“We’re a long way from worrying about any of that,” Billy Bob put in.
That was certainly true. Remarkably, there had been very little backlash against the four of them—or against the four girls—since Monday’s team meeting or since the story had first broken on Tuesday.
There had been follow-up stories with anonymous quotes from other football players, some backing them up, others saying that all four—particularly the two New Yorkers—had been headaches since day one.
Practice had proceeded the way it normally did: the coaches were no more snarky or nasty than in the past. No less, either.
There had been no discussion about how to deal with the media on Friday. The four boys were assuming they’d be told at some point that they were not to speak to any reporters after the game. Rumor had it that the school was going to pay a bevy of off-duty state troopers to provide security—security from the media—at the game.
“We’ll deal with it when it happens, if it happens,” Billy Bob said. “If we lose, this might be our last game anyway. There’s no reason for them to keep us around if they haven’t got a chance to win the conference title next week.”
That much was true. All four sets of parents had volunteered to come to Fairfax, and all four boys had asked their parents not to come. Tom and Jason’s parents—horrified—asked if the boys wanted to come home.
“Not yet,” they had both said.
“The temptation to just get in the car and go home with them might be overwhelming,” Tom said. “I want to ride this out to the end, one way or the other.”
They all agreed.
They left for Fairfax early in the afternoon—the traffic, they knew, would be even worse there than around Middleburg—although there were no plans to go to a hotel this time around. There was a place called P. J. Skiddoo’s in Fairfax where they would stop to eat at around three o’clock. From there, they’d go to the stadium.
The rumors had been true about the extra police presence. In the restaurant, as they were finishing their meal, Coach Johnson stood up and explained it to the team.
“You all know that there’s been a media frenzy around our school this week,” he said. “Unfortunately, the Fairfax people turned down our request not to grant credentials to those organizations that have no interest in covering a football game. So we’ve brought some extra officers with us to protect you guys, and there will also be Fairfax County police—in uniform—to keep the buzzards away from you before and, more important, after the game. We will decide exactly who will and who won’t talk to the media and under what circumstances after the game. Now let’s flush all that and get ready to play.”
The game was not much different from the games they had played against good teams all season. Fairfax took a quick 7–0 lead as the TGP offense continued to flounder. Then, early in the second quarter, a poorly thrown Ronnie Thompson pass led to a field goal for the Lions and a 10–0 lead.
Coach Cruikshank walked over to where Billy Bob, Jason, and Tom were standing.
“Warm up, Anderson,” he said. “If we don’t move the ball on this series and he won’t make a change, I’ll quit on the spot. I’m tired of these silly games.”
It was, without question, the most fire or anger the mild-mannered quarterbacks coach had shown all season. Sure enough, the Patriots went three-and-out. As the punt team took the field, Tom saw Coach Cruikshank talking to Coach Johnson. It was clear the exchange was getting heated. Coach Ingelsby and Coach Gutekunst both joined the conversation. Finally, Coach Johnson threw his arms into the air and walked away.
Coach Cruikshank and Coach Gutekunst walked over to where Billy Bob was tossing a ball to Tom. Jason was watching.
“Next series, you’re in,” Coach Cruikshank said to Billy Bob.
Coach Gutekunst turned to Jason. “If they punt, you’re the deep guy,” he said. “We need a boost.”
Billy Bob took the news with his usual humor. “Did you threaten to quit?” he asked.
“Almost,” Coach Cruikshank said. He turned and walked away.
Jason wasn’t nearly as calm. He had practiced as the deep returner a little but had never done it in a game.
“You okay?” Tom asked.
“Absolutely not,” Jason answered. His heart was pounding.
The defense held, and Jason heard the dreaded words: “Punt return team, let’s go.”
The ball was on the 42-yard line. Based on their scouting report, the deep man was supposed to be forty yards from the line of scrimmage. That meant the 18. His mind going in a hundred different directions, Jason lined up at the 13.
Ray Solo, standing on the 25, turned and saw him. “Roddin,” he said. “Move up five yards!”
