November Blues (18 page)

THE TEAM ARRIVED AT THE RITZ-CARLTON
Hotel in downtown Cleveland about seven o'clock on Friday night. After five hours on a Greyhound bus, Jericho was glad to stretch his legs. He walked around the lobby of the swanky hotel, trying not to gawk at the marble floors and huge chandeliers above.

Coach had made them all wear suits, with a white shirt and red tie, and he had to admit they looked pretty good as they checked in, even though they were a little rumpled. “Dinner in a half hour, men. We'll eat at the restaurant here in the hotel. Suits and ties required. We've ordered steak Diane, potatoes au gratin, and steamed broccoli for everyone. Dinner is provided for us by the Excelsior Alumni Association Boosters, as are your rooms and everything else this weekend.”

“Can I order me a deuce at dinner, Coach?” Roscoe asked with a grin. “Or maybe a forty!” The other boys held
back laughs as they waited to see if the coach would go off on Roscoe.

Coach Barnes seemed to be unfazed. “In the first place, a four-star hotel like this doesn't even sell that cheap malt liquor your gangsta friends like to drink. And in the second place, if I
ever
catch you with so much as a
whisper
of alcohol on your breath, you're off this team until you're twenty-one—the age you'll probably be when you get enough credits to graduate!”

“Ooh, he got you, man,” Cleveland hooted. The rest of the team doubled over with laughter.

Their voices echoed loudly in the tall lobby, and several of the other guests looked at the group of teenagers nervously. One old lady, Jericho noticed, clutched her purse tightly and scurried over to the elevators.

Roscoe smirked and took it in stride. “You want me to take a lap around the lobby, Coach?”

“Hey, I'm considering it!” Mr. Barnes said. “Get on up to your rooms now and get freshened up. I'll see you down here in thirty. Remember, we're acting like gentlemen and champions tonight.”

“I'm starved!” Jericho said. “How much does a champion need to eat?”

“Enough to help us win tomorrow. I want you strong and quick tomorrow, Jericho. Our defense is going to need you. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be, Coach.” Jericho boarded the elevator with the others. “Hey, do they have apple pie in that restaurant?”

“You can have three slices—with ice cream!”

“Gotcha. I'll be back down in five minutes.”

When Jericho and Roscoe reached the room they were going to share, they slid the keycard into the lock, opened the door, and just stood there for a moment, gaping at the two full-size beds, the thick, plush-looking comforters that had been turned down by the housekeeping staff, and the huge window that overlooked Lake Erie. Soft classical music played on the radio.

“Man, this is the business!” Jericho said as he stretched his six-foot-three-inch body on the bed. “I could get used to this kind of lifestyle.”

“Look, man!” Roscoe cried out. “Bathrobes! They got bathrobes in the closets! Only high-class places do that. I'm taking this home to give to my mama!”

“Look, you little scatback. You better leave that here. You get charged for it, you know,” warned Jericho.

“Am I payin' for the room?” Roscoe had put the robe on over his suit, but it still engulfed him.

“No, but the robes are for you while you're here, man. Don't be rippin' the folks off.” He laughed. “Besides, you look like you got on your daddy's clothes!” Roscoe was only five foot eight, but he was tough and wiry.

“My mama would
love
this,” Roscoe replied, rubbing the silky fabric, but he hung it back up in the closet. “Well, let's go eat as much of these folks' food as we can. They brought us up here to slaughter us, so I'm gonna eat well before they cook us like marshmallows over a fire.”

“Coach don't want you talkin' like that,” Jericho warned as they headed for the elevator.

“Coach lives in a dreamworld. There is no way in heaven or hell we can beat Excelsior.”

“But we've practiced all summer. Luis is a dynamite quarterback. Even you can be pretty fast if somebody sticks a lightning bolt up your behind!” Jericho said, faking a punch. “You think all those plays, drills, and skills he taught us won't work?”

Roscoe laughed. “Remember when we saw that movie in history last year—the one where the Romans put the Christians in the arena with the hungry lions so the people could watch it like we watch HBO?”

Jericho nodded.

“Those poor folks in that arena thought they had skills too. But they got ate up, man. Gobbled.”

Jericho looked at his buddy. Was that what the fancy digs were all about?

The elevator door opened to the lobby. Jericho and Roscoe joined Luis and the rest of the team as they headed to the restaurant. The meal was delicious, and Jericho really did eat three pieces of pie—two raspberry and one chocolate cream. The raspberry, which was tart but sweet, for some reason reminded him of Arielle. That second pie was
really
good.

When he finally collapsed on the incredibly soft bed a couple of hours later, Jericho dreamed of lions and footballs and Josh standing helplessly, waiting to be gobbled.

THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER A BREAKFAST
of maple-saturated waffles and scrambled eggs, the team, dressed in their white dress shirts and dark suit pants, waited expectantly in the lobby. Their bags of gear were stacked neatly in a corner of the lobby, shirt jackets and red ties draped over each one, ready to be loaded on the bus. Jericho felt nervous, partly because of the game that loomed before them, and also because he knew that Arielle would arrive at any minute. Mr. Tambori had called Coach Barnes to say that the band bus was in the area.

“Don't get used to this kind of treatment,” Coach Barnes announced as he took attendance. “For most away games we get there on the big yellow school bus, we eat at McDonald's, and we stay at a Motel 6. Got it?”

“Just like your mama does!” Roscoe whispered to Jericho.

“You're gonna get iced before the game even starts if you
talk about my mother one more time,” Jericho warned. His voice carried a tone that was both friendly and threatening. “At least I didn't steal a bathrobe for my mama.”

“Back off, man!” Roscoe said genially. “I got one for your mother as well! Chill out! The day is young and we ain't been beat up yet!”

Coach Barnes continued, “Let me give you the rundown for the rest of the day. The Excelsior Alumni Association Boosters, in addition to our accommodations, transportation, and meals, have provided each of you, as well as the members of the band and the cheerleaders, tickets to visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They have been unbelievably generous.”

The boys hooted and cheered until he quieted them with his hand.

“You'll have until noon to tour the museum, then we'll have a buffet lunch at Pier W, a seafood restaurant right on Lake Erie. By then it will be time to head for the stadium to prepare for the game. Luis, is there anything you want to say?”

Luis stepped to the front and stood with the coach. “I just want to say I'm honored you chose me to be your captain, and I'm proud to be quarterback of this team. Together, we're going to make a miracle happen tonight!”

He stepped back with the others, who once again burst into noisy exultation, breaking into the song that schools all over the country chanted before every big game:

Their voices reverberated in the cavernous lobby, so the coach quieted them once more. “Let's save that for outside, men. Are there any questions about tonight?”

Roscoe raised his hand. “What's the weather supposed to be like, Coach?”

“Cloudy. Good chance of rain. Perfect football weather for real men!” Then he added, “Oh, and Roscoe?”

“Yeah, Coach?”

“You know those bathrobes that you took out of your room? Unless you plan to wear them on the field tonight instead of a uniform, I suggest you put them back!”

Everybody on the team rolled with laughter as Roscoe muttered about the coach's psychic powers and went to find his bag.

Just then the bus with the band members and cheerleaders rolled up in front of the hotel. In just a few minutes the lobby resounded with raucous laughter, noisy confusion, and dozens more teenagers. Crazy Jack came in with his cymbals and crashed them together while standing in front of the fountain, singing “God Bless America.” Mr. Tambori went bananas, screeching about decorum and behavior, but chaos seemed to be winning for the moment.

As soon as she spotted him, Arielle, dressed in a dazzling outfit—tight red jeans and a slinky silver belly top—
waltzed directly over to Jericho. He had to admit he was thrilled.

“You ready for tonight?” she whispered in his ear.

“You mean the game?” he asked her.

“Yeah, that too,” she said suggestively.

“Cut that out, woman! You're gonna mess up my concentration!”

She laughed, gave him the briefest kiss on his cheek, and went back to giggle with her cheerleader friends, all carbon copies of herself—cute, sexy, and petite.

Jericho couldn't stop beaming. Then he spotted Olivia standing near the door of the hotel alone. She looked more like an observer of the high school hubbub than a part of it. He felt his heart tug as he saw her sad expression.

He headed over to speak to her, but at that moment Coach Barnes called the football team over to him.

“I know all of you were up early, and I know you need to let off a little steam, but this is not the time or place. Let's not embarrass ourselves here, okay, Douglass?” the coach reprimanded the entire group.

Mr. Tambori apologized to the hotel staff, and quickly the two of them, plus a couple of parents who had come along as chaperones, escorted everyone outside. Jericho lost sight of Olivia.

The whole group—Jericho figured there were about a hundred of them—walked leisurely down the block to the Hall of Fame. Some folks in cars gave friendly waves; others frowned and made fists or other rude hand gestures, especially when the kids blocked an entire intersection as they crossed the street.

All the way down the street they chanted, over and over again:

Inside the museum the kids split up, visiting various areas of interest. Arielle and her friends, Jericho noticed, hovered around the fashion area, marveling at the dresses once worn by famous singers. Jericho was pleased to find himself alone to browse for a few minutes, and he marveled at some of the items: Junior Walker's saxophone; one of John Lennon's report cards; a guitar that belonged to Jimi Hendrix; a red satin tuxedo once worn by James Brown, the lapels covered with rhinestones.

