Benchwarmers

by John Feinstein

  He answered quickly—second ring. When she told him why she was calling, she heard him sigh. Then he filled her in on what he’d heard in the locker room after practice.

  “Look, some guys are still clinging to the idea that a girl shouldn’t be on a boys’ team. The others were more like, ‘If she can play, why not?’”

  “Who said that?” she asked.

  Jeff paused for a moment, thinking. “Well, Diskin you already know; Mike Craig—”

  She cut him off. “Mike?” That surprised her, since it was Craig she had maneuvered past on the play that led to the goal.

  “Yeah,” Jeff said. “I guess he had the closest look at how good you are.”

  That cracked her up. It occurred to her that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good laugh.

  * * *

  The second—and final—nonleague game of Merion’s season was against Isham Academy, a private school in Bryn Mawr, not far from Merion.

  Coach Johnston had posted the starting lineup in the boys’ locker room, so Andi had to depend on Jeff to tell her that she wasn’t starting—which didn’t surprise her.

  “Just remember, under the rules, he has to play you,” Jeff said.

  “Yeah, I know. Five minutes. Whoop-de-doo. You can bet that’s all it will be.”

  Jeff smiled. “Might depend on how the game’s going.”

  The game didn’t go very well. Isham appeared to have a lot of experienced soccer players on their team. At one point during the first half Coach C wandered over and mentioned to Andi and Jeff and the other benchwarmers that almost the entire Isham team had played together in a youth soccer league. That explained why they clicked so well.

  By halftime, it was 3–0. The break was only ten minutes, not enough time to go back to the locker room. The two teams sat on their benches and rested while their coaches talked to them. Andi stood—she’d been sitting long enough.

  “Okay, we’re going to bring Friedman, Jackson, and Lewis on to start the second half,” Coach J said. “Mix things up a little bit.

  “Craig, Trang, Adkins, you sit for a while, but be ready to go back in.”

  The three boys who were coming out of the game nodded. Andi knew that in pro soccer once you were out of a game you couldn’t go back in. But at this level, players could return.

  The lineup change meant that fourteen of Merion’s players would have seen the field. The two exceptions were Andi and Jeff. No surprise there. Andi thought Jeff was every bit as good as—probably better than—the three players who were being subbed into the game. He was clearly in the doghouse because of his father’s role in getting Andi on the team.

  His crime was twofold: He was Andi’s friend and his father’s son.

  Andi was different. She’d only done one thing wrong: been born a girl.

  The lineup changes did little to affect the direction of the game. As Coach Johnston had said, Friedman, Jackson, and Lewis brought a different mix to the lineup—but it wasn’t any better than what the three starters who were now on the bench brought to the game.

  Mike Craig sat down on Andi’s left—Jeff was to her right—as the half started.

  “You should be in there,” Mike said to her.

  Andi looked at him. He was, in her opinion, the best-looking boy on the team. She had been aware of that even before tryouts started, since they were in two classes together. He had wavy blond hair and an easy smile. He wasn’t smiling now.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Jeff jumped in. “This doesn’t have anything to do with who the best players are, you know that, Mike,” he said.

  Craig nodded. “I know. And, for the record, Michaels, you should be playing, too.”

  It was hard not to like Mike Craig.

  * * *

  The score was 5–0 when Coach C walked over to where Andi and Jeff were sitting.

  “Next whistle,” he said, “you guys go in for Arlow and Roth.”

  Andi was surprised he was taking out two of his best players.

  Coach C seemed to read her mind.

  “We’re going to put you in the striker position, Andi,” he said. “See if you have any more luck than Arlow. Jeff, you’re at midfield for Roth.”

  Coach C turned to Craig. “Mike, you’re back in for Lewis.”

  That wasn’t a huge surprise. Ethan Lewis’s poor play on defense had been largely responsible for the two Isham second-half goals. He was a tall, gangly kid, probably better suited to basketball than soccer.

