The Walk On

by John Feinstein

  “I can imagine. Your mother said if I was a good father my first question would be about your French quiz yesterday.”

  Alex laughed. “Believe it or not, I think I did well,” he said. “I’m getting better.”

  His dad, having done his duty, came back to football.

  “Do you think you’ll start the playoff game next week?” Alex hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t even know who we play,” he said. “We’ll find out tomorrow. I would think Matt will start, and if I’m needed—”

  “To bail Matt out …”

  “Dad, Matt Gordon’s a really good quarterback. Plus, he’s been my biggest supporter all season. You haven’t been here, so you don’t know. Don’t put him down.”

  He was surprised at how sharply the words came out of his mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” his dad said. “You’re right. And I’m sorry I haven’t been there more. That’s going to change—soon. And I mean it, not just more empty words.”

  Alex didn’t say anything, so his dad plowed on. “I have to go to Chicago this Friday to see a client. But if you guys win, I’ll be there the next week.”

  “That would be nice, Dad.”

  His mom was standing in the kitchen doorway when he hung up.

  “You barked at your dad a little bit there,” she said. “Mom, he hasn’t been here at all; he doesn’t get it,” Alex answered.

  “I know, I know. But your dad and I are both responsible for this. I’m sorry it’s been tough for you and Molly.”

  She changed the subject suddenly, pointing at the TV, where Alex and Lisa Hillary were frozen on the screen at the point where Alex had hit the pause button.

  “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” she said.

  Alex looked again. “She looks like you, Mom.”

  “Oh come on, Alex, I don’t look anything like that.”

  She turned and walked back into the kitchen, not wanting to return—no doubt—to the conversation about his father but smiling at the thought that she might look like Lisa Hillary.

  Alex looked back at the TV. He wondered if his dad was dating anyone. He hoped not, although he couldn’t say why he felt that way. It didn’t really seem to matter that much one way or the other.

  He hit rewind again and watched the throw for a fourth time.

  The only problem Alex had when he went back to school on Monday was trying to get from one class to another on time. Every single person in the place—teachers, students, janitors—had to stop him to congratulate him, tell him they knew all along that he could do it and exactly what they were doing at the moment he threw the pass to Jonas.

  And they all wanted to know, “How good is York Central?”

  Alex had no idea. All he knew was that their opening playoff game would be played on Friday at eight o’clock at home, the starting time moved back an hour because Comcast–Philly had decided to televise the game, not just because of the amazing finish the previous Friday but also because Chester Heights was now the number eight team in the country according to the USA Today poll. Alex found that amusing, since his team had been one miraculous play away from finishing the season unranked and not in the postseason at all.

  Everyone had received a text on Sunday night telling them that the team would meet at noon—with lunch being brought in from outside—to go over the plans for the coming week.

  “How’s your day been, Goldie?” Jonas asked when they were en route to the meeting.

  They hadn’t seen each other all morning, although they had talked on the phone over the weekend. As far as Alex could remember, Jonas had never called him by his nickname before.

  “Probably a lot like yours,” he said. “I couldn’t take two steps in the hallway without someone stopping me.”

  Jonas shook his head. “Some people stopped me. Most just waved and said, ‘Nice going.’ All I did was catch the ball. You threw it.”

  Alex laughed. “If you don’t catch, my throwing it doesn’t mean much.”

  “Yeah, well,” Jonas said. “I guess everyone is kind of all over the story of Coach benching his own son with the game on the line. That’s gotta be tough on Matt.”

  Alex had thought about that a lot over the weekend. He’d even thought about calling Matt. Then he’d realized there wasn’t much he could say.

  Pizza was waiting when the players walked into the meeting room. Alex grabbed a box marked CHEESE and sat in one of the back rows. Jonas and Jake slid in on either side of him.

  “How’s life as a hero?” Jake asked.

  “Exhausting,” Alex answered.

