His mom was going to meet him there just before kickoff. Jeff left early with his dad to hang out in the press box, just as they had done in September.
They had gotten something to eat and were looking for a table when they heard a voice calling their names: “Tom, Jeff—over here.”
Jeff saw Ray Didinger standing up at a back table waving at them. Michael Barkann was sitting at the table, too, and so was a third person Jeff didn’t recognize.
“Mike Vaccaro from the New York Post,” Didinger said, introducing Jeff as he and his dad walked over. “Tom, I assume you know Mike.”
“Of course I do,” Tom Michaels said. “We sat together at the Army-Navy game here a couple of times.”
“Best event in sports,” Vaccaro said, smiling. “But Ray and Mike were telling me you were involved in a pretty good story of your own this fall, Jeff.”
“How’s the season turning out, Jeff?” Didinger asked. “Do I need to come and do a follow up?”
“Easy, Ray, I’ve got dibs on the story now,” Jeff’s dad said. “Matter of fact, if the team wins its next two games, it’ll win the conference. And Andi and Jeff have both become starters and played a key role.”
“All thanks to NBC Sports–Philadelphia,” Barkann said.
“I’m sorry,” Didinger said, “but who wrote the first column?”
They all laughed. Didinger turned serious. “Actually, if you guys play for the title, that might be worth a follow up. The first column got more clicks than any non-Eagles story we’ve had all fall.”
Barkann turned to Tom Michaels. “Us too, Tom?” he said.
“It’s a Friday, which means high school football,” Tom Michaels said. “Might be a tough sell with staffing.”
Barkann waved a “forget it” hand in his direction.
“Playoffs don’t start in football for two weeks. I’m assuming the game’s in the afternoon. We can get a crew there, turn the piece around, and if we need to get someone to a specific game that night, we can do it.”
“The game’s definitely in the afternoon,” Jeff said. “We don’t exactly have lights on our field.”
“Not quite the Linc?’” Barkann said.
“Is it at your place?” Didinger asked.
Jeff nodded. “We play at McKinley on Tuesday, then home to King of Prussia–North. They’re five, oh, and one, we’re four, one, and one. So if we both win Tuesday—and they’re playing the worst team in the league—we would have to beat them Friday to tie.”
“But Merion would have the tiebreaker because of winning head-to-head,” his dad added.
“Sounds pretty dramatic,” Didinger said. “If you guys win Tuesday, let me know. I’ll be there Friday.”
“Us too,” Barkann said.
“You in charge of the assignment desk now?” Jeff’s dad asked the TV host.
“Yup. I just now put myself in charge,” Barkann said. “Any objections?”
“None here,” the reporter said with a wide grin.
“Tell you what,” Vaccaro said. “If you guys win Tuesday, I’ll come down on the train from New York. It sounds like fun, and it’s a talkie.”
Jeff’s eyes went wide. “You know that term, too?” he said. “I thought Mr. Didinger and my dad were the only ones old enough to know it.”
“Hey,” Didinger said. “Just because I was there when Franklin Field opened doesn’t mean I’m old.”
Franklin Field was the football stadium at the University of Pennsylvania. The Eagles had once played home games there years and years ago.
“Isn’t Franklin Field like a hundred years old?” Jeff asked. He had gone to a couple of games there with his dad. It was definitely old.
“Opened in 1895,” Didinger said. “But I was not there.”
Everyone laughed. All Jeff could think about was how cool it would be to beat McKinley and play KP–North for the conference championship. They would worry about what Carrie O’Shea had told Andi on Friday when the time came.
37
Practice on Monday wasn’t very long. They had now been playing together—including tryouts—for almost two months and were full of self-confidence.
As Andi engaged in a passing drill with her fellow forwards, Ron Arlow and Mike Craig, she couldn’t help but think how fast the season had gone, especially considering how much had changed from mid-September to late October.
