Twelve Men in the Huddle, page 22
The fallout was catastrophic. Within minutes the story spread across the nation like a wildfire. Every major sports network picked up the article and ran with it, prompting reporters to scramble towards Tulsa Valley. Connor Kelly first heard about the dispatch during a morning communications class, the topic ironically being the seminal role of a northeastern Pennsylvania priest named Father Jozef Murgas and the wireless telegraph.
“Hey Connor, check it out,” whispered a classmate with an extended cell phone. “You’re trending on ESPN.”
Connor took hold of the phone and scrolled down. He immediately recognized the writer’s name, recalling his hatred for football teams south of the Mason-Dixon line. However, he was totally unprepared for the testosterone reference. His first thought was of his father, and how upset he must be back home. Looking up he saw the sudden appearance of Athletic Director Foster, whispering into the professor’s ear.
“Uh, Connor Kelly, you may be excused,” said the teacher.
Foster rushed the star running back towards his office, some students already telling Connor to ‘stay strong.’ A female undergrad shouted ‘We still love you Connor.’ As the two approached the building a reporter from the Tulsa Eagle was standing guard, a paper note pad and pencil in hand.
“Connor, a few words please…”
“Not now Jesse,” said Foster as he politely pushed the local newsman aside. “Not now. We’ve got a problem.”
“Is it true?” shouted the reporter.
Once inside the administrative building all eyes were on the star, as he was rushed up a back stairwell, into the A.D.’s office. President Davis and Dean Royce were already in the room. It was Davis who spoke first.
“Son, we’ve just received some concerning news,” said President Davis.
“It couldn’t have come at a more terrible time,” chimed in Dean Royce. He appeared ready to vomit.
“What I am about to tell you is disturbing,” continued the president. “But I can assure you, Tulsa Valley will fully support any…”
“I never took steroids,” interrupted Connor. “Never!”
“Then you’ve heard? About the news article from Scranton?”
“Sure,” said Connor. “My phone is ready to explode. Everyone’s calling me.”
“Yes, well O.K.,” said Davis. “Ah, well, then what we need to discuss…”
“I never, ever used steroids. It’s that simple. Put me in front of any camera you want. The answer will always be the same. It’s the truth. I have nothing to hide.”
“I know it is son,” said Davis. “But outside forces are working against us now. The focus of a nation is going to transcend upon Tulsa Valley, to try and tarnish our reputation.”
“Well then get me out there as soon as possible,” said Connor. He looked down at his cell phone and pressed the screen, bringing it to his ear. “Excuse me President Davis, this is my dad calling.” He stepped away from the group. “Hey dad,” said the star. “Yea, I heard… A bunch of lies… Right, he must have been the anonymous source… I’m here now with President Davis and Dean Royce… Yes, A.D. Foster is here also… No, he’s not here yet.”
As the student spoke with his father, Dean Royce noticed a series of news trucks pulling up to the front of the building. Satellite dishes began to rise from their roofs, in a slow, eerie fashion. A crowd of students began to congregate in the plaza, just beyond the front steps.
“A crowd is gathering,” said Royce. “This isn’t good.”
“It’s only the beginning,” said Davis. He had his forehead resting in his right hand, leaning forward on a desk. “They’re going to descend upon us like locusts.”
“We should have repeated the test,” said Foster. “When we had a chance. Now it’s going to look like a cover-up.”
“Yea, all right dad,” said Connor while walking back towards the group. “Tell mom I’m O.K. Everything is going to be fine. I’ll have coach call you… Good-bye.”
Suddenly Coach Hayes burst into the room. “Sweet Jesus, we’re done!” shouted the coach. “It’s a conspiracy. The northerners! They want to ruin the legacy of Buford B. Hayes and Tulsa Valley football!”
“Calm down coach,” said Foster. “Let’s worry about Connor first.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down Vern. We should have dealt with this mess at the beginning of the season. Where’s Doc Harper, he’s the one who suggested not to do anything. We’re in a heap of trouble now!”
“Harper is out of town,” said Davis. “I’ve already spoken to him, and he is formulating a response. He’s on his way back.”
