Twelve Men in the Huddle, page 11
Outside the stadium a sea of motorhomes and recreational vehicles dominated the landscape. Tulsa Valley flags flew in every direction amid the sweet smell of barbeque. Fans of all ages occupied every inch of ground within a two-mile radius of the stadium, basking in the bliss of a number one ranking. It was nearly noontime as the Tarpon Nation waited for the traditional march of their team across campus. In the V.I.P. tent stood Dr. Harper, next to Athletic Director Vern Foster.
“I still don’t understand,” said Vern. “I mean why did he order testosterone levels on the kid? Is he out of his mind?”
“Who knows,” said Harper with a look over his shoulder. “Pete Wagner said he’s an old time doc, in his late eighties. Apparently has taken care of the Kelly family for several generations. For Christ sakes, I think he may have delivered Connor. The family has blind trust in the man.”
“But why testosterone levels Jordan? We’ve got a real tempest on our hands now.”
“When I spoke to him over the phone, he claimed Connor had a sore throat. He examined him and just wanted to check a strep culture. Apparently the old timer isn’t so computer savvy and ended up ordering the kitchen sink on the kid. He said he just kept hitting buttons on the computer… even tested him for malaria. Connor may be anemic from all the vials of blood drawn.”
“Unbelievable,” said Foster. “What were the levels again?”
“High, very high!”
“Suspension level high?”
“Very close,” said Harper. “By the rules he should be retested. However, it wasn’t a random screening test. We’re in uncharted waters Vern.”
“Who else knows about this Jordan?”
“Just you, me and Sterling. I asked Dr. Schmeckle up north to please not discuss this very personal matter with anyone. I hope he understands.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” moaned Foster while looking at his watch. “Jordan, I have to ask you…”
“Oh yea, Pete Wagner, the fellow, also knows. He was there during the phone call.”
“I see,” said Foster. “But again, I must ask you Jordan, why such a high testosterone level in Connor?”
“Many possible reasons,” said Harper. “Too many to try and discuss now, at least not in the middle of campus. However I did set up a strategy meeting with President Davis for next Wednesday. In short, Connor is going to have to answer a lot of tough questions.”
“Great, I’ll be there.”
Just then Heather Jackson walked by, smiling broadly. The ‘good morning Miss Jackson’ from Vern Foster didn’t even register, as she searched the sea of humanity for one man – Pete Wagner. The prior evening Billy Mo told her of a possible coaching job up north. If everything worked out, he would have to leave Tulsa by the end of the season, which brought him to the crux of the conversation. Simply put, he asked for an amicable ‘cool down’ period in their relationship. The former star felt some time apart would allow their relationship and future plans to crystalize. Pretty heady stuff thought Heather, especially from a guy whose number one priority up until then involved a video game controller in his hands. She wondered where it all came from, yet accepted the offer. After shedding a few tears, she was suddenly free. Free, for the first time in a long time! Now she just had to find Wagner. He was too damn good to let slip by.
“Heather,” said Hal Green with a smile. “Wow, you were absolutely right. This place is crazy.” They stood pressed together in the middle of a large open green space, between the stadium entrance and the team’s field house. A large pathway connected the two facilities. The crowd jammed their bodies into each other, making it difficult to move. In the distance a band could be heard playing.
“Yea, yea,” said Heather. “I told you so. Have you seen Dr. Wagner?”
“No,” said Green. “Not since our ride home last week.”
“He must be here somewhere,” said the SID as she arched up on her tippy toes, scanning the crowd.
“Does Billy Mo come to the games?”
“What?” shouted Heather. The noise of the band began to suddenly approach.
“Billy Mo. Does he come to the games?”
“Sure,” said Heather while continuing to scan the area. “He doesn’t come to the tailgate party, but usually makes it here by kickoff. Percy lets him into the game.”
“Percy the groundskeeper?”
“Yes,” said Heather. “You’ve met Percy?”