That included the weather. Coach J warned them after practice that the predicted high for Tuesday was fifty degrees and there was a good chance it would be accompanied by a cold rain at some point in the afternoon.
“Put on a warm layer under your uniforms,” he said. “Not too much, you don’t want to be weighed down, but an extra T-shirt or even two might be a good idea.”
It wasn’t raining when they got on the bus for the ride up to McKinley, but a cold wind was whipping around.
Andi was glad she had heeded Coach J’s advice and dressed warmly.
“My dad says once the game starts, we won’t notice the cold,” Jeff said. “You get some adrenaline going, you forget about it.”
“I hope he’s right,” Andi said. She was thinking she’d rather stay in the locker room during warm-ups to wait until the last possible second to go back outside.
McKinley was smack in the middle of the conference standings with a 3–3 record. They had lost to the three teams ahead of them—other than Merion obviously—and beaten the three teams behind them. So it was hard to know what to expect.
When the game started, Andi kept waiting for the adrenaline Jeff had talked about to kick in so she would warm up. It wasn’t happening. By the ten-minute mark, she was literally shivering. And then it started to rain. Just what we need, she thought.
Both teams played as if all they wanted to do was get back inside. The game was sloppy and there were few scoring chances in the first half. The more it rained, the muddier the field became and the harder it got to cut and move, not to mention control the wet ball, which seemed to get heavier by the second.
It was scoreless at halftime, and both head coaches opted to take their teams in to the locker room to warm up a little, Andi included.
“I know it’s tough out there,” Coach Johnston told his team. “But it’s just as tough for them. You have to forget the weather. There will be plenty of time to be warm and dry after we win the game.”
Easier said than done.
The rain continued in the second half, cold, steady, and drenching. No matter how often the referee brought a new, dry ball into play it quickly became slippery and heavy.
Coach J kept changing the lineup, bringing fresh players in to try to give his team a boost. The McKinley coach did the same. When Andi came out for her mandatory five minutes, Coach C told her not to sit on the bench but to keep moving to try to stay warm.
There was only one way to get warm: Go inside. That wasn’t an option.
McKinley actually had the best scoring chance when Danny Diskin fell down in pursuit of a loose ball and one of their midfielders took off on a run all the way into the penalty box. He drew the defense to him, then slid the ball to the kid who was clearly McKinley’s best player—a very tall striker who scared Andi whenever he touched the ball.
Now, he had a clear shot at Bobby Woodward, and Andi cringed as he lined up the shot. But the wet ball squirted off the side of his foot and rolled harmlessly wide of the goal. Everyone on the Merion side exhaled.
It was still 0–0 with the clock ticking under five minutes, and Andi was thinking the whole season was about to be wiped out by the rain, the cold, and the mud.
And then, luck intervened. Ron Arlow had rifled a long shot that had gone over the goal. That gave McKinley’s keeper a goal kick, and everyone dropped back, anticipating a long boot.
This time, though, as he made his run to the ball, his left foot slipped and instead of hitting the ball solidly, he kicked it off the side of his foot. The ball rolled to his right, in the direction of Andi and one of the McKinley defende
rs, both of whom had been expecting the ball to fly to the midfield area.
The McKinley kid, who had marked Andi all over the field throughout the game, had turned his head as the goalie approached the ball. Andi hadn’t, remembering something she had read once in a book about Johan Cruyff, who had been a huge star for the Dutch national team years ago.
“Never assume anything in football,” Cruyff had said. “Never take your eye off the ball.”
Which was why Andi was looking right at the goalie when he kicked the ball and saw it coming right at her as it squibbed off his foot and the keeper ended up facedown in the mud.
Andi stopped it with her left foot, quickly transferred it to her right and then back to her left, and was running at the goal before her defender knew what had happened. The goalie had sprawled in the mud as he flubbed the kick.
