by Mike Lupica
This was one part of football where he was money.
Coach had walked them through three or four Wildcat plays before the end of practice, then had the Rams run them. He purposely made them look like a fire drill. The Rams would come out of the huddle looking as if they were about to line up normally. But at the last second, Ben would step back, like he was a quarterback in the shotgun formation, and Shawn would sprint out and line up at wide receiver, usually on the opposite side of the field from Sam.
Sometimes, on “Wildcat Sweep,” Ben would just run the ball, behind what felt like a whole lot of blocking. When it was “Wildcat Toss,” the play would start out looking like a sweep but then Ben would stop, straighten up, throw to either Sam or Shawn.
When Coach told them the names of the first two Wildcat plays, Coop raised a hand and said, “Whoa there, Coach, this terminology is a little complicated for me.”
The rest of the guys laughed.
Coach said, “Cooper, have you always been this funny?”
At the exact same moment, Ben and Sam both shouted, “No!”
Ben had to admit, the Wildcat did look like it was going to be fun. On the last play of the night he threw out of the formation when Coach gave him the option to run or throw, hit Shawn between two defenders, Shawn holding on to the ball even as he got hit, as if he went over the middle and made catches like this all the time, no problem.
He didn’t acknowledge that Ben had delivered a perfect strike, almost as if the ball had thrown itself, just went over and accepted a high five from his dad before the two of them walked off the field together.
“One big happy family,” Coop said. “Or a small one.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, staring at the O’Briens, “just like our team.”
“Hey,” Ben said, “if this all makes our team better, that’s what matters.”
“Right,” Sam said, “a team that would be a whole lot better off if the plays were starting with you all the time.”
Coop said, “How come Coach can’t see that, ‘specially after what you did on Saturday?”
Looking at Ben now.
“Maybe because he doesn’t want to,” Ben said.
The three of them started walking off the field. Nothing more to say. Ben knew better than they did. Sometimes coaches couldn’t see. Past his size. Or past somebody else’s size. Whatever. Sometimes they couldn’t, sometimes they just plain didn’t want to.
But if Wildcat Ben was the best he could do, he’d have to roll with that. And keep his mouth shut about it. If he was going to talk up being a team guy as much as he did, well, he’d better walk the walk, too. That was the deal.
When he got home, he changed into a T-shirt and shorts, finished his homework, walked out to the swings by himself.
It was getting dark on McBain Field, but not too dark, the lights of the houses at this end of the block looking brighter by the minute.
Running the Wildcat for five or six plays a game, the number Coach was talking about, wanting them to use it for the element of surprise, he said, wasn’t everything Ben wanted. But at least it was something. And maybe Coach was right — even if he was dead wrong about Shawn — maybe this was the best of both worlds for the Rams. Now Ben could run the ball some, catch it some, throw it some, all in the same game. If that was going to be his job the rest of the season, if that was his best and only way to help his team get to the championship game, it wasn’t as if anybody needed to throw him a pity party.
Ben McBain knew this about himself:
Most of the time he was about as good at feeling sorry for himself as he was being a good loser.
He rocked gently back and forth on the swing. Trying to give himself the kind of pep talk he was sure Lily would be giving him if she were on the swing next to him. Lily never got down about anything, at least not that Ben ever saw or heard. Had as good an attitude about sports and everything else as Ben did.
Maybe that’s why the two of them were … Ben and Lily.
He stayed out there until it was dark, the living room light from the Sheedys’ house across from him hitting Ben just right, the way a spotlight would. Ben hopped off the swing then, started running down the middle of the field his buds had named after him. Imagining him running away from the defense the way he had in the fourth quarter on Saturday.
Stopping suddenly as he drew even with his own house, reversing his field, planting his back foot, throwing an imaginary bomb, picturing a perfect spiral flying all the way through the night air, all the way to Sam Brown’s house three blocks over.
Like Ben was the one making the Flutie pass to his own best friend. Maybe a pass like it could still happen this season now that he was Wildcat Ben.
Ben stopped now and looked up into the night sky, the way his mom had been making him look up there, at what she called the “big sky,” for as long as he could remember, telling him to never look up there without making a wish.
He pictured Sam waiting for the ball to come out of the sky, pressing it to his chest, falling back into the end zone.
Before he crossed the street to his house, Ben wished on that.
It was the Friday night before the Kingsland game. Coop’s mom was picking them up tonight but was a few minutes late. Coach O’Brien was still on the field behind them, he never left until all the guys on the team had been picked up by their parents. It had been an early practice tonight, and a short one, ending a little after six. Now the Core Four was hanging out in the grass closest to the parking lot, even Lily having shown up to watch some of their practice tonight, her mom having dropped her off.
Lily said she wanted to see this Wildcat thing she’d been hearing so much about with her own eyes.
While they waited for Coop’s mom Sam said to Ben, “Ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why don’t we just use the Wildcat as our offense?” he said. “Like, our whole offense. Instead of making it just a part of it?”
“Coach likes having both.”
“He’s wrong about that, like he’s wrong about Shawn,” Sam said. “Your offense works. Shawn’s doesn’t.”