Jason looked down, realized where he was, and moved up. Thank goodness Solo was a good guy and wasn’t sulking about suddenly becoming the short man.
The punt spiraled down, and Jason had to move up a couple of yards to field it. One defender—the gunner, who was always the first man downfield—was coming straight at him. He dodged him and started left. Solo got a crunching block on another man coming to meet him, and Jason was able to get to the outside. They pinned him to the sideline and pushed him out of bounds, but he had crossed midfield to the Fairfax 48.
“That’s the way!” Coach Gutekunst said as they came to the sidelines. “Great block, Solo.”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “Great block.”
“All for the cause,” Solo said, smiling.
Whether it was Jason’s return or Billy Bob’s presence at quarterback—or both—the Patriots were a new team. The offensive line began blowing Fairfax off the line of scrimmage and, with Billy Bob carrying the ball himself several times, they quickly moved down the field, until Billy Bob scored from the 1—running into the left tackle hole directly behind Anthony—to make it 10–7.
A couple of minutes later, the defensive line broke through en masse and sacked Fairfax’s quarterback Ben Fay. He fumbled at the 14-yard line, and that set up a touchdown in the final minute that gave TGP a 14–10 halftime lead.
Coach Johnson was clinical during the break, almost subdued. His message was pretty simple: Keep doing what you’re doing. There was no talk about who would start the second half at quarterback. There was no need. If anyone but Billy Bob had been the starter, Coach Cruikshank might have led a full-scale revolution.
Billy Bob at quarterback made the Patriots a much better team, but Fairfax wasn’t going to just fade away. The Lions returned the second-half kickoff to midfield and moved steadily down the field to score and take a 17–14 lead.
At that point, both offenses stalled. Fairfax was keying on Billy Bob’s runs and had enough speed to keep the slotbacks from getting to the outside easily. They also put consistent pressure on him when he tried to pass.
One drive stalled when fullback Danny Nobis was stuffed on fourth-and-one at the Fairfax 41. Another was stopped when a rushed Billy Bob overthrew Wally Joyner and was intercepted. Each time the TGP defense dug in and kept the deficit at three.
Then, midway through the quarter, Fay, the Fairfax quarterback, faked to his fullback, rolled right, and threw a perfect, deep strike to his best wide receiver—Andrew Cantelupe, who had already caught at least half a dozen balls on the night. Cantelupe was well covered, but Fay laid the ball in to him perfectly and he pulled it in at the 12-yard line, rolling to the 9 as he fell.
The defense dug in again and kept Fairfax out of the end zone. The field goal kicker came in and drilled a twenty-four-yarder with 2:12 to go, making the lead 20–14.
“Well, old buddy, this is do-or-die,” Tom said to Billy Bob. “No pressure, though, none at all.”
“We’d probably be better off with you in there at this point,” Billy Bob said. His confidence had been shaken a bit by the poor throw that had caused the interception.
Before Tom could think of an answer to that one, Coach Gutekunst raced up to Jason. “Hey, Roddin, ever return a kickoff?” he asked.
“
No, sir,” Jason said.
“Well, it’s time. We need some field position. We need your speed.”
“But, Coach, I don’t know—”
“Nothing to it,” Coach Gutekunst said. “See the ball into your arms like on a punt. It’s easier, no one right on top of you. Just be aware the ball will be traveling end-over-end, not spiraling.” He paused for a moment as if trying to be sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. “The return’s left,” he said finally. “Catch the ball and start running left as fast as you can.”
Jason stood rooted to the spot.
“Go!” Coach Gutekunst ordered.
Jason went.
Coach Gutekunst looked at Billy Bob and Tom. “What’d I hear you say, Jefferson? Do-or-die? Might as well go down swinging.”
30
Jason jogged out to join the kickoff return team. If anyone was surprised to see him, they didn’t show it. Again, Ray Solo was there to help him out.
“Stand on about the five,” he said. “That’s where he’s been kicking it.”
He went to take the up-position.
