Football Champ (11 page)

“
I GUESS WE MIGHT
as well see how bad the damage really is,” Seth said, settling back into his seat.

As the game got under way, the announcers made an occasional reference to the Falcons “scandal” and how they’d be exploring the story during halftime. That’s as much as they said, though, so Troy, Seth, and Tessa got quieter and more uncomfortable as the game slowly crept toward its midpoint. Troy needed to use the bathroom, but he didn’t want to move.

When halftime finally came, the walls seemed to have closed in on them and Troy couldn’t wait to use the bathroom any longer. He jumped out of his seat at the sight of a commercial. By the time he got back, Seth and his mom were sitting on the edges of their seats,
their mouths hanging open, their eyes wide, staring at the TV.

The announcer finished saying something Troy didn’t catch, he only heard Seth’s name. Then, filling the television screen, appeared the face of Brent Peele.

“Joining us now from Atlanta,” the announcer said, “is Mr. Brent Peele, investigative reporter for the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
and the writer breaking the story of how the Falcons’ recent playoff run may involve not only cheating but steroid use.”

“Also joining us from Atlanta,” the announcer said as the screen split, showing the face of another guest beside Peele, “is Doctor Clive Gumble.”

Troy’s mom glanced at Seth and said, “Oh my God.”

TROY COULDN’T MOVE. HE
simply stood there, watching the men on the TV as they talked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Troy realized that it wasn’t just for him that the image of Seth Halloway was being destroyed. The entire country watched
Monday Night Football
. Fans of Seth Halloway, fans of the Falcons, fans of the very game itself would be feeling the same sickening knot in their stomach as Troy was feeling now.

At one point, the announcer asked, “Mr. Peele, how surprised are you that a player with a reputation like Seth Halloway’s might be involved in something like this?”

“I’m not surprised at all,” Peele said. “I’ve always known a different side of Seth Halloway. I actually used to play football myself with Halloway at Marist, until
he hit me with a cheap shot that ended my career. Also, I remembered from my days at Marist that Seth Halloway actually admitted to using steroids in college.”

“
Admitted
it?” the announcer asked, obviously shocked.

“That’s right,” Peele said. “Even though most NFL fans don’t know it, Halloway admitted using steroids in an interview with the
Poughkeepsie Journal
in 1997.”

“An admitted juicer,” the announcer said, shaking his head. “Dr. Gumble? Is it true that you’ve given Seth Halloway steroid injections?”

“I’m not proud of what I’ve done,” Gumble said, looking sad, “but I fell on hard times and Seth Halloway paid me a lot of money to give him those injections.”

When Peele and Gumble had finished smearing Seth and branding him a cheater and a drug user, the NFL commissioner appeared from a studio in New York.

“The NFL takes all such accusations very seriously,” Commissioner Roger Goodell said. “We have already begun investigating allegations into the Falcons’ improper use of electronic equipment and computers to steal signals from other teams, and we will, of course, expand that investigation now to see what truth there may be to the allegations of steroid use.”

When asked just how serious the league was about the allegations, the commissioner furrowed his eyebrows, stared into the camera, and said, “Serious
enough for me to get on an airplane for Atlanta first thing tomorrow morning.”

The announcer thanked the commissioner, and the TV went to another commercial. Troy’s mom raised the remote and flicked off the television. For the second time that night, Troy heard the tick of the clock on the wall as if it were a time bomb.

“Seth?” Troy’s mother finally said.

Seth sat next to her on the couch, bent forward with his head down. Troy’s mom said his name again, this time in a disappointed whisper, and he looked up slowly.

“In college?” she asked.

Seth laughed abruptly, shook his head, and said, “I had knee surgery. I got a staph infection, and they gave me steroids to help the swelling and the infection. That’s it. That’s my steroid use. It was completely medical, not for getting stronger.”

“But the way Peele made it sound…” Troy’s mom said.

“What?” Seth asked, struggling to his feet. “You’re not telling me you believe them? That piece of trash Peele and that quack Gumble?”

