First and Ten (6 page)

They reached school a couple of minutes before the first bell. Matt spied Phil at his locker. “You were here early today,” he called across the hall. “What for?”

“Hey, dude, that's strictly confidential football manager's business.” Phil smiled. “I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”

Matt laughed.

“Charlie had us all come in early today,” Phil explained. “He wanted to get the field lined and every piece of gear ready for the game, so that there won't be any delay getting you guys on the field this afternoon. The kid is ultraserious.”

Matt knew that was no exaggeration. Charlie Dougan took his managerial duties seriously. Matt had witnessed that during baseball season when Dougan had spent nearly every Saturday morning of the spring working with him on his hitting. Those hitting sessions had been a huge help to Matt, and he and Charlie had become good friends.

Phil seemed a lot more upbeat today than he had been Monday, but Matt still felt badly for him. They had been talking all summer about going out for football and it didn't seem fair that Phil suddenly had to shelve that dream.

“How is it being a manager, anyway?” Matt asked, a little awkwardly. “I mean, I was surprised that you volunteered.”

Phil explained that, on cut-down day, Coach Reynolds had asked him if he still wanted to be part of the team. One way to do that was to be a manager, the coach had said.

“At first, it seemed kind of lame,” Phil said. “But I thought about it and decided that I could learn a lot about football just by being around practice and maybe go out for the team again next year.”

That was typical Phil—always ready to dig in and do the dirty work. Matt respected the fact that his ego never seemed to get in the way. “Well, Charlie is the right guy to work with,” Matt said. “He'll probably end up in the Manager's Hall of Fame, or something.” They both laughed.

Matt had wondered whether the football cuts would come between him and Phil. He realized that he should have known better.

Like any game day, school dragged on for Matt. His Spanish quiz was first thing after advisory, and it went all right—he got ten out of fifteen—but the rest of the classes seemed to last forever. Finally, as the bell rang at 3:35 pm, it was time for football.

Matt stuffed his books into his locker and headed for the gym. About twenty players were already in the locker room, and a Billy Talent song was blaring out of Kyle James's portable stereo. In front of each player's stall, uniforms and equipment had been meticulously laid out by the half-dozen busy managers. It looked like a pro-football locker room. As he watched the players already pulling on their pads, football pants, socks and cleats, Matt imagined the team as a medieval army donning its armor before an epic battle.

Matt pulled the crisp white South Side jersey—with the word “Stingers” in maroon block lettering across the chest—over his shoulder pads. He felt absolutely huge in all the pads, the tight white football pants that covered his legs to just above the calves and the black three-quarter-cut cleats he and his mom had picked up on sale at South Vale Sports. He was pumped and felt invincible as he headed out of the locker room with his teammates for the pre-game warm-up.

There was almost an hour until the 5:00 pm kickoff. Kyle James led the entire white-clad South Side team in a couple of laps around the track that ringed the field, followed by a series of calisthenics, before they broke out the footballs. Matt looked across the turf at the visiting North Vale Nuggets. They appeared gigantic in their black helmets and jerseys, with gold piping and lettering. They weren't actually any bigger than South Side, but their colors made them look larger and tougher.

Matt was surprised by how many people were already in the bleachers. There had to be five hundred fans, nearly packing the set of stands that lined the west side of the field. Matt saw his mom, sitting next to Phil's parents. It was cool the Wongs had come, he thought, since their son wasn't even going to play. At the right end of the stands, Matt noticed the large frame of Mr. Jackson, Ricky's dad, standing by the edge of the bleachers, studying the warm-up intently. A few feet past Mr. Jackson, Matt saw his own father, leaning casually against the chain-link fence. Suddenly he felt more nervous than he had before any game in his life.

Coach Reynolds and his assistants rounded up the South Side players and steered them back into the locker room for their pre-game talk. The forty kids filled every spot on the locker room benches, and several players, including Matt, took to one knee on the floor as the coach stood before them.