  Coach Gordon got right down to business, explaining that he and the coaches had already looked at tape of York Central. “They’re all tough kids. They won’t be scared or intimidated. We haven’t played them before, but they’ve been in the playoffs four of the last five years, so they’re very experienced. They start nine seniors on offense and nine on defense.”

  He went through the practice schedule for the week, which would be a bit lighter than normal because it was late in the season and everyone was tired.

  “You guys who love the weight room, love it a little less this week,” he said. “If you aren’t strong enough to compete by now, you aren’t going to get there. Let your bodies rest a little.”

  He also announced that the players would be excused from their afternoon classes on Friday. “There will be a pep rally at lunchtime. Then you’ve got the afternoon off to go home, get off your feet, and relax,” he said. “We’ll want you back here at six o’clock.

  “If anyone has a test, try to work it out with your teacher. If you have a problem, talk to your position coach.” He smiled. “I doubt there will be any issues.”

  He paused.

  Coach Brotman waved a hand from the side of the room.

  “Coach,” he said. “Drug testing?”

  “Right,” Coach Gordon said. “Thanks, Coach. Most of you guys are probably unaware that last year the state high school board voted to drug-test in all sports during statewide competition. All of you will be tested after practice on Wednesday, as will the players from the other seven schools who have qualified.

  “This won’t sound like good news to some of you who don’t like needles, but a blood test is better than a urine sample because it’s more accurate and the results come back sooner.

  “I know none of you are stupid enough to be doping, so I’m not worried about this at all. Just so you know, if we win, a random sampling of the team will be tested again next week, and then again before the championship game. It’s a minor nuisance, but it shouldn’t be anything more than that.

  “Any questions?”

  He nodded when no hands went up. “Okay, then. Practice at the regular time today. Finish your pizzas and head to class.”

  “You clean, Goldie?” Jake asked, laughing as most of the team stood to leave. Fifth period was ten minutes away.

  “Unless there’s something in the pizza or in a McDonald’s hamburger, I should be all right,” Alex said.

  Jonas leaned in and said softly, “We’ve got some big linemen. You think they’re all clean?”

  Jake stood up. “Guess we’re going to find out. You might be able to beat a urine test or claim there was a mistake. Pretty tough with blood testing. ’Course, it’s only a problem if we win Friday and someone’s test comes back positive next week.”

  “What’s the penalty for a positive test?” Alex asked.

  “No idea,” Jake said. “Let’s hope we never find out.”

  Coach Gordon hadn’t addressed the other lingering question: who would start at quarterback in the York game? Alex got the answer that afternoon at practice when the team scrimmaged. It was business almost as usual: Matt got about two-thirds of the snaps and Alex the rest—except for one final series when Jake came in.

  The scrimmage was shorter than normal and so was practice. The weather was relatively warm—probably around fifty degrees at the start of practice. But when the sun began to set at quarter
to five, it got cold quickly. Coach Gordon reminded them of the schedule again before he sent them inside. Tuesday would be the last all-out practice of the week. Wednesday’s practice would be shortened to allow time for the drug testing, and Thursday would, as usual, be briefer than the rest of the week.

  “We’ll be more about preparing for the opponent than practicing anything new or anything hard this week,” he said. “You third-teamers and JVs are going to be crucial running scout team plays, so please study what we’ve given you on York. This is your chance to really contribute to this team.”

  Based on what they were seeing from the scout team, York was a very aggressive defensive team—frequently blitzing linebackers and even safeties to try to keep the quarterback from getting into any sort of rhythm with either a running game or a passing game. That meant quick-hitting passes against what would often be one-on-one coverage should be effective, as would counter plays—starting in one direction, then going in the other to take advantage of an aggressive defense.

  Alex couldn’t help but notice that Matt was struggling with his short, quick throws. The football was frequently a half step or a full step off target. He was clearly frustrated when he missed on a pass—even when it was caught. On one play, Jonas reached out and made a catch. When he came back to the huddle, Matt said, “I gotta get the ball in your stomach, Jonas. If I don’t, someone’s going to kill you reaching for it.”