  The three of them stood and walked to midfield so the coaches could signal for a sub on the whistle. Coach J didn’t look at any of them.

  The whistle blew.

  Coach Crist signaled the referee that Merion wanted to sub. The Isham coaches were doing the same thing. Andi jogged in, Roth giving her a fist bump as they passed each other. Arlow looked her right in the eye as he went by but ignored her proffered fist.

  There were about ten minutes left in the game, the outcome clearly decided.

  About five minutes after the subs had occurred, Andi was looking over her shoulder at the sideline. No one was standing as if to come in. Maybe they’d stay in till the final whistle.

  Isham had a throw-in. Mike Craig ducked in and stole the ball. He weaved a few yards upfield and found Jeff open on the left side.

  Unmarked, Jeff pushed the ball into Merion’s offensive area. A defender came to meet him. Jeff saw him coming and sent a pass in Andi’s direction as she was entering the penalty area. She gathered it in, faked to her left, then went right.

  The goalie came out to try to cut the angle down on her shot. Out of the corner of her eye, Andi saw Teddy O’Connell on her right flank. She faked as if to slide the ball to her left foot in order to shoot and then slid the ball to O’Connell—who had a wide-open net because the goalie had come out to meet Andi.

  O’Connell easily converted the pass, his kick hitting the back of the net. He turned and ran to Andi, pointing at her.

  “Great pass, Andi!” he shouted, bear-hugging her the way soccer players do after a goal. Jeff came in from behind.

  “You probably could have scored yourself,” he said, also giving her a quick hug.

  “Teddy was wide-open,” she said. “I wasn’t.”

  They turned to head upfield for Isham’s kickoff. The game clock was now under four minutes. There wasn’t time to rally, but at least they’d scored.

  As she was lining up to prepare the restart, Andi heard a voice. It was Coach J.

  “Ref, subs,” he said.

  Andi looked up and saw the four starters who had been on the bench—only Craig had gone back into the game—standing next to Coach J.

  “Merion subs, come on out!” he yelled.

  Puzzled—but not puzzled—she jogged to the sideline, Jeff right behind. Coach J said nothing about the goal.

  Jeff went straight to Coach C. “Why are we out?” he asked. “We at least got the team on the scoreboard.”

  Coach J turned to him, giving him an angry look.

  “That’s a question for me, Michaels, isn’t it?” he said. “You’re out because I’m still trying to win the game.”

  16

  They didn’t win the game. In fact, Isham scored once more in the final minute to make it even more humiliating.

  When the players lined up for the postgame handshakes, Jeff fell into line right behind Andi. Several of the Isham players made a point of telling her what a great play she’d made on Merion’s only goal.

  “No idea why you aren’t starting,” said the Isham player who’d scored three of their goals.

  After the handshakes and the exchange of cheers, Jeff looked up and saw a cluster of media members around Coach J. He’d almost forgotten that when he had told his dad on Wednesday that Andi was on the team, his dad had done a short item on that night’s broadcast about her change in fortune.

  Clearly, a lot of the same people who had done the initial story had come back to follow up.

 
; Jeff was surprised to see Coach J talking to the reporters. He knew the coach had refused to talk to his dad or anyone else for the initial stories. Now, he had about a half-dozen people around him, including a couple of guys with cameras.

  Not his dad, though. He was in New York because the Phillies were beginning a crucial series with the Mets that night.

  “We’ll send a camera and an intern,” his dad had said. “My guess is, if the coach talks, they’ll use something from him, and if Andi does anything in the game they’ll get something from her, too.”

  Rather than head for the locker room, Jeff lingered, inching closer to the circle where Coach J was talking. Both Andi and Danny had done the same.

  “She’d had only one practice with the team, so I wasn’t inclined to play her very much,” Jeff heard Coach J saying.

  “But why did you take her out after she set up your only goal?” the NBC Sports–Philly intern said. Jeff knew who it was because she was holding a microphone with an NBC logo on it.

