Twelve Men in the Huddle, page 31
“Did Derrick catch it?” asked Connor. “It wasn’t my best throw.”
“Yea,” said Dr. Harper. “He caught it.”
“That was an Our Father,” said Connor Kelly, realizing his collegiate career was over.
““… who art in heaven,” said a teammate at his side.
“Always remember that doc, we threw the first Our Father in collegiate history.”
“I will Connor. We all will.”
The wounded warrior was helped to his feet, and slowly taken to the sideline, amid a thunderous roar of appreciation. He gave a thumbs-up to the adoring crowd. He had played his last down as a Tulsa Valley Tarpon.
Chaos reigned in the Tarpon huddle as Coach Hayes tried to determine the final play call. With Connor out, a decision was made to run the ball, until his defensive tri-captain spoke out.
“Coach, the runt,” said the Twister. “He can kick it.”
“Who?”
“Eugene, he’s in uniform,” said Tubbs. The massive lineman reached backwards and grabbed Eugene Blatt by the shoulder pad, delivering his body into the midst of Tarpon history. “I saw him kicking before the game. He can do it.”
Hayes just stared at the scrawny kicker. He didn’t trust kickers.
“Can you do it boy?” asked Hayes. “How’s that broken leg doing?”
“Wow. You remembered,” said Eugene. “It’s doing well, and yes I can kick it. It’s a chip shot.”
“Let’s go coach,” said a line judge. “Injury time out is over. You’re on the play clock.”
“But I’m doing it for Connor,” said Eugene. “Not for you, or your staff, or for this pompous ass next to you.” He pointed his finger at the Twister. “I’m doing it for Connor Kelly and all these fans in the stadium,” said Eugene. “Because they deserve it, not you.” He stared down the coach. “Well Coach Hayes, what’s your call?” His tone turned bitter. “Do you want me to kick the kick, or not?”
Hayes just glared at him in silence, dumbfounded.
“Funny,” said Eugene. “Your legacy coach, it’s in my hands.”
“Get the hell out there and kick the ball,” growled Hayes.
“Field goal!” shouted an assistant coach. “Kicking team.”
“Johnny, it looks like they’re going for the field goal,” said the announcer. “A number nineteen is going to kick it… that’s ah, let me see, a Eugene, Eugene Blatt.”
“Someone in my earpiece is telling me he was injured in preseason,” said Johnny H. “Dr. Harper put him back together but he wasn’t expected to play today. Old Doc Harper, what would we do without him?”
“Well he’s in uniform,” said the color commentator. “And is listed as active.”
“Coach Hayes with another rabbit out of his hat,” said Johnny H. “This is going to be about a fifteen yard attempt – for the national championship!”
As his teammates lined up for the snap, an inner calm took hold of Eugene. He thought of his mother watching the game back home in Tampa. Despite the noise level, he heard nothing. He tapped his right thigh three times for good luck, a ritual instilled upon him by his high school coach. Looking up he peered through the goal post, his alignment dead center. The crowd didn’t matter. He looked down at the holder, who stared upwards in anticipation. A nod of his head would snap the ball. He paused.
“He better hurry Johnny, the play clock is running out!”
“What’s he waiting for?”
“Time out!” shouted Eugene. “Time out!” He raised his hands in a letter ‘T’ fashion.
The referee immediately signaled a time out.
Strangely, the voice of Coach Hayes could be heard over the sellout crowd, going delirious.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said the long time announcer for the Tarpon nation. “The kicker called a time out!”
“He’s icing himself Johnny!”
Eugene calmly turned and began walking towards Coach Hayes. What he was about to do would change the course of Tulsa Valley football forever. He was certain of that.
Chapter Thirty Two
AND THE KICK IS …
“Who the heck calls a time out!” screamed Heather as she rocketed off the cot. In her hand was an empty bottle of Chianti. “Is that kicker crazy?” As her inebriated body tilted to the left, she hoisted the flask to the right.
Heather and Pete were listening to the game in Pete’s old cell. A single candle lit up the room, together with the half moon outside. Their bottle of spirits had just run dry.
