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The Walk On

Page 14

by John Feinstein


  It was the first cool night of the fall, the heat of summer having finally faded. There was a comfortable, humidity-free breeze blowing as he walked from the car to the locker room. As he was about to walk under the WELCOME TO THE LIONS’ DEN sign, he heard a voice calling his name.

  He turned and saw Christine approaching. Oh no, he thought, not here. Other players were bound to be walking past since it was four-fifty-five and they were due in the locker room at five.

  “Christine, I can’t talk. I’m going to be late,” he said.

  “I know, I know,” she said. “Five o’clock, right? I just wanted to say good luck and to tell you I’m sorry if everything that’s gone on has caused you any trouble. You haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

  He was puzzled. If she didn’t want to cause trouble, why was she telling him this now and why here?

  “Thanks,” he said. “I gotta go.”

  “Maybe we can talk this weekend,” she said as he started to walk away.

  Her hair was hanging loose and blowing in the breeze, and she was giving him that smile. Why did she have to be so pretty?

  He looked around. No one in sight.

  “Okay,” he said. “We’ll see.”

  He knew he was crazy to even think about spending time with her. Even though Coach Gordon had said nothing about the Barkann piece or the Philadelphia Daily News, Jake had ventured a quiet question in practice while the quarterbacks were warming up, but Matt had just shaken his head and said, “Someday I’ll tell you everything, Jakey. But not now. It’s too raw.”

  Alex didn’t doubt it. As jealous as he was of Matt’s stardom, he certainly wasn’t jealous of his life. Dealing with Coach Gordon every day at practice wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to then go home with him every night. Still, at least Matt had a day-to-day relationship with his father, Alex thought. And maybe their relationship was different away from school. Then again, maybe not.

  Alex walked into the locker room and realized the reason he hadn’t seen anyone else outside was that just about everyone was already there. The tension in the room was entirely different than it had been the three previous weeks. Even though they had expected a tough game at Main Line, they all knew the outcome wouldn’t have any real bearing on their season. Sure, they wanted to go undefeated, but the goals were to make the playoffs and win the state title. Losing to Main Line would not have affected their chances of achieving those goals. Losing the league opener to King of Prussia would absolutely affect their chances.

  That was the theme of Coach Gordon’s pregame speech. “The season begins tonight, men,” he said. “The first three games were meant to prepare us for tonight and they did. All of you who were on the team last season know how good King of Prussia is. You’ve seen them on tape. There’s nothing for me to say right now except that this kind of game is why you all play football. It’s what all the work and effort is about. Go out and make sure all the work pays off.”

  The stadium was packed. Jake had told Alex that tickets had been sold to people to sit or stand on the grassy knoll behind the far goalpost. That meant a stadium that seated about eight thousand would probably have about twelve thousand people in it. The King of Prussia side of the field was just about as full as the Chester Heights side. It was easy to pick out the Cougar fans because they were all dressed in bright yellow.

  When the players ran onto the field through a cordon of cheerleaders with the band playing the school fight song, Alex felt a chill run through him. The student section was roaring repeatedly as the band marched up the field to get into position to play the national anthem.

  “What are they supposed to be?” Jonas asked, pointing at the King of Prussia fans as they stood on the sideline while the captains went out for the coin flip.

  “McDonald’s French fries?” Alex answered, suddenly feeling hungry. He had only eaten a small bowl of pasta and some broccoli because he didn’t want to feel full. Why it mattered, since he was only going to be watching, he wasn’t sure.

  Matt and Gerry won the toss and, as always, elected to defer—King of Prussia would get the ball to start the game. Alex looked around as the Lions’ kickoff team lined up. Everyone in the stadium was standing. The roars were still coming at them in waves. It was fun to be part of this.

  Or, at least, sort of part of this.

  It took just three plays for Alex to understand that King of Prussia was every bit as good as advertised.