Now the offense they’d been running all season was Shawn’s. Sam didn’t make that sound like a good thing.
“It’s not his, it’s ours,” Ben said. “The way the Wildcat is ours.”
Ben felt Lily smiling at him before he turned and saw that he was right, she was.
“You know something, McBain?” she said. “You’re a good friend even behind people’s backs.”
“Thanks, Lils,” he said. “But I really mean it. It’s either all one team or it’s not.”
“At least you get to be a quarterback some of the time,” Sam said. “If you can settle for that, I guess I can, too.”
“That’s gotta be the deal,” Ben said. “If I’m cool with this setup, you guys have to be cool with it. Or that will not be cool. With me.”
They heard the honk of Mrs. Manley’s horn then.
“Are we cool?” Ben said, going from one face to another.
“Yeah,” Sam said, even though he didn’t sound all that happy about it.
Lily put her hand out. The other three put theirs on top of hers.
“Not just cool,” Coop said. “Frozen solid.”
Ben said, “Solid as ever.”
And they were.
The Rams were better than the Kingsland Knights, even on Kingsland’s field, better in just about all ways, bigger and faster and, as far as Ben could tell, even better coached.
Better everywhere except on the scoreboard, which said 20–19 for Kingsland with five minutes left in the game.
Shawn hadn’t been terrible today, had even managed to complete a ten-yard touchdown pass to Sam for the Rams’ first score of the day. But he was still missing too many open receivers: Ben, Sam, Darrelle, Justin. Everybody. Not missing by a lot. But that didn’t matter in football.
He was missing by enough.
Ben had gotten to throw four times out
of the Wildcat, completing three. It would have been a perfect four for four if Shawn hadn’t just cut to the inside when Ben was expecting him to break toward the sidelines, nearly causing an interception.
“I was more open going the other way,” Shawn said when he got back to the huddle.
In a low voice Ben said, “Play was to the outside.”
“You’re such a good QB,” Shawn said, “I thought you’d be able to adjust.”
Ben couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic or not, just kept his mouth shut and waited for Kevin Nolti to bring in the next play, Rams at their own forty-two-yard line, needing a score so they didn’t fall to 1–3, which Ben was sure would knock them out of any chance of playing for the championship at the end of the season. To him this was the same as a playoff game now, a knockout playoff game, the way every one they played was going to be the rest of the way. Maybe they could get away with another loss. Ben sure didn’t think so.
They had to get a score, get the game, get to 2–2, get to Coach O’Brien’s fancy bus.
As always for Ben the biggest game was the one he was playing right now. It didn’t matter that the Rams should have put this game away long ago, that they should have been two touchdowns better than the Knights, at least.
Get the ball down the field somehow.
On second down Shawn threw high to Kevin coming out of the backfield. Another incompletion, just out of Kevin’s reach. Third and ten. Coach crossed up the Knights then, knowing they would be looking for another throw, having Shawn just hand the ball to Ben on a simple off-tackle run. Their right tackle Mike “Moose” Moran threw a huge block, Ben broke it for fifteen yards, nearly broke it all the way.
“Nearly went deep, dude,” Coop said, having run down the field to help Ben up. “But we still got plenty of time.”
“Winning time,” Ben said.
“Any other kind?” Coop said.
There was still plenty of time, so Coach sent in three more running plays, two to Ben, one to Darrelle, all for big gainers, taking them to the Knights’ twenty with two minutes left now. Ben wasn’t sure if Coach was keeping it on the ground because he was afraid to have Shawn throw. Didn’t care. They were moving, he only cared about that. Running the ball, running time, they were going to score and win, he just knew it.
But the Knights made a stand, stopped them twice now. Both times for no gain, Ben once, Kevin once. Third and ten from the twenty. Coach decided to call his last time-out now. Forty-five seconds left. Here we go again, Ben thought. Another one of those games. Maybe the league was that close this season, it was going to be close games like this every Saturday.
Now Coach called for another pass, a simple slant to Sam, Sam just running toward the middle of the field as soon as the ball was snapped, no fakes, no nothing, just run to an empty spot. Shawn wasn’t even supposed to drop back, just straighten up as soon as he had the ball in his hands and throw.
He did.
Threw behind Sam.
Badly.
Fourth down. Clock stopped. Forty seconds. One last chance to give themselves a chance to win the game. Winning time. Or not.
Darrelle brought in the play.
A Wildcat play.
Yes! Ben thought.
“Wildcat Option” it was called. The one where he got to decide whether to run or throw. Ben knowing that if he did decide to run, he better be sure he could make it to the sticks, make the ten yards, make the first down. Or the game was pretty much done. And so were they.
In the huddle Shawn said to Darrelle, “You must be joking.”
“That’s the play your dad sent in,” Darrelle said.
“Are you sure?”
“Am I sure?” Darrelle looked at Shawn as if he hadn’t heard him right.
Shawn nodded at Ben and said, “Maybe you all just want him to be the one to make the hero play.”
Darrelle was like Sam. Didn’t say much. Said something now. “Are you, like, buggin’?”
Quietly Ben said, “The ref blew his whistle already. We’re gonna get a delay of game if we don’t run the play.”
