Backfield Boys

by John Feinstein

  They headed to Charlottesville, about a twenty-minute drive with no traffic anywhere in sight, to a restaurant called the Biltmore. Teel was waiting in a booth in the back big enough to seat six—or four normal-sized people and Anthony.

  They quickly updated Teel on Jason, just as they had done with Robinson in the car.

  “If he’s okay, why do you think his parents are coming down?” Teel asked.

  “Jewish mother syndrome?” Tom said, smiling—while the others laughed. “Then again, my mom would probably do the same. But I’m guessing Mrs. Roddin flipped out when she heard the word concussion, and had to see her baby boy.”

  “Well, he set a record last night that might be tied but will never be broken,” Teel said.

  “What’s that?” they all asked pretty much in unison.

  “One play, one game saved, one concussion.”

  “A real stat-stuffer, my roomie,” Billy Bob said.

  They all ordered drinks, and then Tom told the two reporters what Coach Johnson had said about knowing he wasn’t Jason’s roommate.

  “Did he know that Billy Bob was his roommate?” Robinson asked. “Two freshman quarterbacks rooming together wouldn’t be that unusual.”

  Tom shook his head. “Coach Bobo said, ‘Who’s his roommate?’ He didn’t know it was Billy Bob. He just knew it wasn’t me.”

  “Plus, I’m an O-lineman and Tom’s a receiver,” Anthony said. “If they’re rooming us by position, why are we together?”

  “Because you do both play the same position,” Billy Bob said. “Black person.”

  Teel nodded. “You guys know of any African American player with a white roommate?”

  They looked at one another.

  “Not off the top of my head,” Tom finally said. “But there’s about eighty guys on the team—about half black and half white. We don’t know all the rooming assignments.”

  “Well, we need to know them,” Robinson said. “I’m betting there’s not a single interracial room.”

  “And I’ll bet if we track down some ex-players, there won’t be any white guys who had black roommates,” Teel added.

  “You really think so?” Billy Bob said.

  “Tell me you aren’t beginning to see a pattern here,” Teel answered.

  “Okay, but how?” Anthony said. “How do we get the rooming list?”

  “I would think that’s not a national security issue,” Teel said, “even at TGP.”

  “Everything is a national security issue at TGP,” Billy Bob said. “We just walk in and ask for a rooming list, someone’s going to want to know why.”

  “Maybe it’s on the school website—the one that only TGP students, faculty, and staff can get on to,” Anthony said.

  “We can check,” Tom said. “I’m betting against it, though. But I do have an idea how we can get the list without asking anyone in any kind of authority.”

  They all looked at him.

  “Juan del Potro’s roommate, Jimmy Gomez. He’s the floor monitor on the fifth floor of our dorm. He’s a basketball player, but he rooms with Juan because there are an odd number of baseball players. He and Juan are pals, and since he’s a senior, he got to choose a roommate.”

  “Let me guess,” Billy Bob said. “As the floor monitor, Jimmy has a list of all the rooming assignments for the fifth floor.”

  “How do you know all this?” Robinson asked.

  “We’ve been sitting at the same table with them all week. Jimmy was telling me on Friday that he’s in charge of the dorm this weekend. Each of the six floor monitors has to stay on campus one weekend out of six to make sure the guys who are around don’t run amok with parties and stuff. Underage alcohol, drugs, or—worst of all—girls in the rooms.”

  “You’re telling me there are never girls in the rooms?” Teel asked—clearly shocked.

  “Have you seen some of the volleyball players?” Tom asked with a dreamy smile.

  “Of course there are girls in the boys’ rooms all the time—and vice versa in the girls’ dorms. They’re just not supposed to be there,” Anthony clarified. “Anyway, I’m betting that when a guy is in charge for the weekend, he’s got the rooming list for the entire dorm in case of an emergency. And the entire football team lives in our dorm.”

  “You think Jimmy would give you the list?” Teel asked.

  “I think he’d give it to us in a heartbeat,” Tom said.

  Teel and Robinson looked at each other and then at the three boys.