  It wasn’t so much that they were big—in fact, their linemen probably weren’t as big as Main Line’s. But they were fast. After two quick pitches had picked up thirteen yards and a first down at the King of Prussia 44, quarterback Hal Spears took the shotgun snap and began running left, straight at the spot—or so it seemed—where Alex, Matt, and Jake were standing on the sideline.

  Just when Alex was about to backpedal to get out of his way, Spears planted his left foot so hard that two Chester Heights defenders went flying past him as he came to what looked like a full stop. He cut straight up the field and was gone—fifty-six yards, untouched, into the end zone.

  “Wow,” Jake said. “That little guy is going to be hard to catch.”

  “He was last year too,” Matt said. “He’s probably going to Michigan or Texas, from what I’ve read.”

  “As a quarterback?” Alex said. “He can’t be more than five nine.”

  “As a tailback or a wide receiver,” Matt said. “He can’t throw a lick.”

  “He may not need to,” said Jonas, who had been standing directly behind them, putting on his helmet as the offense got ready to go on the field. The extra point had been good and the Lions were down 7–0 in under two minutes.

  “Go get us even,” Alex said to Matt and Jonas.

  They tried. Jonas made a circus catch on a third-and-eight throw from Matt to keep the opening drive alive, but Chester Heights sputtered after crossing midfield. On another third and eight, Matt was sacked for a six-yard loss and out came the punt team.

  This time, the defense managed to stop King of Prussia, helped by one of the KOP slotbacks, who dropped a pitch from Spears and had to fall on it for a five-yard loss.

  It was still 7–0 at the end of the first quarter. Another Chester Heights drive ended when Matt overthrew Jonas on one play and then was intercepted trying to find Craig Josephs running a curl pattern over the middle. One of the King of Prussia linebackers read the play perfectly, dropped in coverage, and intercepted the pass at the 29-yard line.

  Matt came to the sideline, clearly angry with himself. He grabbed Jonas by the shoulder. “That’s on me, I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have looked Craig off and gone deep to you. Just as I released the ball I saw you break open, but it was too late. I wasn’t patient enough.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jonas said, tapping Matt’s helmet. “We’ll get ’em the next time.”

  Just as Matt was nodding in agreement, Coach Gordon came over.

  “Matt, you’ve got to wait on your receivers. Stop panicking in the pocket. You had time!”

  “I know, Coach. I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be sorry—perform,” his father said, and stomped away.

  Matt said nothing, just took off his helmet and walked to the bench to get some water.

  “You really think you’d want to be him?” Jonas asked.

  “Not in a million years,” Alex said.

  King of Prussia was driving again. Spears had thrown one pass all night—a screen on a third and long that had been diagnosed perfectly for a seven-yard loss. But he was so quick and elusive, the defenders had to respect him whenever he began to run. That allowed him to find his backs and slots on pitch plays that consistently picked up big chunks of yardage.

  The Cougars moved the ball steadily to the Lions’ 12-yard line. There, on first down, Spears began to run right, then suddenly pulled up and lofted a pass into the end zone. With the entire Chester Heights defense packed in tight to stop the run, there
was no one near the receiver. The pass wobbled a bit, but it didn’t matter because the receiver could have caught the ball and eaten a sandwich before anyone from Chester Heights got near him.

  Alex looked at the clock. There was 10:14 left in the half and it was now 14–0.

  “We’re in trouble,” he said to Jonas and Jake.

  “Keen football analysis there,” Jake said. “You should be on television.”

  He wasn’t smiling when he said it; there was nothing to laugh about.

  Once again, the offense was able to move the ball. Matt made a great fake on a pitch and cut up the left side for twenty-seven yards to get into King of Prussia territory. Then he ran a reverse, flipping the ball to Jonas, who picked up twenty-four to the KOP 22-yard line. The sideline was alive. A quick-answer touchdown was just what the Lions needed.

  Matt handed the ball to Josephs on a counter and he picked up five to the 17. Matt tried to run the same play the other way, but this time it was only good for a yard.