  “She played ten minutes, and I had told the starters they’d get back in,” Coach J said. “She made a nice play—but a lot of the credit for the goal should go to Mike Craig. He made the steal that set the play up.”

  “Six,” the intern said.

  “What?” Coach Johnston said.

  “She played six minutes, not ten.”

  Coach J glared at her. Then he said, “Any more actual questions?”

  Someone else asked how much playing time Andi might get the next time Merion played.

  “We’ll see how practice goes on Monday,” the coach answered. “We’re playing our first conference game Tuesday. I’m inclined to go with the guys who’ve proven themselves already.”

  Jeff almost gagged at that answer. Proven themselves? Those guys had been outscored 11–3 in two losses. No, 11–2, since Andi had been largely responsible for the one goal today.

  Jeff felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Coach C.

  “Locker room,” he said, pointing in that direction. “You too, Diskin. Andi, you stay. I suspect these guys want to talk to you.” He lowered his voice so Jeff, even standing a few feet away, could barely hear him. “Be careful what you say,” he advised as the cameras and tape recorders began turning to find her.

  Coach J was walking away, one guy with a notebook pursuing him. Jeff wanted to stay, but Coach C’s message had been clear. He’d find out later what Andi said.

  * * *

  Andi wasn’t all that eager to talk to the reporters, especially after Coach Crist’s warning, but she knew she had to do it.

  So when several of them asked if she could talk for a moment, she nodded her head and said yes. Coach C was still there, clearly to provide some sort of protection for her, and she was grateful.

  “Give her some space, guys, back up a little,” he said as one of the camera guys seemed to put his camera right in her face.

  The same woman who had pointed out to Coach J that Andi’d played only six minutes asked the first question.

  “How do you feel about today?” she asked.

  “It was great to be part of the team,” Andi said—which was the truth. “I wish we’d done better,” she added—also the truth.

  “What about the way you played?” the same woman prompted.

  “Well, I wasn’t out there very long,” Andi said, which brought a laugh. “But I thought I did okay.”

  Someone else asked the next question, a very tall woman, also with a TV microphone.

  “Do you expect to play more in your next game?” she asked.

  “I guess we’ll find out Tuesday,” Andi said. “I hope so.”

  She wasn’t sure if that was careful enough.

  “Okay, gang, thanks for coming out,” Coach C said—a polite way of telling them that Andi was finished answering questions.

  No one seemed to mind. The assistant coach put an arm around her and walked her away from the group.

  “You did very well,” he said softly. “Is someone here to pick you up?”

  Andi’s mom had been at the game but had been nowhere in sight—which concerned Andi. She looked around and saw her walking in their direction.

  “There’s my mom,” she said, relieved.

  Her mom walked up. “I’m so sorry, Andi, I just had to go to the ladies’ room as soon as the game ended.” She looked at Coach C. “Thanks for watching out for her.”

  “She did very well with the media,” he said. Then he paused and added, “And in the game, too.”

  “Do you think she might start on Tuesday?” Andi’s mom asked. “I mean, look what she did when she got a chance.”

  Coach C shrugged. “Not my call,” he said. “But Coach J saw how well she played, too. We’ll see.”

  He waved a friendly hand at both of them. “Gotta run,” he said. “My son has a game at six.”

  “Your son?” Andi’s mom said. “Where does he play?”

  “Haverford High School,” Coach C said. “And with Friday traffic, I’ll be lucky to be there for the start.”

  He walked away. The field was now empty except for Andi and her mom.

  “Seems like a nice guy,” her mom said.

  “I think he is,” Andi said. “I just wish he was the coach.”

  Her mom nodded, watching as the coach broke into a jog. “I suspect if he was, you’d be starting on Tuesday.”

  Andi sighed. “Since he’s not,” she said, “I suspect I won’t be.”

