by Tim Green
"This is the real Inside the NFL."
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
THANE GOT WAVED THROUGH several sets of parking attendants, security guards, and police. They drove down into the tunnel underneath the Meadowlands stadium, where they parked in a row of cars and trucks gleaming with chrome grilles, rims, hood ornaments, and shiny new colors. There were Mercedes sedans and trucks, Porsches, Lexuses, Maseratis, a Bentley, several Ford pickups, and a dozen Cadillac SUVs. Ty's mouth hung open.
He got down and let Thane put an arm around his shoulder, leading him into the concrete guts of the stadium, down a curved tunnel, and past two New Jersey state policemen. Thane pulled open a red metal door with a warning sign on it saying: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
"Us, huh?" Ty said, feeling for the pass that hung from the zipper on his pants pocket.
"Sure," Thane said with a chuckle. "You're with me."
They passed through a short white cinder-block hallway and into the vast locker room. Players milled about, some half naked, some already wearing their football pants stuffed with thigh and knee pads. Most had headsets on and listened to iPods, lost in their own worlds of thought and music as they went about the ritual of taping their joints and dressing for the game.
"I gotta go see the trainers," Thane said, offering Ty the stool in front of his own locker.
"Can I come?" Ty asked.
Thane winced, then said, "Okay."
Ty followed his brother through the pack of enormous men with muscles so big they seemed to stretch skin to its breaking point. One player had laid his entire uniform out in front of his locker, as if whoever had been wearing it had vanished into thin air, leaving only his clothes behind. Ty watched as he started with the socks and began dressing himself from bottom to top.
Looking back like that, Ty bumped into the leg of a giant. He stared up at the biggest human he'd ever seen, bigger even than Mike from Lucy's and certainly in better shape.
"Hey, little guy," the man said in a booming but pleasant voice.
"AC," Thane said, coming back to retrieve Ty. "My little brother. Ty, Anthony Clement."
Ty swallowed and said hello. The giant flashed a set of white teeth, winked, and moved on toward his locker, wrapping one of his wrists with tape.
"He's huge," Ty said as he and Thane passed by the tiled bathroom sinks and into the training room.
"Probably the biggest man in the NFL," Thane said. "He's six foot eight and goes about three seventy after dinner. And he's not just big, he can move. That's the thing about the big guys in this league. Even the sloppy-looking guys with the big guts? Most of them can dunk a basketball. How'd you like to have him blocking down on you?"
Ty shuddered and followed Thane into the training room, a less fancy space than what they had at the practice facility. Players sat on the padded tables, not for treatment, but for taping. Half a dozen trainers wrapped ankles, wrists, knees, and elbows with roll after roll of white athletic tape, filling the room with the sound of hissing and snapping as they unwound the tape, wrapped on layer upon layer, and tore off the ends.
In the back, a white curtain blocked off two other tables. A huge offensive lineman emerged from one, rubbing a spot on his shoulder and loosening the joint by rotating it around. Ty saw a tiny spot of blood on his bare skin. Behind him, the doctor tossed a needle into a red plastic waste bin before looking up at Thane and nodding his head.
"How you feeling, Tiger?" the doctor asked.
"Better," Thane said, climbing up onto the table and introducing Dr. Garret to Ty.
Ty shook the doctor's hand as he pulled the curtain shut. He watched as Dr. Garret probed Thane's swollen knee, his fingers sinking into the puffy flesh as if it were a water balloon.
"You're moving better," Dr. Garret said as he poked.
"You did a good job with the ice."
"I feel better."
"Let's get this fluid off and you should be ready to go for next week."
"I could go now," Thane said.
The doctor looked up at him and smiled. "We talked about that. The coaches know you'd go out there, and believe me, everyone appreciates your mind-set. But it's a long season, and it's early. Let's get this thing under control. We can win this without you, right?"
"I hope so," Thane said.
The doctor lifted an enormous needle from his table of instruments. The cylinder looked like a breakfast juice glass, and the needle reminded Ty of a small drinking straw. Dr. Garret swabbed the side of Thane's kneecap with alcohol and poised the needle before looking at Ty.