Troy’s mom put her fingertips to her closed mouth and looked as if she might cry. “Of course not.”

Troy couldn’t help the way he looked at Seth. He couldn’t help wondering if Seth hadn’t lied.

“But you said you
never
took them,” Troy said, the words gushing from his mouth without him even thinking.

Seth wheeled on him, a look of surprise on his face as if he hadn’t known Troy was in the room.

His voice came out eerily calm. “I told you, Troy. I never used them. I meant used them for strength training, for cheating. When you get them from a doctor after surgery, that’s not cheating. That’s medicine. People do that all the time. They’re twisting this thing, twisting the truth, same as Peele did with you.”

“We’ve got to tell people,” Troy’s mom said.

“And we will,” Seth said. “We’ll do our best, but you know as well as I do that sometimes the truth doesn’t matter.”

“I thought the truth always comes out,” Troy said.

“Not always,” Seth said. “Not with the media, and sometimes, even when it does finally come out, it’s too late. The damage is done.”

“You mean your career?” Troy asked.

“Maybe that,” Seth said, nodding, “but I was thinking about my reputation.”

“But if you’re innocent?” Troy’s mom said.

“You’d think that matters,” Seth said, “but it doesn’t. I took this psychology class in college once. They found that when people heard something outrageous, even after they later knew it to be false, when you asked them a few years later? The outrageous lie is what they
remembered as the truth. The damage Peele’s doing to me is permanent.

“But that doesn’t mean we’re not going to fight this. I’ll do what I can with the Falcons and the league, and if Rusty’s dad can get the parents together tomorrow night and get me back as your coach, then we’ll fight for that, too.”

BY TUESDAY AFTERNOON, RUSTY’S
dad had contacted the parents of every Duluth Tigers team member as well as the entire Duluth Junior Football League board of directors and had given them his lawyerly pitch about Seth being innocent until
proven
guilty. The president, Mr. Flee, had agreed that the best thing for everyone would be to meet immediately before practice that night and decide by vote, once and for all, just who would coach the Tigers in Saturday’s state championship game.

As they pulled to a stop in the parking lot, riding high in Seth’s H2, Troy could see, standing in the middle of the group of adults who had gathered by the bleachers, not only Jamie Renfro and his dad, looking
mean, but, right beside them, Brent Peele.

“Seth,” Troy said, pointing.

“I know,” Seth said, his face grim as he climbed out of the truck. “Come on. Let’s go do this.”

THE SHADOWS HAD DEEPENED
to pools of black, but a warmer-than-normal day left the air pleasant, even though the field’s lights had already been turned on so they could practice into the twilight. Nearly a hundred people crowded around the bleachers. Mr. Flee stood next to Rusty’s dad and held up his hands for everyone to be quiet, asking them all to take a seat in the bleachers. The league president wore a gray suit, again with a crisp white shirt, and a brilliant yellow tie. The flap of hair that covered his shiny head lifted on the twilight breeze and waved like a small flag, but no one was in the mood to laugh.

“We all know why we’re here,” Flee said, flattening the hair back down on his scalp, “and I want to thank Mr. Howell for looking into this so we can work it out
without lawsuits or anything crazy like that. What the board has decided to do is to let both coaches say what they have to say and then take a vote. And we’re hopeful that whoever we decide on as coach, the entire team will play in the game on Saturday. This is the first time a Duluth team has made it to the state championship, and it would be a shame if the team didn’t have the full squad to compete.”

“You tell
him
that!” Jamie Renfro’s father yelled, jumping up from his seat in the front row and pointing at Seth, who sat on the other end of the bleachers with Troy and his mom. “He’s the one who made half the team quit!”

Seth jumped up, too, and said, “That’s a lie!”

“You calling me a liar?” Renfro shouted.

“If the shoe fits!” Seth said.

“STOP IT!”

Everyone froze. Standing beside Mr. Flee and Mr. Howell was Tate’s mom, Mrs. McGreer, a short, stout woman with a red face and a concrete scowl. She kept her hair in a big tight bun and could quote passages from the Bible with more force and ease than a Sunday-morning TV preacher.