“I kinda thought he was bigger than that,” a voice behind him said.

“Hey, Olivia,” Jericho said with genuine warmth as he turned around. “You're right. James Brown was such a big star I guess you'd expect him to be ten feet tall.”

“I know. A lot of things are like that—not exactly what you expect them to be.” She looked at him without smiling. “Before you leave, check out the section on Louis Armstrong. I know you admire him and his trumpet. Good luck in the game tonight.” She walked away from him then and didn't look back.

Jericho watched her go, a strange look on his face. He wasn't sure, but somehow he felt like he'd lost something really important.

AFTER LUNCH, THE FOOTBALL TEAM,
dressed once more in their dark suits and red ties, boarded the Greyhound and headed to the academy's stadium on the outskirts of town. The yellow bus that transported the band and cheerleaders would follow later, along with the bus they were calling the Fan Van, full of energetic Douglass supporters, all dressed in red and white.

Even the parking lot of the high school stadium was huge, with a blacktop so smooth and black it looked as if it had been painted. Looming ahead of them was the Excelsior Stadium, which people around here called the X.

As he stepped off the bus, Jericho was overcome by a feeling of smallness—as if the world had grown to hold giants, and he had shrunk to the size of a bird. No one spoke much, not even Roscoe, as the team walked slowly and almost reverently into the stadium, looking up
at the rows and rows of seats that surrounded them.

The grass grew long and thick, like a bright green carpet. Each of the end zones had been painted with diagonal blue and gold stripes, and in the middle of the field, on the fifty-yard line, a huge blue and gold Excelsior wildcat had been painted.

“This is awesome,” said Jericho. “There must be a million rows of seats.”

“It looks professional,” Coach Barnes admitted.

“They got glass-enclosed press boxes—one on each side!” Luis said. “And not one, but two scoreboards—the electronic kind that light up with strobes.”

“Here comes one of the academy people,” the coach told the boys. “Wipe those looks of awe and admiration off your faces. Don't give them that satisfaction.”

“Welcome to Excelsior,” the gray-haired, nimble-looking man said as he approached Coach Barnes. “I'm Bob Rubicon, president of the Excelsior Alumni Association Boosters. I trust your stay thus far has been satisfactory?” He wore a navy blue wool blazer with a large gold Excelsior insignia on the pocket, beige pants, and highly polished brown loafers.

“Yes, thank you. You and your organization have been more than kind,” Coach Barnes replied.

“All of us here at Excelsior are looking forward to the game tonight,” Mr. Rubicon said.

“As are we. We've prepared all summer,” said Coach Barnes, looking proudly at his team.

“Isn't that nice.” Mr. Rubicon looked at his watch. “We have a little time. Would you and your boys like a tour of
the campus before you get dressed for the game?”

“Yes, we would. And I refer to them as young men.”

Mr. Rubicon chose to ignore the coach's statement, turning quickly and heading back to the parking lot. “I think the quickest way to do this is if we get back on the Greyhound, and I'll narrate what we're seeing from the bus microphone. Sound like a winner?”

The coach and the team climbed back on the bus, and Mr. Rubicon directed the driver up a long drive flanked by weeping willows. “In front of us you'll see the main campus of Excelsior,” Mr. Rubicon said. “That's our arts building to the right and the science building on the left. As we pull around to the back here, you can see our athletic complex—tennis courts, the polo fields, and our outdoor swimming pool. Our indoor swimming facility is Olympic-size. We've had several athletes win gold in the high school championships,” he said proudly.

“What do you need a barn for?” Roscoe asked as he pointed to the wooden structure they drove by next.

“Oh, those are our stables. That's where we keep the polo ponies, as well as the horses we use for students involved in various equestrian competitions.”

“Man!” Roscoe muttered.

As the bus completed the circle of the campus, Mr. Rubicon pointed to an area under construction and added, “One of our alumni recently donated a million dollars, so we're building a radio and television studio for our communications majors. It should be finished by next year.”

“Is this a high school or a college?” Jericho whispered to Roscoe.

“Are you convinced now that there's no way we can beat these dudes?” Roscoe whispered back. Jericho looked at the neatly manicured hedges that lined the campus roads and shook his head.

“We'd like to thank you, boys, for gracing our campus,” Mr. Rubicon said as the bus pulled up in front of the guest locker rooms. “I'll leave you now to prepare for the game.” He climbed off the bus and waved good-bye, then Jericho watched him climb into a navy blue Jaguar.

