Benchwarmers

by John Feinstein

  The kid gave him a look, then smiled. “‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’?”

  Hal nodded. “‘Or the one.’”

  “But are you sure that’s what you’re doing? If you had put Andi’s being on the team to a vote of the boys, what do you think the outcome would have been?”

  Hal thought about that for a moment.

  “I think it would be close,” he said. “There are boys who are adamant on both sides.”

  “Do you think if their coach was more positive about having a girl on the team, the boys who are against it would be so negative about her?”

  “Are you interviewing me or lecturing me?” Hal said.

  Thomas seemed thrown—just a little—by that comment.

  “Sorry,” he said. “You’re right. Bad habit of mine.”

  Hal had now reached his car. He chirped open the locks with his remote key. “Anything else?” he asked.

  Thomas thought a minute. “Given the way Andi played today, will you think about giving her more playing time next week?”

  “Sure,” Hal said. “I’ll think about it.”

  He got in his car and shut the door. He’d had enough questions for one day. He was glad he had the weekend to come up with some answers.

  18

  Monday’s practice began with a lecture from Coach J.

  “We didn’t play very well in either of our games last week, did we?” he said. Not looking for a response this time, he plowed on. “That’s understandable because we were playing teams from private schools who have had sixth-grade teams for a while. That’s why I scheduled those games before we began playing the games that matter—which start tomorrow when we go to Ardmore.

  “They’re like us, like all the teams in our league. This is their first year with a sixth-grade team. They only played one preconference game and they lost, just like we did. So this is our chance to get the season started in the right direction.”

  He paused for a moment to look at his players.

  “Just so everyone understands, we’re going to start the same eleven players we started on Friday. But Coach C and I have decided we’re going to substitute earlier and more often. So the five of you who aren’t starting, be ready. You’ll be in the game in the first half.”

  Jeff looked at Andi, whose expression hadn’t changed. This was a concession of some kind, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it meant—except that they were going to get a chance before the last few minutes of the game.

  As they grabbed mesh pinnies and broke into red and blue teams to scrimmage, Jeff saw Ron Arlow walking in his direction. This made sense because Jeff was dropping back to play defense, and Arlow was the striker for the starters.

  “What are you smirking about?” Arlow said. “You think you’ve won because he’s going to play your girlfriend more?”

  “No one knows a smirk better than you, Arlow,” Jeff said. “And if Andi—that’s her name, by the way—helps us win, that means we’ve all won.”

  Arlow didn’t respond, just turned his back to prepare for play to start.

  The practice was rough, but it didn’t get out of hand the way it had the previous week. The second team actually outscored the first—which made Coach Johnston’s announcement that everyone would play the next day look very smart.

  Jeff felt good about the day. The more he played—or practiced—the more confident he became, especially with the ball. And as a defender, he was getting better at reading the moves of an attacking player. At one point, Arlow came in on him one-on-one and when he tried to make a fake, Jeff stood his ground, took the ball off Arlow’s foot, and started upfield with the ball.

  He did glance over his shoulder to see if Arlow was going to try to knock him down from behind, but Arlow was just standing still, hands on hips. Jeff quickly passed the ball to Zack Roth, who sent a high looping pass to Andi. She controlled the ball with one touch, found Mike Craig open in the box, and he easily put it between the unguarded pylons.

  It all really felt good.

  When they were finished, everyone hot and sweaty because it was still humid, Coach J was almost smiling.

  “I liked the hustle today,” he said. “Play like that tomorrow and we’ll be okay.”

  He nodded at his colleague. “Coach C is going to give each of you a consent form that one of your parents or guardians has to sign.” He went over departure and pickup times. “Any questions?” he asked.

  Jeff had one. “Coach, will we need a different consent form for every road game, or is this one good for all of them?”

  “Good question, Michaels,” Coach J said—surprising him. “You’ll need a different one for each road game. We’ll have them for you at practice the day before each game.”