“I want him back here faster than a cat can lick its ass!” screamed Hayes. “He’s responsible for this mess.”
The phone rang on A.D. Foster’s desk.
“Yea, we’re on top of it Clint. We’re trying to coordinate a response,” said Foster into the phone.
“Clint Benson! All he’s worried about is pitching some soft drink of his!” roared Coach Hayes. “I’m trying to win a national championship and he’s out in front of the stadium, selling soda pop!”
“I can assure you, we’ll keep you in the loop Clint,” said Foster. “We all have a lot riding on this too… I understand Clint… Yes, I will. Good-bye.”
“Clint Benson is upset? The man’s got more money than the United States of America. Hell, I hear he’s been at the Honey Hole, tossing money at some college go-go girl! He should be ashamed of himself!”
“Coach, it will be all right,” said Connor. “This is my reputation on the line. Nothing will ever go wrong if I tell the truth. So I have nothing to fear. Let’s get through this together. We got a big game in two weeks. Right?”
“The boy is right,” said Vern Foster. “Now let’s everybody just calm down. We have nothing to hide. Right?”
“Right,” said Connor. “Just get me in front of the camera.”
Over the next several hours the power brokers of the university dissected the situation at hand. As they spoke, a mob grew outside of the building, demanding answers. Hour by hour, a never-ending series of news trucks and satellite dishes appeared. Some trailers hauled in stage equipment and tents, suggesting the possibility of a long, drawn out siege. Well-groomed reporters stood in front of cameras with the Tarpon stadium behind them, speaking to the nation. The story had gone viral. It was the headline on all the major networks.
At exactly three o’clock in the afternoon, the brain trust of Tulsa Valley, along with a clean-shaven and well-dressed Connor Kelly, walked single file into a conference room. They were in President Sterling Davis’ ancillary office, with the Tulsa Valley logo emblazoned on a podium. A line of cameras from a preselected group of networks faced the lineup, while a series of camera shutter clicks rang out. It was President Davis who stepped to the microphone first, prompting his image to appear live across the nation.
“Good afternoon,” said President Davis. “I am here today with Coach Hayes and several representatives of our Tulsa Valley administration, to respond to allegations regarding one of our football players. Present at my side is Dean Royce Emerson, Athletic Director Vernon Foster and our team physician, Dr. Jordan Harper. Next to Dr. Harper is Connor Kelly, our senior running back. Each one of us will speak, followed by time to answer questions from the floor. Prior to beginning, I do ask that everyone respect the process. All of your questions will be answered.”
Some hands immediately shot up in the crowd. The president ignored them.
“First, let me say that Tulsa Valley as an institution has always strived for academic and athletic excellence. Our sporting teams have consistently honored the rules and regulations regarding the fairness of athletic competition. I can proudly say that under my charge, no Tarpon athlete has ever failed a random…”
Pete Wagner stood just to the side of the stage, off camera view. He arrived just moments earlier with a shaken Dr. Harper. While the president spoke, he was amazed as to how calm and collective Connor Kelly appeared. He was sure the nation would believe his story, once he was allowed to speak.
“Now, let’s open up the floor for questions directed towards me,” said President Davis after completing his opening remarks. A look of confidence was on his face.
“Connor did you abuse steroids?” shouted one reporter.
“Why is your testosterone level so high?” screamed another.
“How long have you been using PEDs?” yelled a third.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please,” said President Davis, holding up his hands to restore order. “In due time you will be able to ask each one of us questions. Now, please… one question at a time.”
“Coach Hayes, what do you have to say about the whole matter? Will Connor be allowed to play in the title game?”
The coach went to speak, but A.D. Foster held his forearm back. Dean Royce was scheduled to talk next, but he appeared incapable of speech. Foster stepped to the podium with authority.
“Now listen everyone, let’s try to be civil here. We have all afternoon to answer your questions. First off, as Tulsa Valley’s athletic director, I am proud to report that our football team has never failed a random drug test. Never!”
“Coach Hayes, how long has this been going on?”