“Yes. A wonderful gentlemen.”
“Oh! There he is!” She spotted her target across the commons, on the other side of the main walkway. “Excuse me Mr. Green.”
Heather worked her way through the sea of humanity but her path was obstructed. The band was nearing, playing the Tulsa Valley fight song. She knew the team led by Coach Hayes, was directly behind the band, adding to the hysteria. A break in the crowd allowed her to again see Pete, standing next to Jamal. They both had wonderment on their faces, it being their first game. A giddy mother with her six-year old son in tow crashed into Heather, in a mad dash towards the parade route. The force of the impact caused her to lose sight of Pete. She pressed forward but was too late, the 300 person marching band cutting off her route. She would now have to wait, until the football warriors passed through the crazed crowd. Who was that leggy blonde next to Pete she thought? Surely, she must be a random passerby.
On the other side of the parade route stood Pete, oblivious to Heather’s waving arms. His attention was fixated on the majestic marching band and their colorful uniforms. The chords of the fight song vibrated through his body. He swayed along with the crowd as children beside him waved flags. Adrenaline began to flow through his veins, now filled with Tulsa Valley pride. What a great season it was going to be.
Directly behind the band, Coach Hayes appeared, dressed in a sports coat and tie, with khaki pants and sunglasses. Beside him was a state policeman with a familiar face, in full uniform. The obligatory hard-nosed look was on the trooper’s face. One step behind Hayes was the entire coaching staff followed by the team. To Pete, they appeared like warriors heading into the arena for battle. Coach Hayes simply nodded his head en route, having walked the walk many times before. A group of select cheerleaders followed the coaching staff including Lexi, her pom-poms darting back and forth in bedazzling fashion, capturing the eye of any male over the age of fourteen. Suddenly, the crowd roared louder, as Connor Kelly led the seniors through campus. He was dressed in civilian clothes and waved, an occasional young child running out to simply touch him. Women screamed and parents shouted at the golden boy, praying for a quick return. To his right was number seven, the quarterback, Derrick Smith. There was a calm, cool reserve to his demeanor. To Connor’s left was Tyrone Tubbs with a cocky grin across his face. He repetitively hoisted his hands into the air in an attempt to pump up the crowd’s volume. The defensive star walked with a phony limp, his gait a mutated blend of pimp roll and urban swerve. Behind the big three came the rank and file of the team, including Beef, whose balding head reflected the sun brilliantly. Pete tried to pick out Eugene, but his slight frame was lost in the crowd. Some freshmen cheerleaders pulled up the rear, yelling loudly.
As the final parade members passed, the crowd swelled behind them, in a march to Tarpon Stadium, affectionately known as ‘The Bayou.’ It was the break Heather was patiently waiting for, allowing her to cross over to the other side.
“Peter! Peter!”
He couldn’t hear her, so she screamed louder. “Dr. Wagner!” Who is that girl she thought? They weren’t separating. Was that a smile on her pretty face? Were they walking together?
“Miss Jackson,” said Dean Royce with a grin. “What a glorious day.”
“Oh, hello Dean Royce,” said Heather, hoping for brevity. She couldn’t handle a Billy Mo comment now.
“How’s Billy Morris, my favorite alumnus? Is he coming to the game?”
“Yes, yes he is Dean Royce,” mumbled Heather, realizing Pete Wagner was getting away. “Should be here any moment.”
“You know I saw him the other night down at Big Jim’s working the counter. What an industrious young man,” said Royce. “I’m sure I’ve told you, he was one of my favorites. Not for what he did on the gridiron, but for what he did after football. The young man is a wonderful example for all our current players.”
“Yes, yes Dean Royce,” said Heather. She noticed Pete and Jamal to now be at Doc Harper’s side, the leggy blonde breaking away from the pack. The medical team began a march towards the stadium. She was losing him.
“When he came to me after his senior year, asking to continue his education here at Tulsa Valley… well that Miss Jackson, was a shining moment in my career. A moment I’ll never forget as an educator. Finally, I had reached through to a superstar athlete.”