He was trying desperately to scramble to his feet as Andi ran toward the net. He was too late. For a split second, Andi had been tempted to kick the ball from outside the penalty box with the goalie still trying to get up. But she remembered what had happened to the McKinley striker when he tried to line up an open shot minutes earlier.
Instead, she sprinted around the goalie as he was getting up and attempting to dive in her direction. Then, having gone around him, she got to within five yards of the goal and easily kicked the ball into the empty net.
The goalie, having only grabbed hold of empty air, lay with his face in the mud, pounding his fist in frustration. Andi had her arms in the air as much in surprise as celebration.
“That was the luckiest goal ever,” the goalie said as he pulled himself to his knees.
“Still counts, doesn’t it?”
Andi laughed. The comment had come from Arlow, who had raced in from behind and also had his arms in the air.
“I think you just saved the season,” Arlow said as he pounded her on the back, the rest of the team coming to join them.
“Lucky,” Andi said.
Arlow grinned. “Like I told the guy,” he said. “Still counts.”
Merion killed the final four minutes, mostly playing keep-away when it got the ball. There was no need to attack, so they just kept the ball moving—backward as much as forward—to whomever was open.
When the clock hit zero, the teams wearily congratulated one another, covered in mud, shivering, but very happy—and relieved.
When Andi got to the goalie in the handshake line, she patted him on the shoulder and said, “You’re right. I was lucky.”
The goalie shook his head. “Like your buddy said, still counts,” he said, and gave her a pat in return.
Andi giggled at the comment. Ron Arlow her “buddy”? Who’d have thunk it?
What’s more, they were now going to play for the conference title on Friday. Who’d have thunk that?
38
Hal Johnston was sitting in traffic on the expressway heading to school on Wednesday morning when his phone rang.
It was a number he didn’t recognize, but it had a 610 area code—meaning it was someone calling from the Philadelphia suburbs—so he decided to take a chance and answer.
“Hello?” he said cautiously.
“Hal, Hal Johnston?” a voice said.
“Yes,” Hal said, still thinking it might be a salesman of some kind.
“Hal, it’s Tom Nussbaum. I’m your counterpart at King of Prussia–North. Well, sort of your counterpart. I coach the boys’ soccer team.”
Something in the way Nussbaum said boys put Hal on edge.
“Tom, what can I do for you?” he said, trying to keep his voice friendly.
“Actually, it’s something I can do for you,” Nussbaum said. “I think we both want Friday’s game to be hard-fought, clean and fair, and may the best team win.”
Something inside Hal told him this conversation wasn’t going to go well.
“Of course,” he said. “I would think that’s a given.”
“As far as I’m concerned it is,” Nussbaum said. “But there’s a potential problem, and I want to see if the grown-ups can work it out before something bad happens.”
“Problem?”
“The girl,” Nussbaum said.
He’d been right. “What about the girl?” Hal said, aware of the fact that his voice was rising.
“I’m like you, Hal, I think boys should play on teams with boys and girls should play on teams with girls.”
It was at that moment that it occurred to Hal Johnston that he really didn’t feel that way anymore. As much as it pained him to admit it—even to himself. Andi Carillo had proven herself as a player and a teammate, and could clearly compete with the boys in the league. Nussbaum’s comment suddenly felt wrong.
He decided not to voice his opinion … yet.
“And?” he said.
“My guys have had to play against girls three times already this season. Fortunately, I’ve been able to rein them in enough that no one’s gotten hurt—though there have been a couple of close calls.”
“Because you’ve reined them in,” Hal said skeptically.
“Yes,” Nussbaum said. “I told them they didn’t need to cut the girls any breaks, but I didn’t want any dirty play.”
“Uh-huh. So what’s this got to do with Friday?”
“We both know what’s at stake,” Nussbaum answered. “Winner gets to play for the league championship. Loser gets to go home. I’m not honestly sure I can promise nothing will happen to your girl…”
“Her name’s Andi, Andi Carillo,” Hal broke in, feeling some anger rising in his neck as he pulled off the exit ramp onto Route 1. “Coach, are you threatening me? Or my player?”
