He had made no mention of his son or his injury, except for saying he had confidence in Jake playing quarterback. If the thought of putting Alex into the game had crossed his mind, he certainly didn’t mention it.
The locker room had two meeting rooms in it, one for the offense and one for the defense. Alex followed the other offensive players down the hall. He was about to walk into the offensive room when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Coach Brotman standing behind him.
Before he could say anything, Coach Brotman signaled to follow him, which he did—down the hall to the empty shower room.
When they got there, Coach Brotman, after a quick look around, as if he thought someone might be taking a halftime shower, said quietly, “You’re going to have to play in the second half. I want to be sure you understand that.”
“Did Coach Gordon say—”
Coach Brotman put a finger on his lips to indicate Alex needed to be quiet. “No,” he said in an emphatic whisper. “But all of us know you can throw the ball in ways Jake can’t begin to touch. We’re down 14–0. If Matt couldn’t get us going on the ground, how in the world is Jake going to do it?”
Alex started to answer, then realized it hadn’t really been a question.
“He’s not,” Coach Brotman said. “We’ll give it our best shot coming out here to start the half, but you make sure you get your arm loose when we get back out there.”
“But if Coach Gordon doesn’t want—”
“That’s my job. Your job is to be ready to play. Now get back in the meeting room.”
It was too late. Everyone was filing back out by the time Alex got there. Jake walked by him without a word. He looked almost as if he were in a trance.
When they went back on the field, Alex found Jonas and asked if they could play catch so he could warm up a little.
“You going in?” Jonas asked.
“No,” Alex said. “At least not yet.”
It was Chester Heights’ ball to start the second half. The Lions were able to pick up a quick first down after the kickoff. But on second and six from the 44, Coach Gordon called the same play that had failed so miserably on the fourth down in the first half, except he ordered Jake to run left instead of right.
Jake did as he was told, took about two steps, and slipped. The ball went flying out of his hands and one of the King of Prussia linemen was on it in a split second. The Chester Heights side of the stadium went completely silent while the King of Prussia side celebrated. Alex saw Jake, on his knees, pound his fist into the ground in frustration.
When Jake came to the sideline, Alex greeted him with the clichéd “Keep your head up, lot of game to play” line of encouragement.
Jake just looked at him and, again, said nothing.
One more time, the defense came through—although it needed some help. The Cougars moved the ball quickly to the 13-yard line and had third and three from there. Spears faked as if to run and dropped back quickly. He had a receiver open in the end zone, but somehow he overthrew the ball. It was now his turn to pound the turf in frustration.
KOP sent in their field-goal unit. A thirty-yard kick was not usually a sure thing for a high school kicker, but this one was good and the Cougars were up 17–0 with 10:58 left in the third quarter. The band gamely played on, but the silence from the Chester Heights fans was deafening. Even more deafening than the roars.
The kickoff return team was taking the field—again—when Alex heard a cheer behind him. Surprised, he turned and saw the equipment cart rolling down the running track in the direction of the sideline. Sitting in the front passenger seat with a pair of crutches on his lap was Matt Gordon.
A couple of guys raced over to help him out of the cart. He quickly hobbled over to where Alex and Jake were standing. The crowd was still cheering, in part because Matt deserved it, in part because there was nothing else to cheer about.
As the kickoff sailed through the air, Alex asked the inevitable question.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad sprain, no break,” Matt said. “They took me down the street to the hospital for an X-ray. They might still do an MRI tomorrow, but the doc is pretty sure it’s just sprained. He said three to four weeks. I say two.”
He turned to Jake. “What do you think, Jakey?”
“I think Goldie plays or we lose.”
Jake was clearly upset with himself—more so with the situation. He waited for Matt to say something encouraging, but Matt simply tapped him on the helmet as Jake pulled it on and said, “Hang tough.”
Jake didn’t say anything but sprinted over to Coach Gordon to get the first play as Monte Johnston, the kick returner, was pulled down at the Chester Heights 30.