  “No worries,” Jonas said. “We made the play.”

  “You made the play,” Matt said.

  The counter plays were Matt’s forte. He was such a quick, strong runner that the defense had to respect him anytime he took off with the ball. He never seemed to make a wrong decision on those plays: If the defense stayed back, he took off. If it chased him, he was ready to make a pitch, a quick counter handoff, or even a reverse.

  It was apparent to Alex that the offense would focus on running the ball—unless he got into the game. No one said anything to him about what his role might be.

  “They’ll get you in for one series in the second quarter,” Jake predicted as they walked off the practice field on Wednesday. “How much you play the rest of the night will depend on how the game’s going.”

  It occurred to Alex that Jake might not be much of a quarterback, but he was an amazing mind reader.

  “Yeah,” Jonas put in. “As in, if we need to throw, you’re in there, Goldie. Matt’s never been that good a passer, but he’s been brutal the last couple days.”

  Jake nodded. “I’m not sure what’s up with him,” he said.

  Matt’s throwing hadn’t been very good—even by his standards—but Alex thought he had also been uncharacteristically quiet: hard on himself as always, but not in his joking, self-deprecating way. At one point, after another bad throw, he had looked at Alex and said, “You better be ready, Goldie. I have a feeling we’re going to need you.”

  He’d said almost the exact same thing before, but it had been in more of a “Come on, let’s go” tone. This was more of an almost resigned “I’m just not that good” tone. Alex wondered if having his dad take him out for the final series last week—and then watching Alex help win the game—was the reason for his mood. He thought about asking him but decided the week of the state quarterfinals wasn’t the right time.

  The drug testing didn’t take very long. They were called into the training room alphabetically. Teams of testers were drawing blood, labeling the vials with each player’s name, and making sure they were stored properly for shipment.

  The players had been told to bring their school ID with them. Apparently, there had been cases where someone taking PEDs had tried to send someone else in his place to give the sample. Even if the other players saw there was a non-team-member giving blood, they weren’t likely to say anything. Code of the locker room: you don’t turn in your teammates for anything.

  When Alex showed his ID to the nurse, she looked at the photo, then looked at him and smiled.

  “Last week’s hero, right?”

  “I’m the backup quarterback,” Alex said, causing Jimmy Marshall, two tables away, to shout, “He’s our closer!”

  If the nurse knew what that meant, she didn’t show it. She handed Alex back his ID and the other tech found a label with his name on it and stuck it on a vial.

  “Okay,” the nurse said as she swabbed his arm with alcohol. “You’ll feel a quick pinch and that will be it. Make a fist—keep it closed until I tell you it’s okay.”

  Alex did as he was told, and thanked them.

  “We’ll have the results back in a week,” the tech said. “Needless to say, no news will be good news.”

  Alex said thank you once more and walked back to the locker room. A funny thought occurred to him: the one thing he wanted right now was to be drug-tested again in a week. It would mean they were still playing.

  Jake Bilney’s prediction about how much Alex would play against York was deadly accurate. The night was cold and blustery and both teams had a tough time moving the ball. York Central’s defense was, as expected, aggressive and tough. Their strategy was apparent: key on Matt Gordon and make him give up the ball. If he wanted to pass, that was fine—especially given the windy conditions.

  The closest anyone came to scoring was at the end of the first half, after Craig Josephs had gotten outside on a counter play in the final minute with the York Central defense lying back because of the clock. Josephs had broken out a thirty-one-yard run to the York Central 20, and with time running out, Matt had spiked the ball.

  Pete Ross came on with four seconds left to attempt a thirty-seven-yard field goal, but it was dead into the wind and well short. The score was 0–0 at halftime.