  Robinson spoke first. “If you guys get a rooming list, and Teel and I can track down some former players—which we can, I’m sure—then we can start to build a pretty strong circumstantial case.”

  “We can definitely find some guys,” Teel added. “There are several at Virginia, a few more at Virginia Tech, and others at Richmond and Old Dominion. Probably twelve to fifteen in all, right there.”

  Tom frowned. “But isn’t a circumstantial case always considered shaky? Don’t you need a smoking gun?”

  Teel shook his head. “A circumstantial case might not hold up in a court of law, but in the court of public opinion it’ll hold up just fine—if it’s strong enough. This isn’t ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ stuff. This is making a case people will believe.”

  He looked at Tom with a smile. “How do you know so much about circumstantial evidence?”

  “I watch Blue Bloods a lot,” Tom said, a bit sheepishly. “Erin’s always arguing with her father and her brother about only having circumstantial evidence.”

  “Who’s Erin?” Robinson asked.

  All three boys stared at the reporter in disbelief. “Bridget Moynahan,” they said, almost at once. “Supermodel? Used to date Tom Brady?”

  “So,” Teel said, “I’m betting you guys agree with her side of the argument all the time, right?”

  “Right!” they answered.

  “Well, the good news is that we aren’t going up against anyone who looks like Bridget Moynahan,” Robinson said.

  “Okay,” Teel said, bringing them all back from Hollywood to Charlottesville. “You guys will try to get the rooming list. Tom and I will try to contact some former TGP players. We’ll circle back no later than the game against South Hill on Friday and see where we are.”

  “You guys coming to the game?” Billy Bob said.

  “No.” Teel shook his head. “You’ll kill South Hill. That’s a walkover game before you start conference play in a week. We both have to cover UVA, anyway. But let’s be in touch to see if we need to get together next weekend.” He looked at his watch. “Okay, we better spend a few minutes asking you what happened last night, because if we don’t produce stories about it, your coaches are going to want to know what you’ve been doing with us for two hours.”

  They all cracked up, and Teel and Robinson both took out notebooks and digital recorders.

  * * *

  Billy Bob did most of the retelling since he had played such a key role in the comeback. Anthony, who had played in several series, filled in with some detail. Tom didn’t come into the story until the last play of the game. Then Billy Bob picked up again with detail about the ride to the hospital. It was agreed there would be no mention of Coach Johnson’s insistence that Billy Bob, not Tom, go in the ambulance.

  They made the drive back to campus with Robinson, who dropped them off in the coaches’ parking lot. By now, there were a half-dozen cars there.

  “Guess the coaches are breaking down the tape,” Robinson said.

  “They have to do it today,” Tom said. “Coach Johnson doesn’t like anyone working on Sunday.”

  “Amen to that,” Robinson said.

  The three boys walked back across campus, agreeing that Tom would try to find Jimmy Gomez as soon as possible to talk to him alone about getting the rooming lists.

  “Jason should be back by now,” Tom said as they climbed the steps. “I’m surprised he hasn’t texted me.”

  “Well, let’s all go to our room and see if he’s there,�
�� Billy Bob said. “He might still be out with his parents.”

  “Good point,” Tom said. “Maybe that’s why he hasn’t texted.”

  Billy Bob put his key in the door and then knocked—just in case the Roddins were in there with Jason.

  “Come in,” they heard Jason say—a sound that made them all light up with smiles.

  Billy Bob pushed the door open and they walked in. Their smiles quickly turned to looks of stunned surprise.

  Jason was sitting on his bed, legs outstretched, looking no worse for the wear. His dad was sitting on Jason’s desk chair and his mom was sitting on the edge of Billy Bob’s bed.

  But the three of them weren’t alone. There were two other visitors in the room: Alan and Elaine Jefferson.

  “Tom!” Elaine Jefferson said, jumping from the edge of Jason’s bed to give her son a hug.

  “Mom?” Tom said, confused, surprised, and a little bit concerned.

  His father stood up, hands in his pockets. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friends?” he said.