Coach Barnes looked really ticked, Jericho thought, as the team piled out of the bus, got their gear, and walked into the changing area. It was, like the rest of the campus, elaborate, clean, and perfect. The lockers—brightly painted, of course, in blue and gold—were wide enough to hold shoulder pads and equipment, unlike the ordinary school lockers in their equipment room back at school. Smooth benches of light-colored wood were conveniently placed in a circle. On one wall hung a huge poster listing the schools that had competed in recent state championships, and the scores of those games. Jericho looked closely. Excelsior had won in eight of the last ten years.

“Gather round, men. And I do mean
men
,” Coach Barnes said clearly. He stood in the center of the group. “I've had just about enough of their showing off. If I saw one more fancy building or pretty tree, I was gonna barf!”

The boys laughed and seemed to relax a little.

“Yeah, they have a lot of stuff, but that's all it is—stuff. The reason that Rubicon dude showed us around the campus was to intimidate us, to weaken us. But we are tougher than that. A man is not measured by what he owns, but by
what he's made of inside.” He pounded his fist on his chest for effect. “And we are made of steel.”

“Yeah!” the boys repeated. “Steel!”

“It's not the size of the cat in the fight; it's the size of the fight in the cat. And we have a real catfight ahead of us tonight. Panthers against Wildcats. But our Panthers will emerge victorious! WE WILL WIN!”

“WE WILL WIN! WE WILL WIN! WE WILL WIN!” Jericho began to believe again.

“All right, specialty players and ball handlers get taped and dressed and get out on the field for warm-ups. The rest of you take your time, but start getting into your uniforms.”

Jericho looked at his uniform with a little awe and trepidation. Everyone seemed to take it for granted that he knew what he was doing, but this was actually his first time in a varsity football game. Summer practices and scrimmages meant nothing. This was the real thing.
Why did I wait so long to start playing ball?
he berated himself.
Everybody else has been playing for years and knows what to expect. I feel like a seventh grader on the first day of school. I don't belong here!
He was starting to panic when Coach Barnes walked over and sat next to him on the bench.

“I'm really proud of your progress, Jericho,” he said. “You got heart, and that's all a coach can ask for. You're one of the biggest guys we have out there, and you might not believe this, but you're one of our best. Even though you're new at this, you're a natural. I believe in you, and in the power of this team to prevail.”

“Wow. Thanks, Coach. I needed that.”

“Just go out there and do your best.” Coach Barnes left
and went to sit next to another player who was adjusting his shoulder pads.

Twenty minutes later, the specialty players came back in, glowing with sweat, eyes bright with excitement. “What's it like out there?” Roscoe asked as he put on his shoulder pads. “Is it dark yet?”

“Almost—it looks like it's going to rain,” Luis told them. “But it's a good field—even if it's wet, we'll do great.”

“The stands are filling up—must be thousands of people out there,” the kicker reported, “all wearing the Excelsior colors.”

“Did the bus with the kids from Douglass get here?” asked Jericho.

Luis nodded his head. “It was hard to see with all the lights, but I could hear their weak little cries coming from one side. They were trying, but their cheers sounded like nothin' out there!”

“Where's your positive outlook, men?” the coach asked them as he signaled the rest of the team to gather around him.

“Out there on that grass someplace!” the kicker quipped in response.

The rest of the team had finally finished dressing, taken what the coach called a “nervous pee,” and gathered around the coach once more. Jericho looked around the room. He had to admit they looked really good. The uniforms—bright white with shiny red markings—smelled fresh and new, but carried an odd chemical odor.

“Everybody up,” Coach Barnes said. “In these new uniforms we look like champions—let's go out and play like
that! We've prepared and practiced and we're ready to go. Now it's crunch time. Yes, it's up to us as a team, but that team is made up of individuals—and each man must do his part. Do you have the heart, men?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Do you have the desire to win, men?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Let me share something with you. Three years ago today—this very day—my father died. He loved this team and never missed a game. He
believed
in this team, and he knew we were champions! He'd be so proud to see you here today.” The coach stopped and bowed his head. “Let's win this one for Daddy Barnes,” he said, his voice taut.

Luis stepped to the center. “For Daddy Barnes, men! We got this won already!”

The players, full of adrenaline and emotion, grabbed hold of the phrase and rallied with it. “For Daddy Barnes! For Daddy Barnes! We're gonna win this one for the coach's dad!”

Jericho had never met the coach's father, so he thought of Josh instead.
I'm going out there for you, Josh.
He couldn't believe how charged he felt.

The coach led them in a brief prayer and it was time. “Strap up those helmets and let's take it to them!” Coach Barnes shouted. They headed out of the locker room, pumped and ready, chanting, “Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!” The only other sound was the clicking of dozens of cleats on the concrete.