  “This is exactly the kind of game we expected,” Coach Gordon said during the break. “They’re good on defense and so are we. We just need to make sure we don’t turn the ball over, because I guarantee you they will. Be patient and we’ll be fine.”

  Alex thought the cheers for the team as it came back on the field were somewhat muted. No one was scoring and no one was roaring. The band was playing, but the notes seemed to drift away in the wind. This was November football and nothing about it was easy.

  The punt-fest continued in the third quarter. With 4:48 left and York Central facing a third and ten from its own 31, Coach Brotman called Alex’s name. Jake, who had been standing next to Alex, looked surprised.

  “What’s he doing—” Jake started to say, but Alex jogged over to Coach Brotman before he finished the sentence.

  “Warm up,” was all Coach Brotman said. “You may be in if we get a stop.”

  Alex did as he was told. The defense held, and as the York punt team went on the field, Alex noticed that Matt had not—as he normally did—put his helmet back on. The kick, with the wind, was downed on the Chester Heights 23. Play stopped for a TV time-out.

  “Myers!” It was Coach Gordon. “You ready to go?” he said as Alex jogged up to him.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, almost as if he wanted Alex to really think about it.

  “Absolutely,” Alex said.

  “Okay, then.” He put his arm around him for a moment. “The short passes have been there all night.” He paused. “Matt hasn’t been able to make the throws. Start with 33 swing and we’ll go from there.”

  Alex nodded and trotted in. By now, no one in the huddle was surprised to see him. He called 33 swing, a simple out route to Josephs off a play fake, and brought them to the line. He could hear the York Central defenders yelling at one another: “Passer, passer! New QB—watch the pass!”

  Alex took the snap, made a motion as if to throw the ball over the middle, and then swung it to Josephs, who caught it in stride, dragged a defender for a couple yards, and picked up twelve yards to the 35.

  Coach Gordon was right: the short passes were there. Alex kept taking what the defense was giving until, on third and one at the York Central 37, he saw an opportunity. York Central had nine players in
the box—the area right behind the line of scrimmage and on the line itself. Alex hadn’t even considered an audible since the debacle at Bryn Mawr. Now, seeing Jonas lined up wide with one cornerback on him, he called one.

  He yelled “Black!” to tell his teammates he was changing the play, and then called “Z no-fly!”—that was the audible call for a fly pattern off a play fake. Alex took the snap and turned to Josephs, who lunged as if he were trying to get to the first-down marker, selling the fake brilliantly. Alex pulled the ball out of Josephs’s stomach and took two quick steps back. The cornerback had completely bought the fake and Jonas was wide open. Alex put a little extra on the ball because of the wind and watched as Jonas still had to slow a bit to wait for it. He was so wide open it didn’t matter. He raced into the end zone with four seconds left in the quarter.

  Coach Gordon was almost smiling when Alex came to the sideline. “Funny thing,” he said. “I was almost going to call that play there.”

  “I could see the defense, Coach,” Alex said. “You couldn’t when you sent the play in.”

  Coach Gordon batted him on the head and Matt, standing right there, hugged him.

  “Goldie,” he said, “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  Seven points felt like a huge lead in this game. And then Gerry Detwiler put it away. With York Central at midfield, he read an out pattern perfectly, stepping in front of the receiver at the 45-yard line. He was gone down the sideline, untouched. The extra point made it 14–0 and seemed to drain all the fight from York Central.

  Matt went back in and, with the York Central defense suddenly looking tired, put together a time-killing seventy-two-yard drive that ended with Josephs scoring from the 1-yard line with 4:11 left in the game. The final was a very deceiving 21–0.

  As the clock wound down, Alex patted Matt on the shoulder. “That was a great last drive,” he said. “You put the game away.”

  Matt smiled for the first time in what felt like a week. “Long as I can run the ball, I’m okay,” he said. “You think this one was tough? Wait until next week.” He returned the pat on the shoulder. “Gotta be ready, Goldie. We’re not winning this thing without you.”