“Who’s been providing the steroids?”
“Randomized testing has been conducted by our conference for over twenty years, and during that time frame, no Tarpon has ever failed a test,” said Foster. The A.D. sensed a loss of control.
“Connor, can you speak to us? What about your hometown of Scranton? What would you like to say to them?”
Connor went to speak, but was abruptly cut off by Vern Foster.
“Please, everyone. We are trying to be completely transparent here,” said Foster. “All of your questions will be answered. But please, respect the process. As I was saying, our athletic team has been following a plan, developed by Orthopedic Surgeon Jordan Harper, which over the years has proven…”
“Connor, could this have happened at Keystone State? Do you regret not going there?”
“Connor, what about your knee injury? Did that prompt the steroid use?”
Pete sensed doom. Connor Kelly desperately wanted to get to the microphone to voice his innocence, yet he could not. The event was turning into a shouting match. Pete feared one horrific event about to happen which would turn the crisis into a three-ring circus. Then suddenly, his fear became reality.
“Now let’s everybody just wait one minute here!” shouted Coach Hayes. He bull rushed the podium and dismissed A.D. Foster with a slight shove. “We’re not gonna let the tail wag the dog here!” yelled Hayes. “That’s not how it works in Tulsa, Louisiana.”
“Coach, how long have you known about this?” shouted a female reporter in the front row.
“Listen here young lady, I’m in charge,” growled the coach. “Now everyone listen, and listen good. I’ve got three speeds: on, off and don’t push your luck. And you’re all pushing your luck. So let’s get some order here, or this conference will be over.”
“Coach, is Connor Kelly using steroids, and if so how long have you personally, and the administration known about it?” It was the first orderly question asked by the reporting team. The room went silent, as the cameras continued to roll. The nation awaited an educated answer.
“Now I want you to all know, we run a clean program here in Tulsa. Always have, and always will. I see everybody out there grinning like a possum eating a sweet potato, but that don’t matter. What’s right is right.”
“What does that mean coach?” shouted a reporter. “What does a possum and sweet potato have to do with Connor Kelly’s elevated testosterone levels?”
“It means that Connor Kelly is the hardest working athlete I’ve ever seen come through Tulsa. He has never used steroids. Period! Any other questions?”
“Yes,” continued the female reporter in the front row. She stood up, directly in front of the coach. “Did your university have access to these alleged elevated testosterone levels, and if so, was anything done internally to further investigate the situation?”
Pete sensed Coach Hayes about to go berserk.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree ma’am,” said the coach. “That’s personal medical information. This young man has a right to privacy.”
“I’ll ask the question again Coach Hayes,” said the woman. “Did your administration know about any elevated testosterone, and more importantly, was anything done?”
Vern Foster sensed a meltdown, and tried to step in. He was too late.
“I bet you can start an argument in an empty house,” said the coach, now staring down the woman. “Ain’t that right?”
“I’m just doing my job coach,” responded the reporter.
“Well bless your heart,” said coach.
“Answer the question Coach Hayes. Yes or no? Did you personally know of any elevated testosterone level prior to today’s article in the Scranton Daily News?”
“Ah this whole thing is nonsense,” shouted the coach. “It’s collusion between the media networks to bring down the number one team in the nation, prior to the big game. Well it’s not going to happen. No sir, not on my watch.” He tossed his hands forward in disgust. “You can all…”
“Answer the question coach!” shouted the reporter. “Unless you have something to hide?” She had a smug look on her face.
“That’s it! No more questions! This dog and pony show is over!” shouted Hayes. “The whole thing stinks so bad it could knock a buzzard off a gut wagon!” He was staring directly at the reporter. “I’ve been involved with Tulsa Valley football for over fifty years, and now, all of a sudden, you people show up on our doorstep, accusing us of horrible things. We are god fearing, law abiding people here in Tulsa!”
“So there’s nothing to hide?” asked the newswoman.