“He was appreciative of all your help Dean,” said Heather.
“Dean Royce, it’s so good to see you,” shouted an alumnus wearing a gaudy sun hat. Heather recognized her chance and made a break for it, dashing towards Pete and calling his name. Just prior to entering the stadium gate he turned around and smiled, happy to see her.
“Heather, I was wondering where you were,” said Pete. “What a day! Did you see the parade?”
“Yes, yes. I did,” said the SID out of breath. “Are you going in already?”
“Yes,” said Pete not breaking stride behind his mentor. “I’m going to be on the sidelines for the game. Next to Doctor Harper that is.”
“Oh that’s great.”
“See you after the game,” was his final line as the medical squad entered the arena, their path cut off by burly security guards. She waved in futility and slowly turned back towards the crowd in defeat, noticing the tall blonde staring at her. The mystery woman wore tight shorts, high heels and a pink pullover top that accentuated a healthy genetic endowment. What a gorgeous woman thought Heather. But who the hell is she? She wanted to rush towards her in a territorial move, but thought it premature. The woman of interest turned with a hint of attitude and walked away, her shoulder cropped hair swaying perfectly. Just then, the crowd closed in, and she was gone.
Despite the absence of Connor Kelly in the lineup, the Tulsa Valley Tarpons crushed the visiting patsies, 63-0. It was a statement game, alerting the nation of their dominance on both sides of the line. The only excitement surrounding the massacre occurred during the post game interview, when a visiting reporter suggested to Coach Hayes that he ran up the score. The coach deflected the truth by telling the reporter he ‘was nuttier than a port-a-potty at a peanut festival,’ for suggesting such a thing. The well-timed wise crack defused the whole situation. All was well in the Tarpon Nation.
The Jackson Gin Hole was jammed packed that evening. Heather was surprised they even allowed her in, the capacity crowd violating fire code. She knew Pete and Jamal were somewhere inside, soaking in the team’s victory. She found them near Lucifer, standing shoulder to shoulder, trying to talk above the noise. Prior to tapping Pete on the shoulder, the newly liberated woman fluffed her hair and slightly pulled up her skirt.
“Pete!” said Heather over the clamor. “Peter!”
As Pete turned to his right a slight gap opened between the drunken fellows. Shockingly, Heather found herself face to face with the woman of mystery, holding a martini in her manicured hands. She held a green swizzle stick against her thick red lips, slowly rotating it back and forth in provocative fashion. She was at least two inches taller than Heather. Around her neck was a dainty necklace with a silver medallion. Her blue Scandinavian eyes stared directly at Heather in a cold, piercing fashion.
“Heather,” said Pete over the blare. “Go Tarps!” His raised his hand in high five fashion.
“Good evening gentlemen,” was the response from Heather. Her eyes were locked down in a stare with Miss Perfection.
“Heather, I’d like you to meet Chloe Brown, from up north,” shouted Pete. “She came down for the weekend to see the game. It was a complete surprise to me.”
“Oh… isn’t that nice.”
The physician’s ex-fiancée simply smiled back, her picture perfect smirk part of the whole package. Thankfully, she didn’t have an engagement ring on her finger. Heather’s inner woman wanted to ask whether or not her cardiologist ‘boy toy’ came along, but she held her tongue. To compliment the awkwardness, Lexi Starr appeared with two drinks in her hands, handing one to Jamal. Suddenly, Miss Jackson found herself in an unfamiliar role, that of the ‘third wheel’.
Heather immediately shifted into damage control mode. She spoke of a sudden headache after declining Pete’s offer for alcohol. Pleas for her to mount old Lucifer went unanswered. Adding to her dismay was Chloe’s voice, which she found just as enchanting as her face. The proverbial last straw was Lexi asking her where Billy Mo was, and how they were doing? In haste, she excused herself to the ladies’ room and never came back.
