
"What if I throw it to someone they don't expect me to throw it to?" Troy said, pointing at Nathan.
"What'd I do?" Nathan said, touching his chest as his mouth dropped open.
"We'll show them our unbalanced formation to the right," Troy said, "only instead of having a wide receiver to the backside, we'll move all the receivers to the right side, too, and everyone will make it look like a sweep to the right. Then Nathan sneaks into the end zone and I throw it to him."
"If Nathan's the last man on the left side," Seth said, "he'll have to report in as an eligible receiver. Even though he's big and slow as a turtle, they'll cover him for sure."
"A turtle?" Nathan said, scowling.
"He doesn't have to report," Troy said, shaking his head.
"He's number ninety-nine," Seth said, pointing at Nathan's jersey. "That's not an eligible number unless you report it to the referee."
"It's not eligible in the NFL," Troy said, "but we play by high school rules, and anything between eighty and ninety-nine is eligible."
"You sure?" Seth said, scratching his head.
Troy nodded. "That's the rule. I know it."
"And you think you can throw it that far?" Seth asked. "Even if no one is covering him? With that finger?"
Troy set his teeth and said, "It's one pass. I can do it."
Troy said, "If we make this look like a sweep to the right, trust me, the whole defense will be running that way. Nathan can fall down like he's spastic, then sneak out to the left side and get downfield. He'll be wide open. Can we do it?"
Seth bit back a smile, nodded, and said, "Well, you're the football genius. I'm not betting against you. Nathan, think you can do it?"
"Do it?" Nathan said, his eyebrows disappearing underneath the front pad of his helmet. "I may not be fast, but I got some slick moves. I can go spastic as good as anyone and then take this baby all the way to the house."
"Don't worry about the house," Seth said, "just get us close enough for Tate to kick a field goal. And catch the ball."
"With these sticky fingers?" Nathan said, holding up all ten digits, wiggling them, and splaying them wide. "How can I miss?"
Seth studied him for a second, then nodded at Troy and said, "Okay. Do it."
Seth jogged off. The ref blew the whistle and Troy called the play, repeating for his teammates exactly what each had to do, how they had to line up, and locking eyes with each player to make sure he understood. Troy broke the huddle and they jogged up to the line. Nathan looked over at Troy and winked before getting into his stance. Troy called the cadence and took the snap, wincing in pain. He pivoted the same way he would on a power sweep and took off to the right along with the rest of the Tigers. As he ran, he saw Nathan from the corner of his eye, falling to the turf before slipping back the other way.
Troy kept his hands in the position he would use if he were running a quarterback sweep, pretending the ball was tucked under his arm and covering it with his free hand. He got as far to the right as he could before he ran out of room. The Vipers' defense swarmed him. He rocked back and heaved the ball sideways in the air, sending a jolt of agony through his mangled finger. Half a second later, they knocked him to the ground.
Troy wormed his way up through the pile of bodies in time to see Nathan holding the ball high in one hand and doing a backward jig that was the silliest thing Troy had ever seen. It didn't matter, though.
Nathan was already in the end zone, under the lights.
The ref shot both hands straight up in the air.
Touchdown!
The clock on the scoreboard showed that time had run out. The game was over.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
TROY SPRINTED TO THE end zone, where he met Nathan and Tate and Seth and the entire Tigers team. They hugged one another and cheered together so loud and so hard that Troy nearly forgot about his finger. Finally, exhaustion quieted them, and the TV cameras surrounded Troy and Seth. Troy's mom appeared and let him answer questions about the game until the reporters started asking him about helping the Falcons in their playoff run.
"That's it," Troy's mom said, stepping between him and the cameras. "It's late. Troy's going to the hospital and then home."
"What about Seth?" one of the reporters shouted.
Seth shook his head and said, "Sorry, guys, I'll talk to you more tomorrow, after the game. I'm the guy driving him to the doctor's."
Troy, his mom, and Seth worked their way toward the H2 amid a clapping crowd, shaking hands with parents and football fans along the way.