“Easy girl,” said Pete. As he looked up the moonlight cast a pleasing shadow on Heather’s face, her hair in disarray. “Eugene will pull through. Remember I put the rod in his leg, so I get credit for the win.”
“Oh really?” said Heather as she stepped towards Pete. “Mr. big shot doctor. Are you saying you’ve created the bionic man?”
“Maybe,” said Pete, as the wine continued to alter his sensorium. “It’s been on my list of things to do.”
“I see,” said Heather, as she entered Pete’s personal airspace, leaning forward. “What else is on your to do list?” She placed both hands on his thighs. The candle flickered in a strange way. “I’d be interested to know.”
“A lot of things,” said Pete as he stared into her face. “Ironically, one item may actually involve a girl named Ms. Jackson.”
“Winona Jackson?”
“No,” said Pete. “Heather Jackson.” The room was beginning to spin as he leaned forward, in anticipation of their first kiss. It was the number one item on his list of things to do.
“Pete,” said Heather, her eyes wide open.
“Yes Miss Jackson?” Their faces were inches away.
“We can’t.”
“Can’t what?” He could smell her breath. It was intoxicating.
“We can’t do it. Not now. Not at this very moment.”
“Why?” He leaned forward. “The warden is at the game.”
“But…”
“We’ll tell him it was a conjugal visit.” They were so close he could taste her lipstick.
“Wagner! We just can’t turn our backs on the Tarps! This is history in the making!” She stood upright and stared him down. “What kind of a Badland girl do you think I am?”
“Oh no,” said Pete as he leaned back onto the cot. “I should have known, another one – brainwashed.”
“T-A-R-P-S!” went the cheer. The former Sports Information Director spelled out each letter with her body, screaming loudly, her voice echoing throughout the abandoned penitentiary. She bounced up and down in jumping jack fashion while shouting – “Go Tarps Win!”
“Wow,” said Pete. “That was nice. Where did you learn that?”
“Never you mind,” said Heather as she sat down next to Pete. She put her hand around his waist and squeezed tight, while staring intently at the radio. “We’ve got a national championship to win here.”
“Actually your beloved Tarpons have about one second left,” said Pete. “One final second to bring home the championship and make the world right.” He held on tight for the ride. “Is that your desire?”
“Yes,” said Heather. “Now be quiet. I can’t hear the announcer.”
“I’d love to hear what’s going on inside that huddle,” crackled the raspy voice of Johnny H. over the airwaves. “That was their last time out! In all my years as a broadcaster, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Johnny, Coach Hayes actually sprinted twenty yards in the opposite direction after the time out call. He tossed his headgear off downfield. He’s slowly walking back into the picture, towards the kicker.”
“Good God, it looks like a gunfight, they’re both staring at each other. I can’t imagine what’s being said!”
“What in tarnation is going on with the Tarpon Nation?”
• • •
“Are you stupid?” shouted the coach at Eugene. “Who told you to call a time out?”
“That’s our last one coach,” added an assistant.
Eugene just stared at his head coach, a few feet separating the two. A gang of players and assistants swarmed around them. The kicker had a smirk on his face. Both men were in the high definition view of a cameraman.
“Why are you smiling?” asked the coach.
The kicker didn’t respond.
“Am I missing something?” asked Coach Hayes. “I mean, we got a ball game on our hands here, and you’re smiling like a dead pig in the sunshine.” He continued to gawk at Eugene. “Talk to me boy, before I send the offense back out onto the field.”
“Why did you do it?” asked Eugene.
“Do what?”
“Spike the punch,” said Eugene with a shake of his head. “The magical elixir of the Badlands, why did you spike it?”
“Are you O.K. boy?” said Hayes with a cocked eyebrow. “The warm night must be getting to you.” The coach looked at his assistant. “Get the offense ready to go out there, and have Avery set up a play.” He began to walk away.