“You’re right,” Shawn said, “better call a time-out.” He started to put his hands up, make the time-out motion to the ref. Ben grabbed Shawn’s arm.
“Don’t,” Ben said. “We’re out of time-outs. We’ll get a penalty.”
Shawn looked down at Ben’s hand on his arm.
Then looked at Ben.
Then did a pretty amazing thing.
He turned and ran off the field.
Ben watched him, wondering how much time was left on the play clock. Maybe Shawn’s dad knew he was taking himself out of the game, just like that. But in the moment, he didn’t acknowledge that, or hesitate, just shoved Kevin Nolti, standing there next to him on the sideline, out on the field, trying to give him a running start toward the huddle, Kevin going right into a sprint as if he were going out for a pass.
Everything happening at once now.
Ben already had the guys lined up. As Kevin ran past him, Ben said, “Throw me a block,” just loud enough for the two of them to hear.
Coop delivered the snap perfectly into Ben’s hands, waist high. Ben ran right. Saw Sam up ahead of him, running toward the first-down sticks, making sure he’d be past them if Ben threw him the ball.
Only Ben didn’t.
There was too much green in front of Wildcat Ben now. He decided not to take a chance with the ball in the air, as much as he trusted his right arm, trusting his as much as Shawn O’Brien never trusted his own. Decided to run for it.
Oh man, did he know he had to make it.
He ran toward the first-down marker as if that was the finish line in a running race. The guy covering Sam tried to cut back, cut down the angle on Ben. But Sam was running alongside him, and at the last second hit him with a perfect legal block, and sent him flying out of bounds.
When he did, Ben cut back.
Going for it all now. Taking the play straight up the middle of the field, seeing that field open up for him, completely dusting Kingsland’s safety, the last guy with any kind of shot at bringing him down.
Ben doing what Coop had just talked about, doing that up as big as he could.
Going deep.
They stayed in the Wildcat for the conversion, same play, same eleven guys on the field, Shawn standing right next to his dad on the sidelines, looking like it was some kind of school detention.
This time Ben pulled up as he ran to his right and threw it to Sam, who’d curled in front of the defensive back covering him, almost like he was a basketball player boxing him out for a rebound. The guy tried to reach over, actually got flagged for interference, but it didn’t matter, because Sam held on to the ball. Rams 27, Knights 20. On the second play after the kickoff, the Rams’ best cover corner, Tommy Stanley, intercepted a long desperation pass down the field.
Ball game.
Ben made sure his teammates didn’t overcelebrate on the field, not wanting to show up the other team. There were just a lot of high fives all around, a few chest bumps, go and get in the handshake line. When the Rams collected again behind their bench, Coach O’Brien walked Shawn over and made him stand in front of the team.
“Go ahead,” his dad said.
Coach O’Brien stood there next to his son with his arms crossed. Ben tried to think of a time in his own life when a parent with his arms crossed like that meant anything good was about to happen.
“I want to apologize for leaving the game like I did,” Shawn said, staring down at his football shoes the whole time.
Until he looked over at his dad, as if for help.
None coming.
“The rest of it,” Coach O’Brien said.
“When you’re on a team, you’re either in or you’re out,” Shawn said. “I took myself out today. If you guys let me back in, I promise to do better.”
Ben was wondering, listening to the words, listening to the way they came out, if he was just saying them because his da
d made him. Or if he really meant them. Ben wondering at the same time if Shawn even knew.
“Go wait at the bus,” Coach O’Brien said to Shawn. “I’ll let you know what your teammates have to say about this when I get there.”
Ben watched as Shawn took another long postgame walk away from the other Rams, away from the game they’d all just played, this walk looking longer to Ben — and much lonelier — than all the others put together.
When he was all the way out of earshot, Coach told them that what Shawn had done, especially with a game on the line, was unacceptable for any player, but particularly for the coach’s son. Told them that he’d be perfectly willing to suspend Shawn if that’s what his teammates thought was an appropriate punishment. Told them that he wasn’t going to tolerate selfish behavior like that, from his son or from anybody else.
Ben didn’t wait for anybody else to speak, pictured himself hitting a hole with the ball under his arm.
“Everybody makes mistakes,” he said. “I don’t think he needs to miss the next game. My dad says we only get so many of these Saturdays.”
“Anybody else?” Coach said.
Ben waited for Coop to say something. But for once, like some kind of miracle, he didn’t. Maybe knowing Ben well enough to know Ben didn’t want him to.
“Okay, then,” Coach said, sounding relieved. “Enough about Shawn. How about we talk instead about the great effort I got out of you guys today. Great, great effort. I wouldn’t change one thing about the fourth quarter, other than my kid doing what he did.”
He said he’d see them at practice on Monday. The guys went and ripped into the postgame snack that Justin’s mom had brought with her from Rockwell. Before Ben could join them, Coach said he had one more thing he wanted to say.
“I should have done this already,” Coach O’Brien said. “But you’re starting at quarterback next week. You would have started whether I suspended Shawn or not.”
Ben took a deep breath. Not wanting to overcelebrate here, either.
“Coach,” he said, “I’m totally fine with the way things are now, me in the Wildcat or whatever.”