A man in a suit stepped in front of them, blocking their way, and said, "Troy, I'm Doug Nash. I saw you on Larry King. I'm a lawyer and an agent. I work with some NFL players, but also the NBA, the NHL, a couple tennis players, and some TV personalities. I think I could help you get a heck of a deal with the Falcons, or even another team."
"What?" Troy said, looking at his mom for an explanation.
Troy's mom took the man's card, studied it, and said, "I'm Tessa, his mom. Thank you, I'll take your card and we'll call if we need you."
"Are you already planning on using John Marchiano, Seth's agent?" Doug Nash asked, raising his eyebrows and nodding toward Seth.<
br />
"We have no idea what we're doing," Troy's mom said. "At this point, Troy's committed to helping the Falcons."
"But not for next year, right?" Nash said. "I mean, no contract? I think I could get you one to two million dollars a year, Ms. White. Some people will say five, just to impress you, but I've made some initial inquiries and I don't like to exaggerate."
"One to two million?" Troy said, exhaling the words like a puff of breath on a cold day. "Mom?"
"Not now, Mr. Nash," Troy's mom said, raising a hand. "We've got to get him to the doctor, and then we want to celebrate the championship. This isn't the time or place. We'll call you."
They pushed past the agent and continued on toward the lighted parking lot. Seth shouted out invitations to the Tigers players and parents to spread the word that everyone was invited to his place for a postgame party. He handed his keys to Tate's mom, asking her to get things going for him at the house and telling her that Tate knew where he kept plenty of drinks and snacks. Along the way to the truck, three other men in business suits also handed Troy their cards, asking him to call them about representing him. Troy's mom took the cards and said they didn't want to be bothered now.
"Mom," Troy said as he climbed into the back-seat of the H2, "are these guys serious? Can I make millions?"
His mom heaved a sigh from the front, glanced at Seth, and turned around. "Honey, let's not think about it right now. It's possible, yes, but let's enjoy what you just did. Like Seth said, you don't get to be a champion very often. Let's just go get you checked out and then celebrate with the team."
"I don't really have to go to the hospital, do I, Mom?" Troy asked. "I'll miss the party."
"I bet I can get Doc Garrett to take a picture at his clinic. It's on the way home," Seth said, starting up the truck. "Just to make sure it's not broken."
"This late at night?" Troy's mom said.
"He'll do it for me," Seth said.
Seth took out his cell phone and turned it on. The second he finished speaking with the team doctor, the phone rang. Seth answered, then talked for a minute, mostly replying with one-word answers before hanging up and putting the H2 in gear.
"That was Mr. Langan," Seth said. "They got word from the league about the steroid thing."
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
SETH GRINNED AT THEM as he pulled slowly out of the parking lot through the crowd. He held out a hand for Troy to slap him five.
Troy slapped his hand into Seth's in slow motion, a questioning look on his face.
"Your DVD recording of Gumble did the trick," Seth said. "The newspaper is printing a full retraction and apologizing to me publicly. Peele got fired, and the commissioner cleared me to play tomorrow."
"Yes!" Troy said, leaning forward to pat Seth on the shoulder with his good hand.
The X-ray showed no break in Troy's finger or hand, but Doctor Garrett still let out a low whistle when Seth told him about Troy taking snaps and even throwing a touchdown pass to finish the game despite the injury. The finger hurt Troy even worse now. It had swollen up like a purple sausage. They packed it in ice, and Doctor Garrett gave Troy some pain medication that left him feeling light-headed by the time they pulled into the driveway of Seth's stone mansion.
Rusty Howell's dad, apparently confident that the team would win, had made a banner that he strung up on the deck overlooking Seth's pool and patio, where the players and parents milled about drinking sodas and eating all kinds of chips under the glare of floodlights. After a few minutes, Nathan's dad arrived from the Kroger with bags full of hot dogs, burgers, and buns. Nathan's dad and Seth went to work at the grill, and everyone talked and laughed and recounted every detail of the game.