“Okay, boys,” Coach Reynolds began seriously. “This is what we've been practicing for. This is what all the hard work is about. North Vale is going to be a good test for us. All I ask is that you give me every ounce of effort you've got. That's always going to be good enough for me, all right?”

Helmets bobbed up and down. Nobody said a word. The coach continued.

“Now, let's go out there and play some Stingers football!”

The players roared and met in the middle of the floor, their arms extended. “Who are we?” Kyle James yelled.

“We're the Stingers!” his teammates answered back in a collective shout.

“Where are we going?” James screamed.

“All the way!” came the reply.

The team charged out of the locker room door and toward a large rectangular wooden frame that some South Side students had constructed in shop class. Across the opening was a paper banner with the painting of a huge hornet, the Stingers' mascot, on the side facing the crowd. Kyle James led the charge as the Stingers broke through the paper banner, forty players strong. The home crowd erupted.

Matt had never felt so pumped up before any game in any sport. It was kind of weird, since he wasn't likely to get much playing time today. He was penciled in second, behind Nate Brown, in the lone wide receiver's spot on offense. Brown, a senior, would get most of the playing time and the majority of the passes today, he realized.

Still, Matt found himself on the field to begin the game as South Side kicked off to the visitors. He was part of the kick coverage team, so at least he would get a chance to run down the field and shake some of the jitters early on. The official blew his whistle, and Ricky Jackson laid his boot into the ball, sending it on a high arc down to the twenty-five-yard line, where the North Vale return man caught it and spun toward the sidelines. It hadn't been a great boot. Ricky Jackson had been handling kicking duties as well as backing up Kyle James at quarterback, but he wasn't nearly as strong with his leg as he was with his right arm. Jackson could certainly punt but was weaker on field goals and kickoffs.

The North Vale return man didn't get far, however. Matt and Ron Evans both descended upon him at the thirty-five-yard line, Matt wrapping his arms around the Nugget player's waist and Evans taking his legs. It was a terrific hit to start the ball game. The crowd roared, and Matt came off the field feeling as alive as he could ever remember.

That play seemed to set the tone for the game too. North Vale was simply no match for the Stingers. Kyle James used a combination of deft handoffs and short accurate passes to pick apart the Nuggets' defense, with Nate Brown on the receiving end of most throws. Meanwhile, the Evans twins anchored the South Side defense, attacking ball carriers and pass receivers with redheaded abandon.

By halftime it was 28–7 for South Side. At the end of three quarters, the Stingers led 35–7. Coach Reynolds began emptying his bench. “Jackson, take over for James at quarterback,” he barked. “Hill, go in for Brown at receiver.”

Matt had expected Jackson to get some quarterbacking time well before then. He had been looking good in practice, particularly with his ability to throw deep. Although he wasn't quite as experienced or patient as Kyle James, he certainly had a better arm. But James, a ninth-grader, was the starter. Coach Reynolds had made that perfectly clear to everybody from the beginning.

In the first huddle, Jackson turned to Matt. “We're going deep fly, twenty-five yards. Can you beat your man?” Matt nodded, but at the same time he honestly had no idea if he could beat his man. This was his first time on the field for an offensive series. The huddle broke and the teams went to the line. Jackson started the snap count, but his cadence was slightly different than James's, and center Steve Donnelly pulled up early. The referee threw a flag. It was an illegal procedure call.

Jackson glanced toward the sidelines. His father had thrown his maroon hat to the ground in disgust. People in the stands were staring at the large man warily.

“Let's try the same thing again,” Ricky said, turning to the huddle. “This time, on two. Everybody know the count?”

Heads nodded all around. This time, Donnelly did not pull up early. Jackson took the snap and dropped back. Meanwhile, Matt had fired off the line, getting a full step on his man. He reached the twenty-five-yard mark in about three seconds. The ball was headed his way, and it was a perfect throw. He reached up with his right hand. But as he shot up his left to gather in the pass, the football bounced away. He had dropped what should have been an easy catch. Matt glanced back at Jackson. The young quarterback wasn't even looking down the field, though. His eyes were glued to the sidelines where his father once again appeared furious.