Nussbaum laughed humorlessly. “Threatening you? Come on, Hal, get serious. I’m going to threaten an eleven-year-old girl?”
“That’s what it sounded like to me.”
“Absolutely not. I pledge to you I’ll do everything I can—as I said earlier—to make sure my boys play a clean game. But you may have heard the old saying about boys being boys…”
“Let me tell you something, Nussbaum, if any of your players steps out of line with Andi, I’ll come after you long before the referee does anything.”
“Goodness, your tune has changed since September, hasn’t it, Hal? I’ll do what I can. That’s the best I can do.”
He hung up, leaving Hal spluttering at the phone. The guy had threatened one of his players.
He also realized the coach sounded a lot like he himself had sounded just a few weeks earlier. He was embarrassed.
He wheeled into the school parking lot and went straight up the stairs to the principal’s office. He needed the support and advice of Arthur L. Block.
* * *
Four hours later, Mr. Block and Hal Johnston sat in Mr. Block’s office with Andi Carillo and her parents.
After the coach had told the principal about his conversation with Coach Nussbaum, they had decided to ask Andi’s parents to come to school during lunch hour to discuss the situation. Hal Johnston knew Andi wouldn’t want her parents called in, but they really had no choice.
The coach was 99 percent convinced that neither the parents nor their child would be willing to even consider her not playing in the game. But he agreed when Block said, “Regardless, we have to make them aware of this and decide if there’s action to take prior to the game.”
Once Coach J had repeated what Nussbaum had said, Andi spoke—waving off her dad, who clearly wanted to respond.
“Hang on, Dad,” she said. “I know exactly what you want to say. Coach, we appreciate your concern. I was warned about this after last Friday’s game by…”
“Carrie O’Shea,” her father said, filling in the blank for his daughter.
“Right,” Andi continued. “She said she’d been treated very roughly on several occasions during her team’s game with King of Prussia and had also been subjected to all sorts of rude, sexist comments.”
“Andi, how do you feel about playing against these guys?” Coach Johnston a
sked—though he knew the answer.
“I can’t wait,” Andi said, eyes narrowing.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Question then is how do we proceed from here?”
“Well, the first thing I’m going to do is call my counterpart at KP–North,” Mr. Block said. “He’s new, and I’m guessing he knows little or nothing about this. Maybe he can have a talk with the coach.”
“Someone needs to apparently,” Andi’s mother said. “It almost sounds like the coach has put a bounty on Andi’s head. That can’t be tolerated.”
“We could go to the media, too,” Coach J said. “They’re already aware of Andi’s story.” He smiled, briefly, recognizing the irony of the comment. The media had been brought into the story because of his refusal to allow her to play on the team.
Andi was nodding as he spoke. “Jeff told me last night that his dad and Mr. Didinger and Mr. Barkann all talked about covering the game if we were playing for the championship,” she said.
“Is it possible we can get them to do something before the game?” Mr. Block said.
Andi’s dad was shaking his head. “I’m not a media expert, but I suspect, unless the KP–North coach actually admits on camera that he threatened Andi, there’s no way realistically to report the story.”
“What if I went on camera and said it?” Coach J suggested.
“There could be libel issues,” Andi’s mom said. “For them and for you. It’s dicey at best.”
Andi was confused by her mom’s comment. If what Coach Johnston said was true, how could it be libel? She knew that libel was saying something untrue about someone.
Her dad read her mind. “It would come down to Coach Johnston’s word against the other coach’s word,” he said, looking at her. “Since Tom Michaels has a son playing on our team and works with Ray Didinger and Michael Barkann, they could claim bias.”
Mr. Block stood up. “For now, I’ll call Keith Buckman at KP–North, and let’s be sure the media is at the game Friday. At the very least, you would hope they’ll think twice about doing anything with cameras rolling.”
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