Matt turned to Alex. “Get your helmet on. And be ready to run 24 post, no matter what my dad calls.”
“Whaaa?”
“Just do what I tell you, Goldie—trust me.”
He hobbled away at that point, leaving Alex totally baffled. Jake was bringing the team out of the huddle. The first play call—predictably—was a quick pitch to Josephs, who managed to cut up the edge to pick up seven yards. Alex was still watching Josephs when he heard someone yell, “Hey, Buddy—it’s Jake!”
Alex saw Jake sitting on the ground, holding his right knee. Buddy glanced at Coach Gordon for instructions. Coach Gordon had a stunned look on his face. Both his quarterbacks injured? Before he could say anything, a couple of the linemen began waving for Buddy just as they had done for Matt.
Alex saw Coach Gordon visibly sigh. “Go,” he said to Buddy.
He then looked around as if he expected another quarterback to appear by magic. Or maybe he thought Matt was going to throw away his crutches and go back into the game in street clothes.
Alex was watching the scene as an interested spectator when it suddenly occurred to him that everyone on the sideline was staring at him.
“Myers!” Coach Gordon barked.
Alex knew now why Matt had told him to put his helmet on—which he hadn’t. He was pulling it over his ears—which always hurt at least a little bit—as he jogged over to Coach Gordon. He could see that Buddy was helping Jake to his feet.
Alex’s mind was going in ten different directions. He was wondering how in the world Matt and Jake had concocted a plan for Jake to fake an injury. He was faking—Alex was convinced of that. Somewhere in the distance, even though he was standing a foot away from him, he heard Coach Gordon talking to him.
“Nothing fancy, Myers,” he said. “We’ve got second and three. Run 25 toss sweep to Josephs and let’s pick up a first down. Bilney may be ready in a play or two—we’ll see. Let’s just hang on to the ball right now.”
“Yes sir.”
“You understand me?”
Alex heard his instructions. He also heard Matt’s voice in his head. No matter what my dad tells you, run 24 post. That was the same play Coach Gordon had just called except for two things: the running back—Josephs—would be cutting to his right instead of left on the snap, and Alex would not toss him the ball. Instead, he would fake the toss, drop back, and throw the ball as far down the field as he could to the wide receiver lined up to the left, who, he noticed, just happened to be Jonas.
Alex honestly wasn’t sure who he was more afraid of disobeying at that moment: Matthew Gordon Senior or Junior. Jake was almost off the field.
“What’s he got, Buddy?” Coach Gordon asked as they approached.
“Said he heard something pop in his knee,” Buddy said. “I can’t feel anything. Probably needs an MRI to figure it out. I’ll get Doc down here.”
“Work on him on the bench for a while,” Coach Gordon said.
He turned to Alex. “Go!” he said.
Right, Alex thought, I’m in the game. Now, what the hell do I do next?
When he got to the huddle, everyone was standing around as if deciding whether to keep playing the game. They were all looking at him, clearly thinking, What are you doing here?
That was exactly what Alex needed to see. He was here because Matt and Coach Brotman and, he guessed, Jake thought he was their best hope. He knew he could throw 24 post, especially with Jonas there to run under it.
“Okay, guys, come on. Let’s huddle up,” he said, trying to speak with authority but without sounding arrogant about it. He and Jonas were the only freshmen in the huddle. Four of the O-linemen were seniors. He needed them on his side.
The response was what he wanted. Before he could call a play, Will Allison, the center, who was the unofficial captain of the O-line, spoke up. “Listen up, guys,” he said. “Goldie knows what to do. We all know he can throw it better than anyone we’ve got. He’s in charge now.”
Allison’s confidence made it easy for him to decide what to call.
“Okay,” he said. “24 post, on one. Break!”
He said it firmly because he knew the call would surprise his teammates. No one flinched or said anything. They just clapped their hands in unison on the word break and turned to the line of scrimmage. The play clock was under ten because of the hesitation when he had arrived in the huddle, which was why Alex had thought to go with a quick snap. He lined up in the shotgun behind Allison and called out, “Gold!” which meant nothing except it was the first sound everyone heard and meant Allison was to snap the ball.