  Third and four. Alex was certain that Coach Gordon was going to call an option left. He would want the ball in Matt’s hands, and the left side of the O-line was usually more reliable at opening a hole when Matt ran wide than the right side.

  Sure enough, he was correct. Unfortunately, it appeared that the King of Prussia coaches had scouted at least as well as Alex had, because it looked like all eleven defenders were pursuing Matt as soon as he took the snap. With no chance to make a pitch, he bravely tried to turn upfield and fight through the entire defense to pick up yardage.

  He made it back to the line of scrimmage—which was a victory in itself—and even lunged forward a yard to the 15. That would set up fourth and three. Alex glanced at the clock, which was down to 6:09.

  “So do we go for it or take a field goal?” he asked Jake.

  Jake didn’t answer. He was staring in the direction of the play, where everyone was picking themselves off the ground—except for one player, who was lying flat on his back.

  It was Matt Gordon.

  A chorus of voices began calling for Buddy Thomas, who was working on wrapping someone’s ankle. Buddy looked up, realized something was wrong, and went straight to Coach Gordon, who was standing at the 25-yard line—the players and coaches had to stay between the 25’s by rule—with his arms crossed.

  When Buddy got there, Coach Gordon put his arm across his chest to stop him from going on the field.

  “Wait. Give him a minute to get up,” he said.

  Alex understood. If Buddy went onto the field, Matt would have to come out of the game, even if he was just shaken up a little. With fourth and three coming up, Coach Gordon wanted to wait as long as he possibly could before being forced to take his quarterback out.

  A couple of the Lions had knelt down next to Matt to check on him. Just as Coach Gordon stopped Buddy, they began waving toward the sideline, indicating that help was needed.

  “Go,” Coach Gordon said to Buddy, who sprinted in Matt’s direction as soon as he got the order.

  Everyone waited and watched.

  Alex was about to say something to Jake when he heard Coach Gordon calling him. “Bilney,” he barked. “Get over here.”

  Jake looked like he’d seen a ghost. It had just occurred to him—as it had just occurred to Alex—that he was going into the game.

  Jake was pulling his helmet on as he reached Coach Gordon.

  “Run pitch ninety-four,” Coach Gordon said.

  Even with a helmet on, Alex could see terror in Jake’s eyes.

  “Coach, it’s fourth down,” Jake said.

  “I KNOW THE DOWN AND DISTANCE, BILNEY! THIS IS WHY YOU’RE ON THE TEAM! GO!”

  “Coach, should I wait until they get Matt up—”

  “No! Get in the huddle with your teammates and let them know we’re going to get this first down.”

  Alex realized Coach Gordon was right about that. At this moment, they needed to see Jake in the huddle displaying some confidence. That was what they needed. He suspected that wasn’t what they were going to get.

  Buddy Thomas stood up and pointed a finger at two of the backup linemen on the sideline, indicating he needed them to help get Matt off the field. That was actually a relief: if Matt was seriously hurt, Buddy would have asked for a stretcher. Two of the backup defensive linemen raced onto the field and helped Matt to his feet.

  He was holding his right leg in the air, clearly not wanting to put weight on it. Buddy had taken his shoe and his sock off. His helmet was off too and Alex could see that his face was masked in pain. As he was slowly helped to the sideline, the crowd on both sides of the field stood to applaud him.

  Buddy walked with him, pointing to the cart that sat behind the bench and in front of the stands. It was used, most of the time, to transport equipment. “Get him on the back of the cart. Is Doc here …?”

  “Right here,” Alex heard someone say behind him.

  He looked up and saw Dr. Joe Vassallo, who was the team doctor—unofficially, of course, since he didn’t get paid, according to what Alex had been told. His son had played at Chester Heights and was now on the team at Virginia.

  “Good,” Buddy said. “It’s his ankle.”

  “What do you think?” Dr. Vassallo said as they helped get Matt situated as comfortably as possible on the back of the cart.

  “Hard to tell. At best, it’s a sprain; at worst, he broke something.”

