The Underdogs (16 page)

T
hey had a good week of practice, ending with them under the lights at Forbes High School on Friday night, Will's dad having gotten permission from the athletic director, another former teammate, the field being free because the high school team was on the road this week.

Will was still trying to recruit players every chance he got at school, not even wanting to think about actually going through a whole season without a single substitution, knowing how humiliated they were all going to feel the first time somebody got hurt and they were forced to play with ten players.

Or just forfeit the game.

The sign-up sheet stayed right where Will had posted it the first day outside the cafeteria at Forbes Middle. This week he had gone back to a couple of friends from the basketball team who weren't playing a fall sport this year, Dave Verkland and Brad Yarmouth, asking them if they'd changed their minds about playing football.

This was at lunch on Friday.

“Thrill,” Dave said, “I'm not gonna risk my season for your season. I'm rooting for you, dude, but there's no way you guys finish the season.”

“And don't you get hurt,” Brad said, “because we're gonna need you at point guard.”

“Nice talking to you,” Will said, getting up from the table.

“Hey,” Dave said, “we were just kidding around.”

Only none of this was funny to Will.

On his way to math he saw Toby Keenan in the hall. Will had been giving Toby room, not pressuring him, hoping that he'd come around on his own. Now he asked him if he had a second, told him about getting shot down by Dave and Brad all over again, asked if Toby had given any more thought to not only joining the Bulldogs, but making them better the first day they got him into the uniform they were saving for him.

“I have thought about it,” Toby said, staring down at his sneakers. “But I haven't changed my mind.”

So the Bulldogs who showed up at Falcons Field on Friday night were the ones they'd play the season with, and that was that.
Fine,
Will thought. He told himself that he was going to stop worrying now about what they didn't have and be happy with what they did. Told himself that he was going to enjoy every practice and every game. Play for the love of the game now more than ever. He would stop worrying, at least for now, about another shot at Castle Rock in another West River championship game—and on what
planet
was that going to happen?—and just focus on the game he had tomorrow against them at Shea.

It had been hard for him losing to Palmer the way they had, Will knowing in his heart that the outcome would have been different if the sides had been remotely even, just in terms of numbers. But the sides weren't even. They weren't
going
to be even.

The only thing to do was play his hardest, get his teammates to play their hardest, try to have them all come together and be better than they thought they could be. Or were supposed to be. Because Will knew it happened that way in sports all the time, from the West River league all the way to the pros.

Maybe it was Friday night's practice being under the lights, making them feel older, like they were already on the high school team, that made it their very best practice so far. And Joe Tyler was the most fired up one on the field.

He could see the guys picking up on his 4-2-5 defense, and he'd added a couple of new trick plays on offense, even thrown in a fancy reverse on kickoff returns. Will's dad told the guys—and Hannah—that they were going to throw everything they had in their playbook at Castle Rock tomorrow.

“It's a pretty thin book, Mr. T.,” Tim said.

Joe Tyler said, “Then we should be able to throw it even harder.”

Practice was over by then. The players were kneeling around Will's dad, the way they did at the end of every practice.

“Listen,” Joe Tyler said, “we've basically lost one core player from a team that should have beaten Castle Rock in last year's championship game, and that's Bobby Carrington. But what I saw against Palmer, that's maybe not going to be such a devastating loss, because I didn't see how we lost anything with Chris Aiello at QB.”

It wasn't true. Will knew it and his dad knew it, because they'd talked about it. But he was trying to pump up his quarterback and now the Bulldogs did the same, clapping their hands.

“Those guys from Castle Rock are going to show up tomorrow thinking we have no shot,” Joe Tyler said. “Anybody here think that?”

“Well, then,” he said, “I guess tonight's spot quiz is over and the only thing left to do is let the dogs out tomorrow afternoon.”

Then they were all barking again, their coach included, probably making people who could hear them wonder what had gotten all the dogs in the neighborhood this worked up. Then they were all rolling in the grass, laughing at themselves and at each other.

Will didn't know what kind of team they were going to be this season, he really didn't.

But they were a team.

For now, that was enough.

 

It was 13–13 at halftime.

The Bulldogs had played them dead even almost from the time the Castle Rock Bears had gotten out of their green-and-white bus with the big bottle of Castle Rock water on the side.

Will had tried not to count the players getting off the bus, but thinking once they were all out, they might have brought enough guys to field three teams.

Defending champions of the West River league. Having brought Ben Clark, the best quarterback in the league, and Kendrick Morris, the best and loudest receiver. Having brought more fans across the river than the Bulldogs had, a
lot
more, and the Bulldogs were playing at home.

At least today the game was on a field that didn't make the home team ashamed. One of the things New Balance had done, at Joe Tyler's request, was invest in some rapid improvements to the conditions at Shea. New sod where it was needed. Newly chalked lines. Somehow, they'd even gotten the old scoreboard working again, a miracle that Will thought was the equivalent of sending a man to Mars.

Real field today. The Bulldogs playing like a real team. Against Castle Rock and against the odds, even if there was hardly anyone from Forbes to see it.

Ernie had sacked Ben Clark from his blind side early in the first quarter, forcing a fumble, Tim falling on the ball in the end zone. Hannah had stepped right up and kicked the extra point. Just like that it was 7–0.

The Bears responded with a long drive, though, Ben Clark finally hitting Kendrick Morris for the score. Will remembered Kendrick from last year's game because he'd made it impossible to forget him, the kid clearly thinking he was the West River version of Chad Ochocinco. If he made a first-down catch, he still jumped up and made the signal for the first down before the ref did.

And he was still talking the way he had last year, Kendrick being the one who did the most trash-talking when the game was over, making it a point to seek Will out and tell him that next year they were going to let him use a ball with a handle on it.