  “Sure,” Tom said, still trying to figure out just what was going on.

  Introductions were made. Finally, the three boys turned to Jason—who hadn’t said a word yet.

  “How you feeling there, hero-guy?” Billy Bob said.

  “My head’s spinning,” Jason said, “but it has nothing to do with the concussion.”

  Tom knew exactly how he felt.

  14

  “It’s a beautiful day,” Mr. Roddin said. “Why don’t we go for a walk? None of us have seen the whole place.”

  Billy Bob and Anthony had left as quickly as possible, heading, they said, to the campus coffee shop—even though both had just eaten lunch.

  “I feel like a milkshake,” Anthony had said—believable, since he was always hungry.

  “Me too,” Billy Bob said—not as believable, but enough to allow the two of them to escape from the room.

  “Is it okay for Jason to be walking around?” Tom asked after their friends had left.

  Jason stood up from the bed. “No dizziness,” he said. “Good sign. And yes, the doctor told me that walking is good. I could use some fresh air.”

  The two boys looked at each other, Tom hoping Jason would give him some kind of signal to let him know what was going on. There was nothing. Maybe he didn’t know either.

  They walked outside and strolled around for a while, making small talk about how pretty the campus was.

  “Bigger than I envisioned,” Mrs. Jefferson said. “This feels more like a small college campus than a boarding school.”

  “Not that small a college campus, actually,” Jason’s mom added.

  Tom and Jason gave them a mini guided tour, pointing out the various buildings before walking, almost inevitably it seemed, in the direction of the athletic facilities.

  “Very quiet today,” Mr. Jefferson said. They had stopped in a comfortable, shaded area in the back of the enormous gym—which seated five thousand people for basketball games. There were chairs and tables—all of them empty—so they all sat at one of the tables, Tom dragging extra chairs from other tables for the mothers.

  “So,” Mr. Roddin said. “Who wants to begin?”

  “Exactly what is it we’re beginning?” Tom asked.

  The four parents looked at one another. It was Tom’s mother who spoke next.

  “We’re beginning a conversation about you boys coming home.”

  Tom looked at Jason, who said nothing.

  Mrs. Roddin was right behind her friend. “We made a deal when we agreed to let you two come down here: one and done.” She looked at Jason. “It took one play to land you in the hospital.”

  “Mom, it was no big deal. I could have gone home last night. They only kept me there as a precaution.”

  “That’s usually what happens the first time,” Mr. Roddin said. “Maybe even the second. Eventually, though, the repeated hits affect your brain.”

  “Dad, are you turning on us?” Jason said, his eyes wide.

  “I wouldn’t call it turning on you,” Mr. Roddin said. “But I think Alan and I both understand the concerns your mothers have. More now than before.”

  Tom wasn’t sure how to feel about the conversation taking place in front of him. Part of him wanted to say, Give me thirty minutes to pack and let’s get going. Another part of him was thinking, If we leave now, we’ll never get to the truth about Coach Johnson. That bothered him.

  He decided to stall—to try to find out more information before taking a position.

  “Dad, Mr. Roddin, if we go home now, it’s going to be really hard to get on a team anywhere,” he said. “Everyone’s already started their seasons. You can’t just show up a week or two into the season and say, ‘Here I am, let me play.’”

  “We aren’t talking about you coming back to play football,” Tom’s father said. “We’re talking about you coming home and going to school.”

  “And not playing football?” Jason said.

  “Of course not playing football,” Mrs. Roddin said. “We had a deal.”

  Tom and Jason both looked at the two fathers for support. None was forthcoming.

  “I haven’t had a concussion,” Tom said—knowing how weak the argument was as soon as it was out of his mouth.

  “You haven’t been in a game yet,” his mother said. “Next week they might have you diving at some kicker’s foot, and then you guys will be two for two.”

  “Not likely,” Tom’s dad said. “My boy’s too slow.”

  That crack lightened the mood—briefly.