“I saw you do it,” said Eugene in matter of fact fashion. “In the middle of the night, down in the annex.” The players and coaches around him were listening. “I was going to get some more beer for your alcoholic defensive star, who by the way, shattered my leg – on purpose.”
The old ball coach just stared back.
“He was in the equipment room,” said Eugene to the crowd. “With his daughter Piper. They had all the Harper Cider bottle tops off, and were stirring a powdery substance into each one. Quite carefully, I might add.”
“Get that camera out of here,” growled Hayes with a crooked finger pointed at the cameraman. His henchmen closed rank on the network feed.
“Tell them coach. Tell everyone – that you’ve been exposing the entire team to steroids!”
“You shut your mouth boy,” said the coach. “This isn’t the place or time to make such crazy claims. You understand? We got a national championship to win.”
“I disagree,” said Eugene. “This is the place and time, otherwise you would deny it.”
“He’s gone loco,” said Hayes while looking around at the coaching staff and players. “Have Doc Harper take a look at him. Derrick, get back out there.”
“Delay of game!” shouted an official as he tossed a penalty flag in the air. “Five yard penalty.”
“What!” screamed Hayes. “Are you nuts?”
The stadium erupted in outrage, as a line judge marched the ball five yards farther downfield.
“I can’t believe what I am seeing!” shouted the announcer. “It’s absolutely unbelievable. We just lost five precious yards.”
“Now look what you’ve done!” shouted Hayes at his kicker.
“I’m not going back out there until you confess,” said Eugene.
“Listen son, take a deep breath. Gather yourself and look around. Everyone is counting on you.”
“I’m aware of that,” said Eugene with confidence. “I’ll kick the field goal – once you admit it. It’s that simple. We all deserve the truth, especially Connor.”
The coach’s face turned a peculiar tinge of red, a combination of anger and disbelief. He looked around to see his coaching staff, staring back, waiting for an answer. The Twister had a confused look on his face, as did the Derrick Smith. He made eye contact with Dr. Harper.
“Don’t make me throw another flag coach,” said the referee. “Let’s go. It’s getting late coach.”
“Coach,” said Derrick. “What’s going on? Talk to me. What’s he saying?”
The old ball coach didn’t respond.
“That’s it,” said Eugene as he walked past the coach, towards the bench. He threw his hands up in disgust. “Good luck coach.”
“Blatt!” shouted Hayes. “Get your ass back in this huddle!”
The long arm of the Twister yanked the kicker back into the fray.
“Johnny, the young kicker looks disoriented,” shouted the color commentator. “He wandered back towards the bench. Coach Hayes is trying to calm him down, along with the Twister.”
“Kickers are a peculiar breed,” responded Johnny H. “The coach has never trusted them. He’s made that clear over the years.”
“That was a league approved supplement,” said Hayes in a low growl. “We’ve been doing it for years, to prevent dehydration over the summer. That’s what you saw. We did it in your best interest. Now get on out there boy, and kick that field goal.”
“That’s a lie,” said Eugene.
“You did what?” asked Derrick.
“I never liked the stuff,” shouted Eugene. “And look at me, I’m the skinniest kid in town!”
“Delay of game!” shouted the official standing next to the confusion. He tossed another yellow flag high into the air, causing a near riot in the stands.
“Are you insane!” screamed Hayes into the official’s right ear. “It’s collusion! You’ve been out to get me for years! Collusion between you and Southern State!” As the coach turned back towards the team he saw Athletic Director Foster and President Davis walking towards the huddle, with looks of concern.
“I approved it,” said Harper in a serious tone. “It was part of a study we were carrying out through the athletic department, in combination with the skin patches.” He looked around at the group and Eugene. “It was for your betterment, to prevent life threating dehydration. The supplement was under my direct supervision.”
“What?” shouted the Twister.
“What was in it?” asked the quarterback.
“I can assure you,” said Harper. “Nothing harmful or illegal was in it. You have to trust me on that.”
“Good enough for you Blatt?” asked the coach to the kicker. “How’s that for an answer, from the team doctor himself?”
Eugene didn’t respond.