  Coach C handed out the consent forms, and they headed for the locker rooms. Jeff fell into step with Andi.

  “Looks like somebody is rethinking things a little,” he said.

  She gave him her dazzling smile. “Maybe,” she said. “Did you see the story online yesterday in the Washington Herald?”

  Jeff had no reason to even think to look online for anything in the Washington Herald. He shook his head.

  “They ran a piece saying that Coach J admitted that he would think about reconsidering how much he let me play. Quoted him on it.”

  That, Jeff thought, would explain Coach J’s comments today.

  Andi stopped and looked at him. “Think about where I was a week ago—not even on the team. Then your dad did the story and others followed—including Stevie Thomas. Now I may get to really play tomorrow. It all started with you.”

  She gave him a quick hug, then turned and jogged in the direction of the girls’ locker room.

  Jeff stood there, staring after her. He had a feeling he had a stupid grin on his face, and he was vaguely aware of a couple of the other guys hooting at him.

  “Way to go, lover boy,” Danny Diskin said with a huge smile.

  Jeff didn’t care. All he knew was that Andi wasn’t the only one who had come a long way in the last week.

  * * *

  It was raining Tuesday when they got on the bus—a steady, all-day kind of rain. There was no thunder or lightning, which meant they’d play the game unless the field was too soaking wet to play on.

  The only player in uniform as the bus lurched toward Ardmore was Andi. Apparently there was no available girls’ locker room near Ardmore’s soccer field, so she had changed at school.

  Jeff didn’t really want to go outside in the steady rain, and the field was already looking pretty muddy as they stretched and warmed up. He was hoping the coaches might get together and decide to postpone the game.

  No such luck.

  It was too wet to sit on the bench when the game started, so the Merion benchwarmers all stood as close to the sideline as they could.

  On the very first play of the game, one of Ardmore’s players made a move on Danny Diskin, who slipped and fell into the mud. He came up absolutely drenched as the Ardmore player went in one-on-one against goalie Bobby Woodward and punched a shot past him. Woodward’s unsuccessful dive at the ball left him just as muddy as Diskin.

  Ardmore’s 1–0 lead held up for a while after that. It was tough to get traction going in any direction—the goal scorer’s move being the exception—and the referee had to keep stopping the game to change to a new ball because the ones in play kept getting wet, heavy, and muddy.

  Midway through the first half, Jeff heard Coach J yell the word he’d been dreading. “Subs!”

  He was looking at all five of them. Coach C told them who they were going in for, and when the whistle blew they all jogged in.

  It took Jeff about thirty seconds to find himself sprawling in the mud. The same kid who had made Diskin look so bad did the same thing to him. He faked left and went right. Jeff tried to plant his foot to go to his left and went down in a sliding heap.

  Lying there, his first thought was that they were about to be down 2–0. But as the
kid sprinted in the direction of the goal, he saw Andi flying back from her forward position. She caught up with the Ardmore kid—only later did Jeff find out his name was Evan Collins—and, with a brave slide, swiped the ball away from him just as he crossed into the penalty area. That allowed Woodward to run up and scoop the ball into his arms before the attacker could recover.

  Jeff got to his feet and started to run toward Andi but she was already up.

  “Way to save the day,” Jeff hollered.

  “No worries,” she said. “Let’s get going here.”

  He realized she was right. Soccer was a fluid game. There were no huddles between plays. Woodward had already kicked the ball in the direction of midfield, and Andi was sprinting in that direction.

  Shut up and play, he told himself as the ball again skidded loose from players trying to get control of it.

  * * *

  It was still 1–0 at halftime. The rain had let up a little, but it didn’t really matter, since everyone was soaked and the field was all but underwater. Not surprisingly, Coach J said the starters would all be back in to begin the second half but told the subs to “be ready at any moment.”

  Jeff had noticed that almost anytime the ball went near Andi, there had been two Ardmore players marking her. It occurred to him that if Coach J put her up front with Arlow instead of at midfield, it would be difficult for the defense to mark them both without extra help.