  “We’re not going back,” Jason said finally, as if the decision were his to make. “Look, I had a mild injury that got a lot more attention than normal because it was at the end of the game. I’m fine. The doctors said I should be able to practice before the end of the week if I pass all the concussion protocols, which I will.” He paused, then took it further. “Tom and I have something to prove here—a lot to prove—more even than you know or think. This is a very good school academically. Even Tom’s having to work hard, and he makes everything look easy. Give it one more chance.”

  “What do you mean, a lot to prove?” Mr. Roddin said, going to a place Tom didn’t think either of them wanted to go—yet.

  “We’re not playing at all,” Jason said, thinking fast. “We should be playing, and I don’t just mean trying to block kicks.”

  “That reminds me,” Jason’s dad said. “The news reports about your block identified you as a backup quarterback. What’s that about?”

  Uh-oh, Tom thought. As the old song went, they had trouble in River City. Amazingly, Jason appeared to be ready for the question.

  “When you’re deep depth around here—which we both are right now—they look at you at other positions so that, later in your career, if you aren’t a starter at what should be your best position, they might play you as a backup at a couple positions.”

  “That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Tom’s dad said.

  “Maybe,” Jason said. “But I know there are colleges that do it, too, so it isn’t as dumb as it sounds. But we don’t want to quit after two weeks—for any reason.”

  Tom jumped in. “Jason’s right,” he said. “Look, Dad, we aren’t crazy about all our coaches for a bunch of reasons. But we both suspect that’s what they do to freshmen: they test you. They want you to prove your toughness, physically and mentally. This is all part of it.”

  “And you feel some sort of need to prove yourself to these people?” Tom’s mom said. “Why?”

  Tom turned to his mother and said, meaning it, “Good question, Mom. I know this sounds corny, but I think if you get in the habit of running away anytime a situation is difficult, you tend to keep doing it because it becomes instinct.” He then looked directly at Mr. Roddin. “How would that work out for a cop?” he asked.

  Mr. Roddin smiled. “Not very well,” he answered softly. “Alan, your kid really is too smart.”

  Al
an Jefferson sighed. “I hear you, son,” he said finally. “But we got our way when you first came down here. Now I think it’s up to the moms.”

  There was a long silence. Tom still wasn’t sure what answer he was hoping to hear. He suspected Jason felt the same way.

  “Can you go to your coaches and ask them not to put you in to block kicks anymore?” Julie Roddin said, finally breaking the silence.

  Jason shook his head. “No, Mom, I can’t do that.” He smiled. “But I will promise not to get too close to the kicker’s foot the next time they ask me to do it.”

  The fathers laughed.

  Elaine Jefferson spoke up. “Julie, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think Tom’s right. This is a very good school, one we couldn’t possibly afford if we had to pay for it. And even though I’m much less crazy about football than I was before this happened, I do like the idea that they’re facing up to a challenge. They’re fourteen and, because they’re good athletes, they’ve had a pretty smooth ride until now. Dealing with a couple of bumps isn’t a bad thing.” She looked at Tom. “As long as it doesn’t get too bumpy.”

  All eyes now turned to Julie Roddin. She sighed.

  “If Elaine’s in, well, I guess I’m in, too. If the vote was two–two, I’d insist they come home, since, like Alan said, we moms have the final say this time around. But, Elaine, if you really feel that way, that makes the vote three to one, and I’m not going to try to overrule the majority. I’m not happy about it, but I’ll go along—for now.” She turned to her son. “Jason, are you sure you want to stay? I’m not getting any vibe from either of you that you like it here.”

  Jason nodded. “No, Mom, I’m not sure I want to stay. Not even close. But I think Tom’s right—we need to give this a little bit longer.”

  Left unsaid, Tom knew, was the most important reason they wanted to stay: to find out whether they were right about Coach Johnson and then try to prove it.

  Alan Jefferson stood up.

  “Okay then, if you’re going to stay, how about showing us around the rest of this place?”

  * * *

  After the tour, which even included the empty locker room—the parents were amazed by how large and posh it was—the boys were treated to dinner. Freshmen weren’t normally allowed to leave campus on weekends, unless their parents were visiting.