Which he did, perfectly, to Alex, who turned as if to pitch to Josephs—who was running to the right as if he were going to get the ball. Alex made the fake, then drifted back to pass.
As soon as the snap had hit his hands, instinct had taken over. He wasn’t thinking about the score or all the eyes on him or the fact that he had called a play that contradicted a direct order from his coach. All he could see was Jonas, who was racing behind the King of Prussia cornerback and coming open just as Alex stepped up in the pocket and released the ball.
Once the ball came off his fingertips, he knew he had thrown it just the way he wanted to. His momentum carried him in the direction of the line of scrimmage and he watched as Jonas, running full speed, raced under the ball at the KOP 25 yard line, gathered it into his arms, and cruised into the end zone.
Alex’s arms went into the air and he could feel his teammates pummeling him as they all ran downfield to congratulate Jonas.
“That’s the way to throw it, Goldie,” he heard Allison say, a phrase repeated by several others as they all high-fived their way down the field. The Chester Heights sideline had exploded, stunned by the suddenness of the touchdown—and by the quarterback who had thrown the pass. Alex knew he still had a silly grin on his face as everyone trotted to the sideline while the kicking team went in for the extra point.
Matt was waiting. He took his right hand off his crutches to give Alex a high five.
“I knew you could do it, Goldie,” he said. “I just knew it.”
Coach Gordon was right behind him.
“Was that an audible, Myers? It didn’t look like one from here.”
“No sir. I called it in the huddle.”
“Was that what I told you to call?”
“No sir,” Alex said, offering no excuse and waiting for the hammer to come down on his head.
“I called it,” Matt said. “I called it because I knew Alex could make the throw and we needed a quick score to change the momentum.”
Coach Gordon stared at his son, then at Alex as another roar went up from the Chester Heights sideline as the extra point went through, making it 17–7.
“We’ll discuss it after the game,” he said finally, turning and walking away.
The biggest advantage Alex had was that King of Prussia knew nothing about him. If they had heard his name at all, it was as the kid who had gotten clocked on the last play of the Mercer game, leading to a near brawl. The assumption among the coaches would be that he was a runner first and a passer second—like Matt Gordon and Jake Bilney—since that was the style Coach Gordon liked in his spread-option offense.
But seeing Alex throw the ball fifty yards in the air to Jonas had to confuse them. They had no idea what to expect when Alex trotted back onto the field to start Chester Heights’ next offensive series. The third quarter was almost over. King of Prussia had moved the ball into Chester Heights territory but had stalled at the 39 and opted to punt. Their punter had kicked the ball out of bounds at the 11-yard line, meaning the Lions were eighty-nine yards from the goal line with a little under sixteen minutes to play, trailing by ten points.
Alex hadn’t had time to feel nervous when he’d gone into the game for Jake—who was now sitting on the bench with his knee wrapped. Buddy Thomas had told Coach Gordon that Jake could go back in “if there was an emergency,” since there were no other quarterbacks in uniform.
Completing the pass to Jonas was a massive boost for Alex’s confidence. He knew the call had caught the KOP defense completely off guard and that helped, but he’d put the ball exactly where he needed to put it and his arm felt as loose as he could possibly hope for it to be.
“That was one great throw,” Jonas had said to him when they had hugged on the sideline after the touchdown.
“If I’d thrown it ten yards farther I think you’d have gotten to it anyway,” Alex said.
“You’re right,” Jonas said with a grin. “Throw it up there and I’ll go get it.”
Coach Gordon was calling the plays, using the normal shuttle of wide receivers to bring the plays in, but Matt was standing next to him, leaning on his crutches. Whether he was there to make suggestions or just to give Alex confidence, he wasn’t sure.