  “I’ll take a look. We’ll want an MRI tomorrow to be sure.”

  The entire team was standing in a semicircle, listening to Buddy and the doctor. They were blasted out of their trance by the sound of the whistle. Alex looked back to the field and saw his teammates breaking the huddle.

  Oh yeah, he thought, the game is still going on.

  Jake stood behind center in the shotgun formation, calling signals. Alex knew that pitch ninety-four, the play Coach Gordon had called, was a simple sprint to the right—the even number, four, indicated that the play was going right. And the nine meant Jake would be running wide, meaning the linemen should try to force the defenders to the inside so he could run outside. Josephs, the tailback, would trail him for a possible pitch.

  Jake took the snap and went right. Alex could see that the entire defense was within two yards of the line, knowing a cold quarterback coming into the game wasn’t likely to throw. Just like Matt on the play before, Jake was surrounded before he could take two steps. In desperation he tried to pitch the ball back to Josephs. But his arm was hit as he pitched and the ball ended up at Josephs’s feet. He was swarmed as everyone went after the football.

  It didn’t really matter who fell on it because it was fourth down and the ball was going over to the Cougars regardless.

  “Should have kicked the field goal,” Alex said—to no one. Jake and Jonas were both on the field and no one was standing near him.

  He heard a voice calling his name and turned around. Matt was on the cart with Dr. Vassallo sitting next to him. He was holding up a hand to indicate to the driver not to leave yet.

  “Goldie, come here a second,” Matt said once he had Alex’s attention.

  Alex jogged over. Several players were standing nearby trying to encourage Matt or telling him he was going to be okay. Alex noticed that Dr. Vassallo had already put a wrap around Matt’s ankle.

  “Hey, fellas, give me a second with Goldie,” Matt said.

  Alex now had his back turned to the field and he could hear the coaches trying to encourage the defense as it headed out.

  “Need a stop, guys, need a stop!” he heard everyone saying.

  “What’s up, Matt?” Alex said. “How’s the ankle?”

  He knew that was a dumb question. Matt had no idea how the ankle was.

  “The ankle hurts,” Matt said, forcing a smile.

  “Matt, we need to go,” he heard Dr. Vassallo say.

  “Give me one sec,” Matt said.

  He put his hand around Alex’s neck so he could pull him close.

  �
��Listen to me, Goldie, you’re the QB now,” he said softly. “You’re going to have to pull this game out in the second half. It’s got to be your team now. I know you can do it.”

  Alex looked up to see if he was joking. Unless the tears glistening in his eyes were because he thought this was funny, he wasn’t.

  “Matt, Jake’s the QB until you get back.…”

  “No, he’s not—and he knows it better than anyone. I may not be here at halftime, but one of these damn coaches had better stand up and tell my dad to put you in the game.”

  “Coach Hillier …”

  “Isn’t here,” Matt finished. “Don’t worry, Goldie. My dad’s stubborn and he can be a jerk, but he hates to lose. So get ready. You’re going to have to save us tonight.”

  “Gotta go, Matt,” Dr. Vassallo said again.

  “You got me?” Matt said, pulling Alex so close they were almost nose to nose.

  “I got you,” Alex said.

  Matt let him go.

  “Okay, then,” he said. And the cart pulled away.

  They managed to get to halftime still down only 14–0. The only noise in the stadium as the teams jogged to the locker rooms was coming from the King of Prussia side. French Fries could get very loud.

  Unlike a week earlier, Coach Gordon didn’t shout. He seemed to understand that he was now coaching a team that needed a different kind of motivation.

  “Fellas, I have complete confidence in Jake,” he said. “He ran our offense on almost every snap for five JV games last season and he’s playing with much better players around him right now. We just have to take a deep breath and stay patient. We aren’t going to score three touchdowns on our first possession. One at a time. Defense, just keep doing what you’re doing. If you keep hitting Spears, he’s going to cough up the ball, so be ready—make it happen. Okay, let’s split up.”

 

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