"You might want to step outside," Dr. Garret said to him.
"You gonna put that under his kneecap?" Ty asked, swallowing the acid and cornflakes churning up from his stomach.
"That's where the fluid is," Dr. Garret said. "He'll be okay. You wait out there."
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
TY LOOKED AT THANE, who nodded and did his best to smile. Ty slipped outside the curtain, his hands gripped tight and sweating as he listened. He heard the doctor say he was sorry in a low tone, and he heard Thane suck air in through his mouth and the creak of the table.
When Dr. Garret whipped open the curtain, Thane sat clutching a cotton swab to his knee. As the doctor dropped the syringe into the bin, Ty saw the yellow fluid that filled the cylinder and its swirling crimson cloud of blood. Thane hopped down and limped out, grabbing Ty by the shoulder and using him like a cane. One of the team's smaller players, a defensive back with tattoos covering his muscular torso, walked past them and into the doctor's area. Ty heard the curtain slide closed.
Thane greeted his teammates, wishing them luck, slapping high fives, and introducing Ty as they moved through the locker room. When they got to his locker, Thane gave Ty a big green Jets sweatshirt and a white cap with the green logo and told him to put them on.
"This is great," Ty said, admiring the thick logo patched across his chest. "Thanks. I'll give it back after the game."
"Take it home," Thane said as he changed into his own sweatshirt, pants, and hat. "Free stuff is good for you."
Outside the locker room, they wound through the tunnel and out onto the field. White clouds filled the sky, with only a random patch of blue or an occasional shaft of sunlight gleaming through. The small breeze hinted at autumn and carried with it the scent of hot dogs and barbecue.
The stadium buzzed with excitement as the stands filled up with green-and-white-clad fans. A handful of fans hung out over the tunnel entrance above them, screaming Tiger's name and begging for autographs. Ty looked up at them. Several had painted their faces green. Thane took their footballs, hats, and programs, signing them with a flourish until the yelling died down.
Players in full pads and uniforms jogged, huffing, past them and out onto the field, where they began to bang into each other and warm up their legs. Thane led Ty to the bench. They sat down, and Thane put his arm around Ty's shoulder. Behind them, and beyond the bench area outside a thick yellow line, TV and newspaper reporters and VIPs milled about like a tightly packed school of guppies.
Thane flexed his leg, gripping his knee.
"You okay?" Ty asked, nervous to see a TV camera pointed their way, its red light glowing like a demon's eye.
Thane nodded.
"That was nasty," Ty said. "All that gunk in your knee, that huge needle. That had to kill."
"It's a rough way to make a living, my friend," Thane said. "But that's why we get the big bucks. Don't think about it. Enjoy the game. Enjoy just being here."
Ty nodded and turned his attention to the field.
The Bengals players covered one end of the field, and the Jets took the other. In the middle, on the fifty-yard line, several pairs met, shaking hands, trading hugs, and chatting.
"What are they doing?" Ty asked. "Aren't they supposed to be getting ready to knock each other's lights out?"
"Lots of guys know each other from college or from playing on the same team in the NFL," Thane said.
"Some of th
em from off-season charity events. Most guys in the league are friends with one another. It's like a fraternity, a club."
"Some club where you smash each other's brains in," Ty said. "Coach says Brookfield is, like, the enemy."
"The Bengals are, too," Thane said. "But only during the game."
"That's kind of weird."
"But it works," Thane said. "Come on, everyone's going to be going back inside before kickoff. Let's see what the coach has to say."
Together, they walked down the sideline and into the tunnel. Before they got too far, the team came streaming past, and they stood back as the players and coaches poured into the locker room. By the time they followed, the team had already circled up around the coach, most of them down on one knee while some stood. The fiery words washed over Ty. The energy inside the locker room and the blazing eyes of the massive players glazed in sweat made his hair stand on end. He found himself thinking about what would happen if the Jets won big.