  17

  Hal Johnston thought there might be steam coming out of his ears by the time he got through talking to the reporters.

  Jason Crist had pointed out to him that all the stories done about the Carillo controversy earlier in the week had made a point of saying he had “ducked” the media, or in the case of one guy on a radio talk show, had “cowered” rather than speak his mind. And the comments on social media were no better—every time a link went live, for every commenter that took his side, there were five more ripping his decision to shreds.

  “Tell your side of it,” Crist had told him.

  “You don’t even agree with my side of it,” Johnston had shot back.

  “Not the point,” Crist had said. “I’m just telling you that the less you talk, the worse you look.”

  Hal knew he was right. That was why he’d agreed to talk after the game, even though the fact that Carillo had been responsible for the team’s only goal was going to make things worse. Then he’d made the mistake of saying she’d played ten minutes, and that kid with the NBC Sports–Philly microphone had jumped on him.

  He had turned his thoughts to getting into the car and listening to some music when he realized that someone was walking next to him. He looked to his left and saw a kid with a notebook and a tape recorder tagging along next to him.

  “I’m done talking,” he said, picking up his pace.

  “That’s fine,” the kid responded. “But I’m Stevie Thomas, here for the Washington Herald. Up to you if you don’t want to explain yourself.”

  Hal stopped for a second.

  “Are you in high school or something?” the teacher said.

  Thomas smiled at him. “Actually, I’m a freshman at Penn,” he said.

  “So why aren’t you in class or the library?”

  Thomas smiled again, the sort of condescending smile that made Hal want to say something he shouldn’t. He decided to start walking again—he wasn’t that far from the teacher parking lot.

  “It’s a Friday afternoon,” the reporter said. “I do freelance work for the Herald when I have spare time. I pitched this to them after the initial stories came out earlier this week. They see you as a Last of the Mohicans.”

  “Excuse me?” Hal said. He got the reference, but he didn’t like it.

  “Girls playing with boys at this level has become a given,” Thomas said. “From what I saw today, this kid is as good as anyone you have on your team. Yet you’re still tilting at the girls-shouldn’t-play-with-boys windmill.”

&nbs
p; Now he was mixing up the classics. “You wanna talk to me about a Spanish knight or a Mohican chief?” Hal asked, realizing he was smiling in spite of himself.

  “Both,” Thomas answered.

  “Look, kid,” Hal said. “I’ve made my position clear on this. I have nothing against the girl, and, you’re right, she’s a decent player—though not close to the best player on my team. It wasn’t that long ago that you were eleven. How would you like it if you had to play a sport with a girl who was better than you? That’d be kind of tough, wouldn’t it?”

  Thomas shrugged. “My girlfriend was an Olympic swimmer,” he said. “I was fine with it.”

  Now Hal was exasperated. “Did she swim against boys in the Olympics?”

  “No, but she did when she was eleven at the local level and beat just about all of them. I suspect they were fine with it, too.”

  “Well, I’m not fine with it for the sake of these boys. My job is to do what’s best for them—not what’s best for the school principal because he doesn’t want bad publicity.”

  Whoops, I’ve gone too far.

  “That’s off the record,” he added.

  Thomas laughed. “You want to go off the record, you say it before you make a comment.”

  Hal knew enough about the way journalism worked to know the kid was telling the truth. He’d made a mistake.

  “Look, you’re right,” he said. “I apologize. If you could leave out what I said about my boss, I’d be grateful. I’m kind of in a tough position here.”

  Thomas nodded. “I’m willing to do that,” he said. “But in return, would you mind explaining to me the Don Quixote thing?”

  Hal smiled. The kid was pretty sharp. Don Quixote was the hero of a hefty seventeenth-century novel that nobody read anymore. Quixote saw imaginary enemies as windmills and vowed to slay them all.

  “It’s not a sexist thing,” he said. “I know it looks that way, but it’s not.” He had a sudden thought. “You a Star Trek fan?” he asked.