“Let’s go coach,” said the referee. “Please, get your team out onto the field.”
“Get out there Blatt, or you’ll forever be known as the biggest nut job in collegiate sport history.
“You’re both full of shit!” said Eugene with a pointed finger at the coach and team physician. He began to walk back out onto the field, still waving his hand at the coach. “I’m doing this for Connor, and everyone out there!” He waved at the crowd. “The truth will come out. Trust me!”
Coach Hayes just shook his head in disgust. He looked up and down the sidelines at his team. “That boy fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down,” said the coach in disgust. “A poster child for birth control, that’s what he is!” He spit onto the turf. “Get back!” he yelled at his team while waving an arm. “Before they hit us with another flag! Collusion! They’re all out to get us! Damn kickers… all nuts in the head!”
As Eugene Blatt limped back onto the field, a national audience held its collective breath.
“Ohhhh Johnny, Here we go!”
“Finally!” yelled Johnny H. “The Tarps are one kick away from the championship that has eluded them for over half a century. Hang on to your hats!”
• • •
“Mmmm,” said Heather as she pulled back from Pete, their faces still close together. The delay of game accelerated their social timetable, along with an assist from alcohol and hormones. It was their first kiss. “Now that’s good medicine.”
“That was only half the dose,” said Pete as he locked lips again with his cellmate. The second dose administered by the surgeon was a bit more potent than the first.
“Clank,” came a noise down the hall.
“What was that?” whispered Heather. She was so close to Pete a sliver of moonlight couldn’t get by their lips.
“Rats,” said Pete as he pulled Heather closer. “Or a wild pig. They roam around in here.”
“Classy joint,” said Heather as she began to dispense her own brand of medicine, beginning with a detailed physical exam.
“Clank, clank.”
At first Pete attributed the shining lights to nirvana, his mind and body melding with that of Heather. They were a perfect fit, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, held together by passion. He made the right choice and was sure of it. As they pressed forward, the lights began to magically twinkle. A spark of static electricity discharged, a byproduct of their combined bodily motion. As the girl of his dreams slowly disrobed, Pete strangely recalled a documentary on prison life, which he watched on the long flight back from California. It was a harsh, inside view of prison, and included vivid scenes of a cell extraction.
“Get down!” shouted a male voice from behind Heather. “Get down!”
As Pete looked up he saw a gang of men in dark black outfits burst into the cell. Spotlights darted across the room. The assailants were armed with shotguns, some with lights on their helmets. They were wearing flak jackets, as if expecting return fire.
Heather screamed.
“Down on the ground!” shouted the leader.
The gunmen violently separated the two, tossing their bodies down prone to the floor.
“Nobody move!”
As Pete’s right cheek was rubbed into the moldy concrete, he could hear Heather cry out.
“Pete!”
He couldn’t move, the combined force of several men atop his frame. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. He noticed a spit shined military boot beside his face. Looking to his right he could only see Heather’s buttocks, with the words ‘Go Tarps’ sewn across her underwear.
“Pete, what’s happening?”
More lights lit up the room, darting from side to side, as if searching for answers. A long minute went by as the room was turned upside down, its contents tossed into the hallway. It was then he heard two familiar voices.
“Stand down!” said the first voice.
The second crackled over the radio.
“The kick is no good! No good! It hit the upright! Oh for the love of God – he missed it!”
Chapter Thirty Three
GAME OVER
As he opened his eyes, the brilliant white room was strangely quiet. A bag of normal saline hung from an I.V. pole, slowly dripping solution downward into his vein. On a side table was a bouquet of fresh cut flowers, attached to a balloon drifting overhead. ‘Get Well Soon’ cards filled the windowsill, along with a football signed by the team. Looking across the room he noticed a grease board on the wall, orienting him to place and time. It was Tuesday, January 9th. The temperature outside was sixty-four degrees and a smiling sun suggested a cloudless day. The board notified him of his nurse’s name, Jasmine – who dotted the letter ‘i’ with a heart. His goal for the day was to ‘Wake up and Smile!’