“We
will
have a debate,” Mrs. McGreer said, “and then we
will
have a vote. I’ve got a prayer meeting to attend to, and I’m sure the rest of us have things to do, too. ‘The bread of deceit is sweet to a man, but afterward his mouth shall be filled with gravel.’ Proverbs
20:17. So let’s hear both sides—without interruptions—and make up our minds. And don’t you give
me
a dirty look, Mr. Renfro. I’m not one of your players, and I’m not afraid of you. I don’t give a shiitake mushroom about your dirty looks.”

Mrs. McGreer never swore, but she always got her point across as if she cursed like a rapper, and when she did, Troy—like every other kid around—couldn’t help giggling, no matter how serious the situation. Mrs. McGreer followed up her shiitake mushroom comment by planting her fists on her hips and taking a step toward Coach Renfro, who immediately sat back down. Seth sat down, too.

Mrs. McGreer turned to Mr. Flee, handed him a quarter from her purse, and said, “I suggest we flip a coin to decide who goes first.”

Flee took the coin, nodded, and said, “Heads, Seth Halloway goes first; tails, it’s Coach Renfro.”

Flee flipped the coin. “Tails. Coach Renfro, you have five minutes to speak.”

Coach Renfro got up. He was wearing tight blue coaching shorts, a white cap, and a big gray Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt that partially disguised his beer belly. A silver whistle dangled from his neck.

“I only got a couple things to say,” Coach Renfro began, grumbling. “Then I’m gonna let someone else use what time I got left to let you all know a couple things about Mr. Seth Halloway that’ll make you want
me to be your kids’ coach even more.”

Coach Renfro hitched up his snug shorts and said, “First off, Halloway is an admitted steroid user. We all know that now, and that’s not the kind of person who should be coaching our kids. Second, I coached this team all season until Seth Halloway jumped in and stole it out from under me.”

A murmur went up through the crowd, some agreeing with Coach Renfro, some definitely not.

“I know I’m no big-shot NFL player,” Coach Renfro said. “In a way, that’s not so good, but in another way it’s real good. I’m a father, just like all of you, and I’m a respectable person whose face isn’t plastered all over the papers because I’m some juicer.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Troy saw his mom stiffen. A growl crept up out of Seth’s throat like a mad dog’s, but Troy’s mom gripped his hand and Seth kept his seat.

“So I should be the coach for this game,” Coach Renfro said with a curt nod. “And you should listen to what Mr. Peele here has to say before you think about what’s right and what’s best for these kids.”

Peele jumped out of his seat and Coach Renfro sat down, folding his arms across his chest with great satisfaction.

“I’ve known Seth Halloway for fifteen years,” Peele said, looking around at everyone but Seth, Troy, and his mom. “And I know the truth about him. Most of you
have read the truth in my newspaper: He’s not the hero people used to think he was. Instead of being someone our kids can look up to, Seth Halloway has become a symbol of what’s wrong in sports, of trying to win at all costs, even if it means cheating.”

Seth’s leg shook and he leaned forward in his seat. He gritted his teeth and his jaw muscles rippled. Troy’s mom locked her arm through his elbow to hold him back.

“Drug use happens in sports,” Peele said, frowning. “It’s unfortunate, but it’s true. What would be even worse, though, is if this group of parents allowed these young athletes to think that it’s okay, that you can use something like steroids and get away with it. If you don’t vote for Coach Renfro to coach this team, I’m afraid of what your own kids might do as they grow up into high school athletes. As many as six hundred thousand high school kids in this country today use steroids. I think you’re all decent people, and if you use your instincts, I know you’re going to want to protect these kids.”

Peele sat down, and Flee nodded at Seth. Troy’s mom let go of his arm and Seth stood up, walking to the middle of the bleachers before turning to face the crowd.

“
FIRST THINGS FIRST
,”
SETH
said. “I have never used steroids illegally and I never will. This…”

Seth stabbed a finger at Peele so hard the reporter flinched.