At eleven o'clock, almost everyone--more than a hundred people--crowded into Seth's TV room to watch the local news on the big screen. Everyone cheered at the highlights, and roared with laughter at Nathan's crazy end zone dance. There were other highlights on other stations, too, and when they couldn't find anymore, Seth began replaying the clips they'd already seen on his digital recorder.
After a time, people began to move back outside, downing more food and drinks. The pine trees whispered overhead, and a chill began to ride the small breeze. Troy found himself standing by the diving board, talking with Nathan and Tate. Like the rest of the team, they hadn't bothered to change out of their football pants after the game and only wore T-shirts on top. The bag of ice hanging from Troy's hand had begun to leak, and when he reminded them about a certain hit he'd made on the Vipers' quarterback on a third-down play, he swung his hand and accidentally spattered Nathan's face with drops of water. Tate and Troy laughed.
"Sheesh," Nathan said, wiping dry his eyes. "Easy, will you? You didn't hit him that hard."
"I put a gouge in my helmet," Troy said, straightening his back.
"No way," Nathan said.
"Come on," Troy said, "My helmet's in Seth's H2. I'll show you."
Together they walked through the enormous house, pausing in front of the big back window to look down on the party.
"I can't believe we're actually here," Tate said in a voice that sounded hushed in the cavernous space of Seth's great room with its twenty-foot ceiling. "The Seth Halloway is our coach."
"I know," Troy said, feeling quiet himself and even a little small. "Everything really worked out, didn't it? Peele getting canned. Me being able to help the Falcons."
"And us being champs," Tate said, grinning brightly.
"Yeah," Troy said, returning her smile and putting an arm around both her and Nathan. "The best thing of all. Football champs, that's us. Wow. I almost can't believe it."
"You gotta believe it when you know I scored the winning touchdown," Nathan said. "Hey, you trying to distract me from seeing that dent in your helmet that you supposedly got?"
They laughed at him and walked the rest of the way through the house, Troy swinging open the front door.
Troy froze.
Before them stood a tall, thick-boned man with a chiseled jaw and shaggy brown hair. He wore a leather blazer with a narrow pin-striped shirt, jeans, and lizard-skin cowboy boots that gleamed up at them. His dark brown eyes bore into Troy.
"Not another lawyer," Tate said, rolling her eyes.
Troy had told them about the agents and lawyers who approached him after the game, leaving out the amount of money Nash had mentioned.
"Yes," the man said, nodding, "I am a lawyer. Troy, I saw you and your mother on Larry King."
"How'd you get past the gates?" Nathan asked.
The man cast a quick look at Nathan, serious and intense enough to make Nathan look down at his feet.
"I'm from out of town, but I have a client who lives in the neighborhood," the man said in a voice softer than his face, "but I came to see you, Troy."
"Because you want to represent me?" Troy asked.
"No," said the man, "because I think I'm your father."
About the Author
TIM GREEN, for many years a star defensive end with the Atlanta Falcons, is a man of many talents. He's the author of such gripping books for adults as the New York Times bestselling THE DARK SIDE OF THE GAME and a dozen suspense novels, including AMERICAN OUTRAGE and ABOVE THE LAW. Tim graduated covaledictorian from Syracuse University and was a first-round NFL draft pick. He later earned his law degree with honors. Tim has worked as an NFL analyst for FOX Sports and as an NFL commentator for National Public Radio, among other broadcast experience. He lives with his wife, Illyssa, and their five children in upstate New York, where he coaches his son Troy's football team.
www.timgreenbooks.com.
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Credits
Background image: Michael Rastall/Veer
Photo of Troy Green (c) 2009 by Clay Patrick McBride
Jacket art and design by Joel Tippie
Copyright
FOOTBALL CHAMP. Copyright (c) 2009 by Tim Green. All rights reserve
d under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition Reader May 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-191887-2
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title page
Dedication
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five