Jason stood on the 5-yard line taking deep breaths. He heard the referee’s whistle behind him, signaling the kicker to put the ball into play.
A moment later, the ball was coming down to him, end-over-end, just as Coach Gutekunst had explained. He moved back a yard and slightly to his right. The ball fell into his arms—and he dropped it.
“Oh my God!” he heard himself say aloud. Desperately, he reached down for the ball and just managed to scoop it up before a tackler took off airborne, clearly going for the ball. That gave Jason a split second to gather his wits.
Run left, he told himself.
The blocking wall had formed in spite of his drop and he managed to get to the 20 untouched. Someone dove at his feet. He dodged him, swerved farther left and made it to the outside. A couple more blocks and he was at the 35. He tried to cut back inside, and someone plowed him down from behind. Still, he had gotten the ball to the 39.
“Scared the living daylight out of me when you dropped the ball,” Coach Gutekunst said as he came to the sideline, batting him on the head.
“How do you think I felt?” Jason said. He was smiling, as much because he’d survived as because he’d had a decent runback.
“Well,” Tom said, coming up to stand next to him as Jason pulled his helmet off, “now it’s up to your roomie.”
The clock was under two minutes and TGP had two time-outs left. Billy Bob twice threw quick out passes to Terrell Davidson, the fastest man on the field for TGP. Respecting his speed, the defenders were playing back on him. Davidson picked up eight yards on the first pass, eleven on the second. But he couldn’t get out-of-bounds the second time, and TGP had to spend a time-out with the ball on the Fairfax 42. There was 1:27 left.
Billy Bob came to the sideline. He was met there by Coaches Ingelsby and Cruikshank. Coach Johnson stood to the side, listening. Tom inched up so he could hear the conversation. Jason followed.
“Remember, you’ve only got the one time-out left,” Coach Ingelsby said. “If you have to, spike the ball rather than call time.”
Billy Bob nodded. This was obvious stuff.
“What do you think, Mark?” Ingelsby said, surprising Tom because he’d never heard him defer to the quarterbacks coach that way.
“We gotta go over the middle,” Cruikshank said. “There’s time. Send Davidson deep as a decoy, and circle one of the slots into the seam.”
Ingelsby nodded, put his arm on Billy Bob’s shoulder, and called two plays.
Billy Bob trotted back. He called the play, brought the team to the line, took the snap, and dropped quickly, only three steps because Fairfax’s three-man rush was giving TGP trouble on the right side. Anthony was a rock on the left, but right tackle Bart Blessing was struggling.
Billy Bob stepped away from the rush and found Emmet Foley—younger brother of center Conor Foley—over the middle. He led him just a bit too much, but Foley, wide open, dove and caught the ball, rolling to the 26.
The clock was running. The coaches were all screaming at Billy Bob to spike the ball. It took several seconds to get everyone lined up; by the time Billy Bob took the snap and spiked the ball, the clock was down to thirty-one seconds.
Billy Bob looked to the sideline. Coach Ingelsby simply screamed “White!” which meant to run the second play they’d decided on during the time-out. This time, Foley was also a decoy, running the same pattern down the seam. Danny Nobis, the fullback, delayed a moment, then circled out of the backfield and caught a pass underneath from Billy Bob. He began sprinting on an angle—in the direction of the goal line and the sideline.
He didn’t make either, pulled down at the 9, a few yards from the sideline. Tom glanced at the clock. The coaches were hysterically screaming at Billy Bob to spike the ball again.
“There isn’t time!” Tom said. “He’s got to use the time-out.”
The Fairfax players were taking their time to get back across the line of scrimmage, which was the right thing to do. The clock rolled under ten seconds, and they still weren’t lined up.
“Time!” Billy Bob screamed with six ticks left.
He walked to the sideline.
“Why didn’t you spike it?” Coach Johnson demanded.
“Coach, the clock was going to run out—”
“Forget that,” Coach Cruikshank said. “We’ve got one play left.”