  Almost as if reading his mind, Coach J called for Andi, Jeff, and Allan Isidro about five minutes into the half.

  “Next whistle,” he said. “Carillo, tell Roth to move back to midfield. You’re up front.”

  Before the next whistle, though, Ardmore made it 2–0. Again, it was Collins. Fielding a deep pass from a midfielder, he dribbled around two defenders to the top of the penalty box and when Woodward came across to try to block his shot, he slid the ball to his left, to a wide-open teammate, who had a tap-in into the empty net.

  Jeff saw Coach J’s shoulders sag.

  “Okay, guys, go on in,” he said as he signaled the ref, and the three of them jogged onto the field.

  “Come on, Andi, get us going,” Jeff said as Andi took her spot next to Arlow. Roth had moved back to midfield wordlessly when Coach J had waved him in that direction.

  Diskin sidled over to Jeff as play was about to resume. “Now,” he muttered, “we’ve got our best team on the field.”

  “We’ll see,” Jeff said.

  The clock had just ticked under thirteen minutes left in the game.

  19

  Bringing Andi on did two things: it strengthened Merion’s midfield, because Roth was better than anyone else playing there, and gave the Mustangs two legitimate scorers up front.

  Still, it wasn’t going to be easy to rally. With a two-goal lead, Ardmore was playing conservatively, content to kick the ball deep whenever possible and force Merion to go the length of the field to get into scoring position. Even then, there were always at least six defenders back.

  It was Jeff—much to his surprise—who started the play that began to turn the game in Merion’s favor. He had noticed that Ardmore’s midfielders were content to kill time by moving the ball across the center line, then turning and passing it back to one of their strong-legged defenders. He’d clear the ball deep in the direction of the Merion goal as soon as any Merion player ran toward him.

  Jeff was playing defense but kept inching forward, since Ardmore wasn’t really trying to score. He knew this was a gamble because if an Ardmore midfielder noticed him and passed the ball in Collins’s direction, he’d be out of position.

  Still, with fewer than eight minutes to play, there wasn’t much to lose.

  And so, when one of the Ardmore midfielders crossed into Merion territory and turned to pass the ball backward, Jeff was already on the move. Knowing he was way out of position, he darted between the midfielder and the defender and cleanly stole the ball. He had a running start and was past the stunned defender in an instant. Seeing him, both Andi—on his left—and Arlow—on his right—began running in the direction of the goal.

  Jeff’s quick move had put him beyond all but two of the Ardmore defenders. He kept dribbling the ball as quickly as he could, waiting to see which defender would come at him.

  It was the one who was marking Andi. Jeff acted for a split second like he was going to go right and pass to Arlow, then slipped the ball to Andi as she closed on the goal from the left. She was about to be one-on-one with the goalie when the other defender left Arlow and sprang at her.

  Andi had drawn her left foot back to shoot, but when she saw the defender make his move, she regained control of the ball, dribbled it for one more instant and then, at the last possible second, slid it across to Arlow, who stopped it with his foot and in one quick motion booted it past the goalie into the upper-left-hand corner of the net. It was a goal worthy of ESPN’s nightly top ten highlights. Or so Jeff thought.

  Andi’s ability to control the ball even as she was about to shoot was remarkable. Arlow’s quickness in gathering and shooting was, too.

  Arlow threw his arms in the air to celebrate and ran in the direction of the Merion bench yelling, “Come on now, let’s win this thing!”

  He didn’t acknowledge Jeff or Andi. That was okay with Jeff. Andi ran at him and gave him a high five.

  “Great steal—great pass!” she yelled.

  “You too!” he said. “You put the ball right on Arlow’s foot!”

  They were both panting with excitement. Roth and Craig came up from behind.

  “Hey,” Roth said. “You guys just gave us a chance!”

  “Tell Arlow that,” Jeff said.