Ben Clark had told him after the championship game that Kendrick had gotten tired of the Castle Rock coaches telling him how fast Will was, how he was the guy they had to stop.

Ben had said, “He got it in his head that they were saying you were better than he was and, well, Kendrick doesn't think anybody is.”

Will hated trash-talkers, always had, didn't respond last year and wasn't responding now. It didn't slow Kendrick Morris down even a little bit. Will was guarding him on the touchdown pass in the corner of the end zone, but Ben knew enough to throw it high, knowing Will wouldn't have a chance against a wide receiver who was bigger than he was and longer.

“Don't worry, little guy,” Kendrick said. “It wasn't your fault. I'd give you a pat on the helmet, but I don't want to get flagged for fifteen on the kickoff.”

Will wondered if a compliment might shut him up. Or at least slow him down. “Nice grab,” he said.

“Nice?”
Kendrick said. “Nice is for girls.” Smiled at Will through his face mask and said, “But you know all about that, don't you, dog?”

Ben Clark kicked the point. 7–7. It stayed that way until halfway through the second quarter when Will took a handoff from Chris on a play called 34 Counter, did exactly what you're supposed to do, took a little jab step to his left that was the halfback version of a ball fake.

As soon as that got the defense leaning that way just enough, Will cut back to his right, picked up his blockers, saw even Hannah take out Castle Rock's safety with a solid block downfield. And then he was in the clear. He had scored last week against Palmer, but this was different, this was the first time he'd found that extra gear.

When he felt like he was flying down a football field again.

This was against Castle Rock. He turned after he handed the ball to the ref, pointed at Hannah because of her block. Kendrick Morris, who played both ways, played right corner on defense, must have thought Will had pointed at him, and from across the field, Will thought he might be yelling something.

He ignored it, listened to the cheers from the Forbes fans instead, got ready for the extra point. But Gerry Dennis, who held on placekicks, fumbled the snap, and the Bulldogs' lead was 13–7.

The Bears came right back again. In the last minute before halftime, on third-and-fourteen, Ben Clark threw one as far as he could to Kendrick, who had gotten behind Johnny Callahan, and by the time Kendrick showboated his way into the end zone, it was 13–all. Castle Rock went for two. Johnny read the play perfectly, stepped in front of Kendrick, knocked down Ben's pass.

Game tied.

On the Bulldogs' sideline, Joe Tyler got their attention and said, “There's not anybody I'm looking at who wouldn't have signed up for a tie game against those guys at the half. Now we just gotta figure out a way to keep rocking their world and beat them.”

“You think that might stop Kendrick's chirping?” Tim said.

“I don't think he stops even when he's underwater,” Chris said.

“We just gotta make sure we only have to say one word to him when the game's over,” Will said.
“Scoreboard
.
”

“Well,” Tim said, “now that it's working again.”

“We're the ones who are gonna keep working,” Will said, “all the way until we send them home in that bus of theirs
extremely
unhappy.”

Will could see how tired his teammates were getting the longer the game went on. But the game was still even, at 20–20, in the fourth quarter. Castle Rock got their score on an all-out blitz on one of Hannah's punts, blocking it, recovering in the end zone, Ben kicking the point.

But this time it was the Bulldogs who responded with a long drive, one even better than the last drive the week before against Palmer. Will's dad would tell them it was twelve plays and seventy-six yards when it was over, six runs and six passes, even one to Hannah for a first down on third-and-four from midfield.

They finally scored from the eight-yard line. Will ended up with the ball on 38 Toss, Quarterback Throw, running to his right. But Ben Clark knew the play and got back to cover Chris as he circled out of the backfield on the left and then turned up the field.

So Will pulled the ball down, broke a tackle, dove for the right pylon, actually put the ball right on top of it.

Hannah's kick was center cut.

Eight minutes left, Bulldogs 20, Bears 20, at Shea.

Even Will Tyler, the biggest believer of all, couldn't believe it. When Ben had come over to shake his hand before the game, he couldn't resist saying, “Hey, who picked these teams?”

More than anything, Will just wanted to repeat that line to Ben when the game was over. Telling himself that it wasn't trash talk if you were just
repeating
something, was it?

They just needed a couple of stops. Needed to have the ball in their hands at the end. Make it one of those games, the best kind of football game, last team with the ball wins.

As long as it was your team.

This time,
Will told himself,
I'm not fumbling the game away.
He had no idea if he'd ever get near a rematch in the championship game with these guys. So maybe this was as good as it was going to get against Castle Rock this season, trying to win the championship of
today.
Not best-of-seven or anything like that. Best of the forty minutes they played in the West River league.

The Bulldogs needed a stop. But Will could see how tired the other guys were, especially the guys up front, the ones who'd been taking a pounding all day from offensive and defensive linemen from Castle Rock, guys who looked as if they were in high school already.

The Castle Rock coaches saw it the same as Will did. The same as everybody at Shea had to see it. So as good a thrower as Ben was, the Bears started to grind it out, running the ball on almost every down and daring the Bulldogs to stop them. Five yards here, six yards there, eating up yardage, eating up the clock.

The one time they ended up with a third-and-eight, though, everybody knew it was a passing situation. Will lined up on Kendrick. Ben threw it high again. Kendrick went up for it and came down with the first down.

Made his first-down gesture, like always.

“Now say somethin',” Kendrick said.

“I wasn't talking to you before,” Will said.

“I'd call that a tall tale,” Kendrick said, “but you're too little.”

Two minutes to play. Castle Rock ball on the Forbes thirty-yard line.

Before he got to his huddle, Kendrick turned and said, “Tell your boys—and the girl—that you've had all the fun you're gonna have today.”