The next morning Pete escorted Chloe Brown to his apartment door. Despite months of anger, the surprise guest had broken down his defense mechanism with an endless barrage of heartfelt apologies. Her mea culpa, in combination with a stiff dose of alcohol and hormones, had reunited the estranged couple in a most intimate way. As she held his hand they walked past Jamal sprawled out on the coach, who several minutes earlier had jettisoned Lexi from the pad.
“Thanks for having me down,” said Chloe. She had a travel bag in her hand. Outside the apartment a taxicab waited. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you’re sorry. You’ve told me a thousand times. Thank you for coming down,” said Pete. His head was pounding. “Let’s just take it slow. O.K.?”
“You bet,” said Chloe while kissing Pete. “I’ll call when I get back.”
“Great.”
“Oh Pete,” said Chloe in a muted tone, aware of Jamal around the corner. “Please, get that checked out. O.K.?”
“Yea, yea,” mumbled the physician.
“Peter, look at me. Promise me now? Get it checked out?”
“Yes,” said Pete a bit louder. “I’ll get it checked out. Don’t worry.”
“Soon?”
“Yes. Soon.”
“Miss you,” said Chloe with a hug. “Bye.”
After the door closed Pete slowly walked over to the living room, his body collapsing on the floor.
“Wow, she is one hot woman,” said Jamal from beneath a blanket. His body was catatonic, yet his mouth moved. “I mean smokin’ hot. She should be modeling in L.A.”
“Yep.”
“What’s the matter? A little erectile dysfunction last night?”
“Nah,” said Pete.
“I’ve got some Viagra.”
“No. That wasn’t the problem.”
“Well then what? You’ve got some sort of STD?” asked Jamal. “What does she want checked out?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“She said my testicles have shrunk,” bemoaned Pete. “In quite a dramatic fashion.”
“What!”
“Yep. That’s right. My balls are vanishing.”
“Yikes!”
Chapter Twelve
THE BACK DOOR
“Wow, that was really uncomfortable,” said Dean Royce. “I’ve never experienced such angry passion.”
“I think he is telling the truth,” replied President Davis. “There was no hesitation in his voice.”
“I agree,” added Athletic Director Foster. “He’s a solid kid.”
The administrators and Dr. Harper were gathered in Davis’ office, having just finished an hour-long meeting with Connor Kelly. After tactfully reviewing his blood work, the school officials asked Connor for a possible explanation regarding his elevated testosterone level. Their question was met with a response befitting an innocent man. He vehemently denied any use of PEDs, or performance enhancing drugs. Kelly expressed outrage at the slightest suggestion of him using PEDs to gain an athletic edge. Specifically, he denied use of anabolic steroids. The Scranton product expressed dismay and a sense of betrayal from the school, noting the allegations insulted not only himself, but the entire Kelly family. Efforts to calm his ire failed.
“He’s demanding an immediate retest,” said Dean Royce. “What do you think of that Jordan?”
“I’m not sure about the retest,” said Jordan Harper. “Nor am I completely sure of his innocence.” The team physician sat on the edge of the president’s desk, looking perplexed. “Listen, the blood result is objective evidence of an abnormally high testosterone level in Connor. I mean, there are a few medical conditions that may cause such a rise, but common things occur commonly in medicine.”
“And the most common reason is what?” asked President Davis.
“An exogenous source of testosterone.”
“What the hell does that mean Jordan?”
“A source from outside his body,” said Jordan. “A man made or synthetic hormone. One that is introduced into the body itself.”
“You think he is juicing?” asked Dean Royce incredulously. “C’mon Jordan, that kid is the real deal. I would be shocked if he were abusing steroids.”
“I’m not saying that,” retorted the physician. “But we have a real tempest on our hands here and quite honestly, I don’t agree with immediate retesting. I think the less information, the better. Remember, we aren’t dealing with any governing board or random screening program here. This is purely an internal matter, brought about by a private medical physician.”