  “I will,” Roth said. “Later. For now, let’s tie this thing up.”

  * * *

  With just over a minute to go, they still trailed, 2–1.

  Ardmore had changed tactics after Arlow’s goal—smartly choosing to attack and keep Merion bottled up rather than make a mistake playing conservatively, the way they had earlier.

  Unlike in professional soccer, where only the referee knows exactly how much time is left in the game because he is allowed to add seconds or minutes for injury time, everyone could see the scoreboard clock. There was no injury time. When the clock hit:00 the game would be over.

  Ardmore had just hammered a long shot over Merion’s goal, and Jeff could see the clock had just ticked under a minute.

  With Ardmore’s strikers back near midfield to cut off any attempt at a long kick from Woodward, Jeff was alone near his goalie, who rolled the ball to him and urgently screamed, “Go, Jeff, go!”

  Fifty-five, fifty-four.

  Jeff was unchallenged until he approached midfield. He looked to his right and saw Roth, who was the team’s best ball handler. He slipped a pass to Roth, who came back to him to make sure no one from Ardmore would get in between them.

  Roth took off down the right side, angling toward the sideline because Ardmore was bunching its players in the middle of the field, content to let Roth run wide and kill time.

  Thirty-seven, thirty-six …

  As Roth started to approach the goal area, Ardmore’s defenders began to cut him off as he moved more to the inside for a better angle. With almost everyone in the middle of the field, Roth stopped suddenly and kicked the ball as hard as he could to the far left, where Andi came to meet the ball.

  Arlow was cutting in the direction of the goal, his arm up, screaming, “Carillo, Carillo, here!” He had two players marking him and the goalie leaning in his direction.

  Twenty-two, twenty-one …

  Andi looked at Arlow and made a motion as if to kick the ball to him, then sent a no-look pass backward to Craig, who had moved up into the play with Jeff on his right.

  Fifteen, fourteen …

  The defenders tried to swarm Craig, but he coolly dribbled right as if trying to line up a shot or get the ball to Arlow and then knocked a quick pass back to Andi, who had now cut into the penalty area. Her defenders had le
aned away from her for just an instant, thinking the ball was going to Arlow.

  Six, five …

  Craig’s pass hit her in stride and, in one fluid motion, she slammed a shot to the goalie’s right. He had been leaning left, thinking Craig would either shoot or try to find Arlow. He dived back, but it was too late.

  The ball whooshed by him into the net.

  Two, one …

  The buzzer sounded, with the referee pointing at the net to indicate a goal had been scored. The Ardmore kids argued briefly that the goal had come after the buzzer, but it was useless—the goal was clearly good.

  Everyone on the field in a blue-and-gold uniform charged at Andi.

  “What a shot!” Jeff heard Roth say as a celebratory scrum formed around Andi.

  “What a pass!” Andi said, pointing at Craig, who was leaning in for a giant hug.

  The bench emptied, the five guys not playing coming to join the celebration. Arlow waited for the pandemonium to calm a little before he leaned in to Andi, patted her on the shoulder, and said, “Nice one, Carillo. Really nice.”

  Coach C had come to join the celebration and was giving everyone pats on the head. Jeff looked for Coach J. He was at midfield, shaking hands with the Ardmore coach.

  Danny Diskin was looking in that direction, too.

  “Wonder if he’s happy,” Jeff said.

  “Well,” Diskin said, “it was just a tie.”

  He was right—of course. But at that moment, it felt like a huge victory.

  20

  Andi couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so happy. Scoring the tying goal was great, but the reaction of her teammates was greater.

  Even guys she knew hadn’t wanted her on the team were mobbing her.

  She knew it had to kill Ron Arlow that neither Roth nor Craig had opted to pass the ball to him in those final seconds. But, as the result proved, it had been the right play: She had space, and he didn’t. What made her feel good was that they’d had the confidence to get the ball to her with the game on the line.