With the Lions deep in their own territory, it made sense not to try anything dangerous. Twice, Alex handed the ball to Josephs on simple “blast” plays up the middle—the O-line blasting off the line, going straight ahead to try to create a hole. Josephs picked up nine yards to the 20, setting up third and one.
Max Plesac brought in the play. Mike Crenshaw, the second tight end, who came in on short yardage situations, was with him. “Dive 25, set, B circle,” he said. Alex looked at him for a second to be sure he was hearing correctly. Plesac understood and repeated the call. “Dive 25, set, B circle,” he said a second time.
This time Alex just nodded, stepped into the huddle, and made the call.
The play was for Crenshaw—who almost never did anything other than block. Alex was to fake a handoff to Josephs, then throw a pass over the middle to Crenshaw, whose job was to fake a run block, then circle into the defensive backfield to catch the pass. The play was risky because the throw had to get there quickly and accurately and because Crenshaw did not have the world’s best hands. His nickname among his teammates was “Clank” for a reason.
Still, the element of surprise would be decidedly in their favor. Alex moved under center to take Allison’s snap, then turned and stuck the ball into Josephs’s stomach. But he never let go of it, and Josephs never completely wrapped his hands around the ball. Alex pulled the ball back, stood up, and looked for Crenshaw.
There he was, his hand up to make sure Alex saw him. It was impossible not to see him because he was ten yards behind the line of scrimmage and no one on the King of Prussia defense was anywhere near him. They had all gone for the fake to Josephs, who was buried under a half dozen white jerseys.
Alex flicked the ball with his wrist, relying on the muscle memory of all the drills in practice, where the quarterbacks repeatedly threw ten-, twelve-, fourteen-yard passes over and over. The ball hit Crenshaw right in the chest. Alex could see him bobble it briefly, and for a split second he thought he might drop it.
But he didn’t. He was a good five yards behind everyone when he caught the ball at the 30 and turned to run. If he had been Jonas or one of the other wide receivers, the play would have been a cinch touchdown. But Crenshaw was six three, 230 pounds and ran like the lineman he usually was.
Two defenders ran him down at the King of Prussia 45. Crenshaw was so strong that he carried them on his back for a few extra yards, finally being brought down at the 38.
There were lots of “Way to go, Goldie”s in the huddle as Jonas brought in the next play. Alex wasn’t listening. He was remembering something he had read in a magazine story about Mike Krzyzewski, the great basketball coach.
“Next play,” Krzyzewski had said. “Make a good play—forget it, next play. Make a bad one, same thing—next play.”
“Okay, guys,” Alex said. “Next play. We still have to score.”
They were all looking right at him as he called it. He felt completely comfortable, as if he’d been doing this all his life, as if this was where he was born to be.
Six plays after the pass to Crenshaw, Josephs scored on a simple counter play from the 4-yard line. Alex started to sprint right but then handed to Josephs, who—with the defense pursuing Alex—had a huge hole and could practically walk into the end zone.
The extra point made it 17–14, with 10:26 still left in the game.
Unfortunately, Hal Spears wasn’t done yet. He took King of Prussia down the field in a long, clock-eating drive. Every play seemed to pick up four, five, or six yards. Three times King of Prussia had a third down, but it was always short yardage and they picked up the first down—usually on a Spears keeper of some kind.
“The defense has got to get off the field,” said Matt, who had come over to counsel Alex whenever King of Prussia had the ball. Jake, his knee wrapped, was also standing there. Alex didn’t ask him about his “injury.” This wasn’t the time.
King of Prussia picked up another first down at the Chester Heights 20. The clock was now under five minutes. A touchdown would pretty much put the game away.
Spears ran an option to the left and picked up five yards to the 15. He ran the same play to the right, but this time the defense, led by Detwiler, buried him for no gain. It was third and five.
“Do or die right here,” Jake said.
Spears took the snap and started right again. This time, though, he pitched the ball to his tailback, who had some open space. Alan Fitzgerald came up from his safety spot and tackled him solidly right around the ten-yard line.
The Walk On Page 15