“…person, I guess I have to call him,” Seth said, “even though he’s a lying
rat
, is trying to ruin my NFL career. Why, you might ask? Because of something that happened between us a long time ago that’s got nothing to do with any of this, and also I guess it’s because I’m doing something he always wanted to do but never could. Either way, I am taking a test tomorrow that will show everyone I am completely clean. That
will
happen and my name
will
be cleared. In the meantime, if we’re going to win Saturday, I’ve got to get these kids practicing.”

“Maybe you’re clean
now
,” Peele said. “Maybe it’s out of your system.”

“That’s enough!” Mrs. McGreer said, jumping up and sticking her face into Peele’s personal space. “He let you have your say; now you’ll let him have his!”

Mrs. McGreer popped back into her seat as quickly as she had popped up. She smoothed her skirt and nodded at Seth.

“If I’m not cleared by Friday,” Seth said, “if they don’t say I’m
totally
clean—which I am—then I’ll resign and Renfro can coach this team on Saturday. He can use my plays and my playbook, the same one that got them to the championship. You can’t ask for better than that.”

Seth stopped talking and looked at Troy, offering up a wink. Troy gave Seth a thumbs-up. His mom put a hand on Troy’s knee and squeezed.

“Finally,” Seth said, “Mr. Renfro quit on this team.”

“Not true!” Coach Renfro screamed.

“Sit
down
,” Tate’s mom hollered, swinging her purse and clumping Coach Renfro in the butt with it.

Coach Renfro glared at her, rubbing his backside, but sat down when he saw the rest of the parents scowling at him and shaking their heads.

“It’s true,” Seth said. “That’s how I ended up coaching these kids in the first place. He was going to forfeit the last game because some parents had complained about his coaching tactics and the team looked like it was out of the playoffs, so he quit. When I took the job,
I had no idea that we’d get into the playoffs. No one did. But here we are, and not because of Mr. Renfro. He even gave our playbook to the Dunwoody Dragons, hoping they’d knock us out of the playoffs. Heck, the only thing he knows less about than football is kids. You think this team would have won these past weeks without Troy at quarterback?”

Troy’s face heated up and he looked down at his football cleats, scuffing them against the dirt.

“We couldn’t have won without him,” Seth said. “And this team can’t win without him Saturday, either. So let’s get this vote done and get going so we can run some plays together before it gets too late.”

Seth sat down, and Mr. Flee passed out ballots on small squares of green paper.

“We have thirty-eight kids on the team,” Mr. Flee said, “and I’ve got a ballot for each kid’s parents. There’s only one vote for each player, so you parents will have to decide together on how your family wants to vote. The one requirement we have for your vote is that you agree your child will play in Saturday’s game no matter what the result. So, if you vote, your kid plays. No exceptions.”

Some of the parents talked in urgent whispers among themselves, but most checked a name without saying a thing, folded the paper, and dropped it into the box Mr. Flee carried through the stands.

Troy’s mom checked Seth’s name on her ballot and
held it up in front of Troy’s face.

“You okay with this?” she asked. “If we vote, you play, even if Coach Renfro wins.”

Troy glanced over and saw Jamie Renfro sneering at him. He wondered how he could ever get through the next few days if he had to be Jamie’s backup. But the only thing worse than that would be if Seth lost the vote because Troy and Tate and even Nathan didn’t agree to play under Coach Renfro. Troy sneered right back at Jamie, then nodded to his mom as she dropped her ballot into the box.

Troy watched carefully as Flee unfolded the ballots one by one, sorting them out in different piles as he went. It amazed Troy that anyone could have voted for Coach Renfro until he realized that some people simply didn’t believe Seth. And as both stacks of green ballots grew, Troy knew that what Seth had said to his mom in the living room the night before was true: The damage from the newspaper would be permanent, whether Seth was proven innocent or not.

Finally, Mr. Flee counted each pile of ballots, then put them back into the box, looked up, and cleared his throat to speak.