Uncle Gus, Ty knew, would be ruined. And if the confidence in the coach's voice and the looks in the players' eyes were any indication, Ty knew the problems ahead would be worse than anything since his parents' car crash.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
THE BENGALS TOOK THE opening kickoff back for a touchdown. The crowd grew angry, hurling insults and, in some cases, cups of beer over the walls and out onto the field. When the Jets got the ball, their offense sputtered. They couldn't run, and Pennington, the Jets quarterback, didn't have either of his top two wide receivers to throw to. The Bengals blitzed on almost every third-down play, rushing linebackers and even safeties in at the quarterback along with the four defensive linemen.
The Jets defense did their part, though, and kept the Bengals pinned down into their own territory. A fumbled punt gave the Jets good field position, and two plays later, Thomas Jones ran in for a twelve-yard touchdown. At halftime Ty followed Thane into the locker room after the rest of the players. Inside, the players sat on the stools in front of their lockers watching the coaches as they drew up plays on grease boards and yelled at certain players to exert more effort or be smarter. The serious mood infected Ty, and he didn't even try to talk to Thane. He just sat and watched and listened.
In the second half, the Jets started out well, moving the ball on the ground and driving down for a field goal. Ty looked at the clock--only 2:54 left in the third quarter. He wished the rest of the time could speed by with no more scoring. If the Jets won 10-7, everyone would be happy. The Jets would have the victory they wanted without Thane, and Uncle Gus would win his bet. Although Uncle Gus put money on the Bengals, he could win the bet even if the Jets won the game. The point spread of eight meant that as long as the Jets didn't win by nine or more points, Uncle Gus and everyone who bet on the Bengals would be happy.
If the Jets scored another touchdown and went up by ten, the Jets would win, but Uncle Gus would lose all his money. Ty began to root for the Bengals, quietly shifting his hips and shoulders with the Bengals quarterback, willing him to avoid getting tackled and to keep the ball down on the other end of the field.
He must have rooted too hard, because the Bengals scored a touchdown of their own in the beginning of the fourth quarter with a long pass to Chad Johnson. The Bengals now had a 14-10 lead, so Ty could safely root, all-out, for the Jets. A Jets touchdown would give them a 17-14 lead and Uncle Gus would still win his bet. The Jets offense crossed the fifty-yard line, but Pennington got sacked on third and five and they elected to punt the ball. The Bengals took the ball from the ten all the way to the Jets' thirty-five, tried a fifty-two-yard field goal, and missed.
The Jets ran three plays without any success and had to punt again. By the time they got the ball back, only 3:46 remained, not much time without a good passing game that could gain yardage in big chunks. The Jets started to run with some success, gaining five, six, seven yards a play, but the chunks weren't big enough. The clock wound down. They kept going, driving across midfield and into Bengals territory. With thirteen seconds left, Jones got tackled on the three-yard line. The Jets offense scrambled to the line of scrimmage, setting up and snapping the ball so Pennington could throw it down into the ground and stop the clock. One second remained. One play for the Jets to win.
Ty stood with Thane and the rest of the team and coaches, crunched together in one corner of the bench area. Ty watched the coaches talking into their headsets, nodding to each other before they turned their attention to the field. Ty watched Pennington cover the ear holes of his helmet so he could hear the play being radioed in. He knelt down in the huddle and emerged a few seconds later with the rest of his team, jogging to the line.
The Bengals defense crowded the line, jab stepping and moving in and out of the gaps between the defensive linemen, who were hunkered down in four-point stances, heads low, like hogs ready to root out grubs. The ball was snapped. The clock ran down. Like everyone else on the Jets sideline, Ty held his breath.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
PENNINGTON FAKED A HANDOFF to Jones and rolled out on a bootleg. He pump faked the pass, then dove across the goal line himself, taking a crushing hit from the Bengals safety that sent the ball flying out of his hands, but not before it crossed the line. The ref signaled touchdown. The Jets won by three and Uncle Gus won his bet. The crowd went wild and so did Ty and Thane, jumping up and down, roaring, and hugging each other until Thane hobbled sideways on his bad knee.