“I’ve had enough of this,” grumbled Hayes, a look of utter disgust on his face. “Come on Connor, we got a game to get ready for!” The coach stormed away from the podium, towards his star player. “A bunch of horseshit!” shouted the coach. “I’m not going to respond to a lady who’s madder than a wet hen. Nonsense! We run a clean program!” The head coach grabbed Connor Kelly by the arm and stormed off the stage. Without saying a word they bolted past Pete Wagner, out of sight.
Pandemonium ensued in the conference room as the heated exchange played out in front of a nationwide audience. While doing so, the horde outside grew larger and larger.
Just across campus and despite the afternoon hour, Hal Green sat in the Jackson Gin Hole nursing a drink. Beside him was Billy Morris. They were staring at the widescreen TV in the main barroom, watching the debacle in high definition. The closed caption on the screen was having difficulty translating a few of Coach Hayes final verbal bombs.
“Holy cow,” said Billy Mo. “Coach really lost it.”
“He certainly speaks in the southern football coach vernacular,” said Green. The writer brought a cold draft up to his lips, with one eye on the bartender. “I believe he just called a nationally respected newswoman, a wet hen.”
“I still respect the man,” said Morris, also enjoying an afternoon adult beverage. “No matter what he thinks of me.”
“Really?” said Green. “I don’t understand it. The football mentality that is.”
“It’s hard to explain,” said Billy. “Unless you’ve put on that Tarpon uniform and run out through the tunnel. Out onto the field with your teammates and the coach.” His eyes began to water. “I’d walk off a cliff for that man.”
“Excuse me,” said a voice behind the two.
The duo turned around to see Clint Benson standing before them.
“Mr. Benson,” said Billy Mo. He stood up and shook his hand. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you too, Billy Mo. You’re looking well.”
“Good afternoon,” said Hal while standing up to shake hands.
“May I have a moment of your time Mr. Green?” asked Benson while surveying the sparse crowd in the room. “Alone that is.”
“Sure,” said Hal. “As long as that’s O.K. with Billy Mo here. We’re just trying to make sense of what’s going on across campus. Have you heard the news?”
“Yes I have,” answered the businessman. “Unfortunately.”
“No problem,” said Billy while holding onto Clint’s handshake. “I’ve got to get down to Big Jim’s anyway. Got the middle shift today. Thanks for the lunch Mr. Green.”
“You’re welcome Billy.”
“Thank you Billy,” said Benson. He sat down next to Green.
“Mr. Green, as you know, I’m a businessman,” said Clint. “And also a big fan of Tulsa Valley football.”
“Sure,” said Green. “Everyone around here knows that.”
“I’m going to cut to the chase Mr. Green. We’re kind of in a little pickle here, as you can tell.”
“It may be a big pickle,” said Green. “The press is going to feast on Tulsa Valley over the next two weeks.” Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the rent a cop living below his flat, sipping on a beer.
“Well I agree,” responded Benson. “And we’re going to need all the help we can get, and that’s where you come into play.”
“Oh really,” said Green. “How so?”
“I’ve got a little idea as to how we all can get out of this mess,” said Benson. “But it will take some action of your part.”
“Go ahead, I’m all ears.”
As the local businessman spoke, Hal Green listened, not surprised by the audacity of his plan. Nothing surprised him in Tulsa. Throughout the conversation he occasionally stared at the television, wondering how the writer from Scranton beat him to the scoop.
Chapter Twenty Four
WHERE’S CONNOR?
Pete just stared at Chloe, standing before him in her underwear. Despite all the color options for female lingerie, she always wore black. It was in her genetic makeup thought Pete, like a black widow spider. Over the past week and a half, it was becoming harder and harder for him to maintain a chaste state of affairs. The two lived together as if married, except for one main ingredient – coitus. She asked if he could help with the clasp on a necklace. While standing directly behind her some bodily contact occurred, testing out his hormonal alibi. She had just applied some perfume with a citrus base, its tangy essence triggering some vivid memories. Pete struggled with the jewelry locking mechanism, prompting Chloe to shimmy impatiently. After completing his task, the woman before him turned around. The real test was about to begin. Despite their closeness, she took a half step closer.
