The Walk On (23 page)

Buddy Thomas stood up and pointed a finger at two of the backup linemen on the sideline, indicating he needed them to help get Matt off the field. That was actually a relief: if Matt was seriously hurt, Buddy would have asked for a stretcher. Two of the backup defensive linemen raced onto the field and helped Matt to his feet.

He was holding his right leg in the air, clearly not wanting to put weight on it. Buddy had taken his shoe and his sock off. His helmet was off too and Alex could see that his face was masked in pain. As he was slowly helped to the sideline, the crowd on both sides of the field stood to applaud him.

Buddy walked with him, pointing to the cart that sat behind the bench and in front of the stands. It was used, most
of the time, to transport equipment. “Get him on the back of the cart. Is Doc here …?”

“Right here,” Alex heard someone say behind him.

He looked up and saw Dr. Joe Vassallo, who was the team doctor—unofficially, of course, since he didn’t get paid, according to what Alex had been told. His son had played at Chester Heights and was now on the team at Virginia.

“Good,” Buddy said. “It’s his ankle.”

“What do you think?” Dr. Vassallo said as they helped get Matt situated as comfortably as possible on the back of the cart.

“Hard to tell. At best, it’s a sprain; at worst, he broke something.”

“I’ll take a look. We’ll want an MRI tomorrow to be sure.”

The entire team was standing in a semicircle, listening to Buddy and the doctor. They were blasted out of their trance by the sound of the whistle. Alex looked back to the field and saw his teammates breaking the huddle.

Oh yeah, he thought, the game is still going on.

Jake stood behind center in the shotgun formation, calling signals. Alex knew that pitch ninety-four, the play Coach Gordon had called, was a simple sprint to the right—the even number, four, indicated that the play was going right. And the nine meant Jake would be running wide, meaning the linemen should try to force the defenders to the inside so he could run outside. Josephs, the tailback, would trail him for a possible pitch.

Jake took the snap and went right. Alex could see that the entire defense was within two yards of the line, knowing a cold quarterback coming into the game wasn’t likely
to throw. Just like Matt on the play before, Jake was surrounded before he could take two steps. In desperation he tried to pitch the ball back to Josephs. But his arm was hit as he pitched and the ball ended up at Josephs’s feet. He was swarmed as everyone went after the football.

It didn’t really matter who fell on it because it was fourth down and the ball was going over to the Cougars regardless.

“Should have kicked the field goal,” Alex said—to no one. Jake and Jonas were both on the field and no one was standing near him.

He heard a voice calling his name and turned around. Matt was on the cart with Dr. Vassallo sitting next to him. He was holding up a hand to indicate to the driver not to leave yet.

“Goldie, come here a second,” Matt said once he had Alex’s attention.

Alex jogged over. Several players were standing nearby trying to encourage Matt or telling him he was going to be okay. Alex noticed that Dr. Vassallo had already put a wrap around Matt’s ankle.

“Hey, fellas, give me a second with Goldie,” Matt said.

Alex now had his back turned to the field and he could hear the coaches trying to encourage the defense as it headed out.

“Need a stop, guys, need a stop!” he heard everyone saying.

“What’s up, Matt?” Alex said. “How’s the ankle?”

He knew that was a dumb question. Matt had no idea how the ankle was.

“The ankle hurts,” Matt said, forcing a smile.

“Matt, we need to go,” he heard Dr. Vassallo say.

“Give me one sec,” Matt said.

He put his hand around Alex’s neck so he could pull him close.

“Listen to me, Goldie, you’re the QB now,” he said softly. “You’re going to have to pull this game out in the second half. It’s got to be your team now. I
know
you can do it.”

Alex looked up to see if he was joking. Unless the tears glistening in his eyes were because he thought this was funny, he wasn’t.

“Matt, Jake’s the QB until you get back.…”

“No, he’s not—and he knows it better than anyone. I may not be here at halftime, but one of these damn coaches had better stand up and tell my dad to put you in the game.”

“Coach Hillier …”

“Isn’t here,” Matt finished. “Don’t worry, Goldie. My dad’s stubborn and he can be a jerk, but he hates to lose. So get ready. You’re going to have to save us tonight.”

“Gotta go, Matt,” Dr. Vassallo said again.

“You got me?” Matt said, pulling Alex so close they were almost nose to nose.

“I got you,” Alex said.

Matt let him go.

“Okay, then,” he said. And the cart pulled away.

They managed to get to halftime still down only 14–0. The only noise in the stadium as the teams jogged to the locker rooms was coming from the King of Prussia side. French Fries could get very loud.

Unlike a week earlier, Coach Gordon didn’t shout. He seemed to understand that he was now coaching a team that needed a different kind of motivation.

“Fellas, I have complete confidence in Jake,” he said. “He ran our offense on almost every snap for five JV games last season and he’s playing with much better players around him right now. We just have to take a deep breath and stay patient. We aren’t going to score three touchdowns on our first possession. One at a time. Defense, just keep doing what you’re doing. If you keep hitting Spears, he’s going to cough up the ball, so be ready—make it happen. Okay, let’s split up.”

He had made no mention of his son or his injury, except
for saying he had confidence in Jake playing quarterback. If the thought of putting Alex into the game had crossed his mind, he certainly didn’t mention it.

The locker room had two meeting rooms in it, one for the offense and one for the defense. Alex followed the other offensive players down the hall. He was about to walk into the offensive room when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Coach Brotman standing behind him.

Before he could say anything, Coach Brotman signaled to follow him, which he did—down the hall to the empty shower room.

When they got there, Coach Brotman, after a quick look around, as if he thought someone might be taking a halftime shower, said quietly, “You’re going to have to play in the second half. I want to be sure you understand that.”