The festive air in the locker room smelled of sweat and hot showers. The players' banter bubbled up over the sounds of reporters' questions and the hissing water, and even though Thane hadn't played in the game, his voice, too, rode the back of a nearly constant giggle. Players hugged and slapped hands and snapped each other with their towels. They chortled and laughed and made plans to get together afterward, some at nightclubs, some at one another's houses to watch the Sunday night game.
Several players asked Thane to join them, but he answered that he had plans with Ty. Ty felt a little guilty but mostly proud and thankful that his brother wanted to spend time with him. As they walked through the underground tunnel, Ty noticed the crowd of other players' families and friends waiting for them behind a velvet rope. Most wore green-and-white Jets gear, but almost as many dressed in leather jackets, new shoes, designer jeans or slacks, and silk or cotton shirts with collars.
One woman stood alone with a short leather jacket, snug jeans, and high-heeled boots. Her dark hair spilled around the padded shoulders of her jacket, and when she saw Thane, she blushed and looked down.
"Hang on a minute," Thane said to Ty, planting him in his spot and walking over to the girl.
Thane put his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him, and he kissed her lightly, saying something that made her laugh before giving her a cheerful good-bye and returning to Ty. Inside the Escalade, Ty couldn't help asking who she was.
"Ah, this girl," Thane said. "Her name is Deena. She's okay. I gave her my tickets."
"She's awesome," Ty said.
Thane glanced at him with half a smile and said, "Yeah, she's pretty. Nice, too. That's the most important thing."
The truck rolled up out of the stadium and into a special lane the police had blocked off so that the players and coaches could get to the highway without waiting for traffic.
"Didn't you want to do something with her?" Ty said. "You didn't even introduce me."
"I will," Thane said, gently massaging his knee.
"One day. I like to take things slow."
"Before you bring her into the family," Ty said.
Thane waved to the last of the policemen and pulled out onto the interstate before he said, "That's right. You gotta be an all-star to be in this family."
"Dad used to say that," Ty said.
Thane drove without saying anything for a little while, then said, "I know. I figure some of the things he said to me, I'd keep saying them to you. Tradition and all that."
Ty nodded.
"You don't mind, right?" Thane as
ked.
"I like it," Ty said.
"Where do you want to eat?" Thane asked. "I'm starved."
"Subway?"
"Subway?" Thane said. "I got a gold card. We can go anywhere in the world and you want Subway?"
"Chicken Bacon Ranch," Ty said. "Toasted. Nothing better."
"Barelli's?"
"That's different," Ty said. "You can't forget where you came from either."
"True."
Thane pulled off at the next exit and drove down the strip of fast-food stores and shopping centers until they found a Subway. Thane ate three sandwiches. Ty got two bags of BBQ chips to go along with his meal. They sat in the back corner and, still, nearly a dozen people came up to Thane, asking him to sign their Subway napkins. One guy had two kids younger than Ty, and he asked if it was okay to take a picture. Thane just smiled and nodded and did whatever people asked. And whenever he signed an autograph, he advised each person to get Ty's signature as well.
"Then when he's in the NFL, you can say you've got us both," Thane said. Some of the people smiled funny at him, said thanks, and walked away. Several, though, really did ask Ty to sign their napkins, too, and it made him blush.
The sky had faded to dark gray by the time they walked out of the Subway. They'd climbed into the big black truck and pulled out onto the street, heading for the mall and a movie, when flashing lights began to bounce around the inside of the cab. Thane checked his mirror.
"You've got to be kidding," he said, talking to himself as he pulled over to the curb. "I was, like, two miles over the speed limit."
Ty spun around and saw the dark Crown Vic, whose lights flashed on and off from inside the grille along with the steady beat of its high-beam headlights going on and off. Ty shielded his eyes and saw one dark shape get out while another stayed in the front seat of the car. The man who walked up to Thane's window wore a suit that flapped in the breeze. He tapped on the window, and when Thane rolled it down, he flipped open his wallet and flashed a badge with an FBI identification card.