Matt felt horrible, but not just for himself. He knew he would catch passes and drop passes during his football career—that simply went with the position of receiver. He felt badly for Jackson, who was clearly feeling the pressure from his father. The Stingers punted the ball, one of the few times all game that they hadn't scored. Matt and his offensive teammates returned to the sidelines.

By the time South Side got the ball back, it was mid-fourth quarter as North Vale had rallied against the Stingers' backup defense and scored a touchdown to make it 35–14. Jackson put his helmet on to return to the field, but Coach Reynolds stopped him. “Vickers is going in for this series,” he said.

Jackson was clearly disappointed. Keith Vickers was the third-strong quarterback and backup receiver. Jackson had gotten only one series and already Coach was pulling him for the third-stringer. As Matt headed out to the field, he couldn't help but feel responsible. After all, he had dropped a nice pass.

There was a sudden commotion on the sidelines. When Vickers came out to take the snap, Jackson's dad had turned his back and stomped away, slamming the chain-link gate as he left the area. A few people in the stands were snickering at him. Matt noticed his father standing nearby, calmly sipping on a coffee. He felt sorry for Ricky.

A few minutes later, the game was over. South Side had won 42–14, an easy victory. Matt had managed to catch one pass, a ten-yard out pattern that was part of a nice touchdown drive engineered by Keith Vickers. He had also dropped another ball when he heard a North Vale linebacker thundering up behind him. Matt knew that if he wanted to be a receiver he had to focus on the football and not worry about getting hit. But that was much easier said than done.

All in all, though, it had been a great start to the football season, both for South Side and for Matt. The locker room was upbeat, tunes cranked and players celebrating the big win. Coach Reynolds motioned to Kyle James to turn off the stereo.

“Nice game, guys,” the coach said, a bigger smile on his face than Matt had seen before. “I'm really pleased with most of what I saw today, and the things I wasn't pleased with we can work to correct. Most of all, I'm happy with the effort. It was a good win. Let's come back Monday and get ready for Central.”

The locker room din quickly rose again as Coach Reynolds made his way over to Ricky Jackson's stall. The coach motioned to Jackson to follow him into his office in the hallway, just off the locker room. Coach closed the door behind them.

“Wonder what's going on in there?” Ron Evans whispered, putting words to what just about everybody was thinking.

The conversation soon swung to other more pressing matters, such as who caught the most passes, which cheerleader was the best-looking and, inevitably, to the Central Wildcats next week. It would be a road game, the Stingers' first of the season, and it would be tough. Central was ranked number one in the league and in the entire region. South Side would get a major test in its next game.

Matt showered and dressed before heading out the locker room door. He had promised his mother he'd come right home so the two could go out for pizza and a movie. But he discovered he had a visitor waiting.

“Hi, Matt, nice game.” It was his father.

Once again, Matt felt awkward.

“Um, thanks,” he said, looking down. “I dropped a few I should have caught, but we kicked them pretty good.”

“You sure did,” his dad said, flashing a smile. “And I thought you did just great, especially for your first real football game. That opening tackle was terrific.”

Matt blushed. His father had obviously watched the game closely to know that he had been in on that tackle. It was the play that Matt had been most proud of today too.

“Anyway, I just thought I'd come and say hello,” his father said. “I know you and your mom are busy tonight. But I'll call you and maybe we can get together this week sometime. How does that sound?”

“Sure,” Matt said. “That sounds good.”

His father waved as he headed toward his black suv parked on Anderson, just outside the school lot. It still felt strange to Matt, this idea of having a dad in his life. Strange, but at the same time, kind of nice too.

chapter nine

The first thing Matt noticed the next morning was how sore his body felt. It was the difference between practicing and having played full speed in the game the previous afternoon. Everything was just one more notch up on the intensity scale, including the day-after stiffness he was now experiencing.