“Did Coach Gordon say—”

Coach Brotman put a finger on his lips to indicate Alex needed to be quiet.
“No,”
he said in an emphatic whisper. “But all of us know you can throw the ball in ways Jake can’t begin to touch. We’re down 14–0. If Matt couldn’t get us going on the ground, how in the world is Jake going to do it?”

Alex started to answer, then realized it hadn’t really been a question.

“He’s
not
,” Coach Brotman said. “We’ll give it our best shot coming out here to start the half, but you make sure you get your arm loose when we get back out there.”

“But if Coach Gordon doesn’t want—”

“That’s
my
job. Your job is to be ready to play. Now get back in the meeting room.”

It was too late. Everyone was filing back out by the time
Alex got there. Jake walked by him without a word. He looked almost as if he were in a trance.

When they went back on the field, Alex found Jonas and asked if they could play catch so he could warm up a little.

“You going in?” Jonas asked.

“No,” Alex said. “At least not yet.”

It was Chester Heights’ ball to start the second half. The Lions were able to pick up a quick first down after the kickoff. But on second and six from the 44, Coach Gordon called the same play that had failed so miserably on the fourth down in the first half, except he ordered Jake to run left instead of right.

Jake did as he was told, took about two steps, and slipped. The ball went flying out of his hands and one of the King of Prussia linemen was on it in a split second. The Chester Heights side of the stadium went completely silent while the King of Prussia side celebrated. Alex saw Jake, on his knees, pound his fist into the ground in frustration.

When Jake came to the sideline, Alex greeted him with the clichéd “Keep your head up, lot of game to play” line of encouragement.

Jake just looked at him and, again, said nothing.

One more time, the defense came through—although it needed some help. The Cougars moved the ball quickly to the 13-yard line and had third and three from there. Spears faked as if to run and dropped back quickly. He had a receiver open in the end zone, but somehow he overthrew the ball. It was now his turn to pound the turf in frustration.

KOP sent in their field-goal unit. A thirty-yard kick was not usually a sure thing for a high school kicker, but this one was good and the Cougars were up 17–0 with 10:58 left
in the third quarter. The band gamely played on, but the silence from the Chester Heights fans was deafening. Even more deafening than the roars.

The kickoff return team was taking the field—again—when Alex heard a cheer behind him. Surprised, he turned and saw the equipment cart rolling down the running track in the direction of the sideline. Sitting in the front passenger seat with a pair of crutches on his lap was Matt Gordon.

A couple of guys raced over to help him out of the cart. He quickly hobbled over to where Alex and Jake were standing. The crowd was still cheering, in part because Matt deserved it, in part because there was nothing else to cheer about.

As the kickoff sailed through the air, Alex asked the inevitable question.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad sprain, no break,” Matt said. “They took me down the street to the hospital for an X-ray. They might still do an MRI tomorrow, but the doc is pretty sure it’s just sprained. He said three to four weeks. I say two.”

He turned to Jake. “What do you think, Jakey?”

“I think Goldie plays or we lose.”

Jake was clearly upset with himself—more so with the situation. He waited for Matt to say something encouraging, but Matt simply tapped him on the helmet as Jake pulled it on and said, “Hang tough.”

Jake didn’t say anything but sprinted over to Coach Gordon to get the first play as Monte Johnston, the kick returner, was pulled down at the Chester Heights 30.

Matt turned to Alex. “Get your helmet on. And be ready to run 24 post, no matter what my dad calls.”

“Whaaa?”

“Just do what I tell you, Goldie—trust me.”

He hobbled away at that point, leaving Alex totally baffled. Jake was bringing the team out of the huddle. The first play call—predictably—was a quick pitch to Josephs, who managed to cut up the edge to pick up seven yards. Alex was still watching Josephs when he heard someone yell, “Hey, Buddy—it’s Jake!”

Alex saw Jake sitting on the ground, holding his right knee. Buddy glanced at Coach Gordon for instructions. Coach Gordon had a stunned look on his face.
Both
his quarterbacks injured? Before he could say anything, a couple of the linemen began waving for Buddy just as they had done for Matt.

Alex saw Coach Gordon visibly sigh. “Go,” he said to Buddy.

He then looked around as if he expected another quarterback to appear by magic. Or maybe he thought Matt was going to throw away his crutches and go back into the game in street clothes.

Alex was watching the scene as an interested spectator when it suddenly occurred to him that everyone on the sideline was staring at him.

“Myers!” Coach Gordon barked.

Alex knew now why Matt had told him to put his helmet on—which he hadn’t. He was pulling it over his ears—which always hurt at least a little bit—as he jogged over to Coach Gordon. He could see that Buddy was helping Jake to his feet.

Alex’s mind was going in ten different directions. He was
wondering how in the world Matt and Jake had concocted a plan for Jake to fake an injury. He
was
faking—Alex was convinced of that. Somewhere in the distance, even though he was standing a foot away from him, he heard Coach Gordon talking to him.

“Nothing fancy, Myers,” he said. “We’ve got second and three. Run 25 toss sweep to Josephs and let’s pick up a first down. Bilney may be ready in a play or two—we’ll see. Let’s just hang on to the ball right now.”

“Yes sir.”

“You understand me?”

Alex heard his instructions. He also heard Matt’s voice in his head.
No matter what my dad tells you, run 24 post
. That was the same play Coach Gordon had just called except for two things: the running back—Josephs—would be cutting to his right instead of left on the snap, and Alex would
not
toss him the ball. Instead, he would fake the toss, drop back, and throw the ball as far down the field as he could to the wide receiver lined up to the left, who, he noticed, just happened to be Jonas.

Alex honestly wasn’t sure who he was more afraid of disobeying at that moment: Matthew Gordon Senior or Junior. Jake was almost off the field.

“What’s he got, Buddy?” Coach Gordon asked as they approached.