The three coaches began debating what play to call. Finally, Tom heard Billy Bob interject.
“Fullback draw,” was all he said.
All three coaches looked at him as if he had said, ET phone home.
“It’s wide open,” Billy Bob continued. “We split everybody wide as if we’re going for an end-zone lob. I start back, Nobis acts like he’s blocking, and I slip him the ball.”
“If he doesn’t score, the clock’s going to run out,” Ingelsby said.
“It’s going to run out regardless of what we call, Coach,” Billy Bob said.
Coach Cruikshank jumped in. “I like it,” he said. “I think it’s our best chance.”
There was no time left to debate further. The officials had started the play clock, which was under twenty seconds. Billy Bob sprinted back to the huddle and made the call, and they came to the line. The play clock was at five.
Conor Foley snapped the ball with one second on the play clock. Billy Bob started to drop, then slipped the ball to Nobis. He’d been right. There was no one in the middle of the field. Nobis was untouched until he got to the 2, when defenders frantically coming from the outside closed on him. He put his head down and used his 230 pounds to bull the final six feet. He cleared the goal line with a foot to spare.
The officials raced in, looked at one another for a moment, then threw their arms into the air, signaling touchdown. The clock was at 0:00. Nick Stover came in for the extra point—the most nerve-racking extra point Tom had ever witnessed—and calmly kicked the ball through the uprights. The game was over. TGP had won, 21–20.
Tom wasn’t exactly sure why he felt so happy, after all he’d—again—contributed nothing. Maybe he was just happy for his pals: Jason, Billy Bob, and Anthony had all played key roles in the stunning win.
Danny Nobis was being mobbed, but Tom and Jason headed straight for Billy Bob.
“What a genius call,” Tom said.
“You should coach this team,” Jason said.
Billy Bob smiled wearily. “If I did,” he said, putting an arm around Tom, “you’d be the quarterback.”
They all laughed, went to shake hands with the crushed Fairfax players, and wondered what would happen next.
* * *
They found out quickly. Coach Johnson had little to say in the locker room. He talked about the great comeback and the poise “shown by everyone” during the last drive. He gave game balls to all three linebackers and to Danny Nobis. Hardly a surprise at this point. That was it on the game.
Then he gave the player
s their postgame instructions: Only he and Nobis would speak to the media. Everyone else was to shower and be on the bus in thirty minutes. Then he added, “Anderson, I’d like to see you and your three buddies in the coach’s office right now.”
No one had to ask which three buddies he was referring to.
“Think he’s going to apologize?” Billy Bob said, grinning, as they headed to the front of the room, where they knew there was a single office for the visiting coach.
Coach Johnson was sitting in a chair behind the desk in the small office when they walked in. It was barely big enough for all of them to squeeze through the door. There were two chairs on the other side of the desk, but Coach Johnson didn’t offer anyone the chance to sit down.
“I just want to make it clear to all four of you what’s going to happen tonight and going forward,” he said, barely looking up at them. “First, you’re going to be escorted, one by one, to the bus by the Fairfax County officers—who are in uniform, so no one will get confused and think they’re not cops.
“Anyone from the media tries to get close to you or ask you a question, you just say, ‘No comment,’ and keep moving. That doesn’t mean you say, ‘I can’t talk’ or ‘Coach says I can’t talk.’ You say, ‘No comment.’ You say anything other than that, the cops will report back to me and you’ll run at five tomorrow and on Sunday—at least the two of you who don’t go to church anyway. We’ll be home after midnight, so that’ll leave you maybe four hours to sleep before you run.
“If any of this leaks to your two newspaper buddies, you’ll be running in the mornings and be doing up-downs in the afternoon until you puke.
“Roanoke Christian just beat Middleburg, thirty-eight to thirty-one, so we can win or at least tie for the championship next week. If I didn’t need three of you to win that game, you’d be long gone. Jefferson, you’re completely worthless, but I know if I throw you off the team you’ll start screaming racism, so you’ll be kept around until season’s end, too.”
Backfield Boys Page 23