The One & Only(46)

Our first possession was quick and decisive, reminding me of the famed Battle of San Jacinto, only much less bloody. Crisp completion after crisp completion, followed by a gorgeous touchdown. Then, after a sloppy Rice turnover, we had the ball again. On our second down, Reggie Rhodes touched the ball for the first time in a college game, making an impossible catch, then streaking down the field. We all watched, mesmerized, as ten yards turned into twenty, then forty, then sixty. It was an exclamation point of a play, a wake-up call to anybody left in the country who was still calling him overrated. Even the press box got a little rowdy, seasoned reporters chortling with approval. Kid’s got wheels … The real deal … Playmaker.

Midway through the first half, the sun finally drifted behind the stadium, turning the sky a brilliant pink and violet. Touchdowns aside, it was always my favorite moment of a night game, that dramatic crescendo as the velvet curtain fell, and Bo Phelps, our longtime electrician, flipped on the final few breakers, all the auxiliary lights switched to their highest setting. It was soul-soaring, seeing those fifty-two thousand people in full, glowing teal Technicolor. I looked down to the sidelines to find Coach, the only one not yet smiling.

But when I saw him outside our locker room after the game, the 41–zip score in the books, he finally looked happy.

“Must have caught a big cricket,” I said.

Coach smiled, his sideburns and the front of his shirt damp with sweat. “Sure did,” he said. “Now I can let him go. Lucky fella.”

I laughed. “And if we hadn’t won?”

“Fishing bait,” he said, winking.

“Ahh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”

I knew I had already taken up too much of his time, and that I needed to get back to the press box to hand out stat sheets, but I couldn’t resist another quick comment. “That’s one down,” I said.

“Yup. And twelve to go,” he said—which I knew included the eleven games left on our schedule, plus what we all hoped would be the national championship game. “A very long way.”

I nodded. But for now, in this moment, I felt certain of our destiny. Positive that God was up there, picking favorites.


Coach caught a cricket the following week, too, and we massacred UTEP to open our season at 2–0 and earn a number 11 AP ranking. But early wins were not only expected but planned that way on the schedule, and our first true test was Texas A&M. I hated the University of Texas the most, but in some ways, I feared the Aggies more. Year in and year out, they just seemed to have our number, this infuriating way of playing their very best game of the season just to spoil ours, often in a come-from-behind, improbable win.

This game seemed to follow that same sickening story line, the Aggies playing way better than they should have to keep the game tied at seven all the way to the final minute. I was frantic. Everyone in the entire stadium was frantic. Because we all knew that, without a win tonight, it could be only a good season. Not a great one. Then, on the very last play of the game, with Reggie smothered in maroon jerseys, Everclear managed to complete a miracle pass to another freshman in the end zone. It was a thing of beauty, but more of an intense relief than a source of joy. We were 3–0, still in the hunt.

In the pressroom after the game, as we all waited for Coach Carr to arrive, I ran into Frank Smiley. “Good game,” he said. “Doesn’t get much closer than that.”

“I prefer blowouts to good games,” I said, thinking that assistant sports information directors had that luxury. We didn’t have to write about it; we just had to celebrate it. “Did you get a stat sheet?” I held a stack in my hands, hot off the presses.

He took one, said thanks.

“Did you see the longest run we gave up was seven yards?” I asked.

“I did. Some very impressive defensive stats,” he said.

“It all starts up front,” I said. “When you can control the line of scrimmage like that, it really allows you so much on the back end.”

I was making idle pressroom conversation but was also making a point: I knew this game, inside and out. And he should have hired me.

“So. If this were your beat, Ms. Rigsby, what would you ask Coach Carr?”

I looked at him, thinking that it was some real bullshit, his asking me a pseudo-interview question while I was working. But I played along. “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I might ask him about trusting a true freshman with the ball on the final play.”

“Hmm, yes,” he said, nodding. “And what do you think Coach’s answer would be?”

I exhaled, put the stat sheets on a table next to two ESPN reporters, and said, “The answer is … Patrick Elgin might be a true freshman, but we’ve repped that play a hundred times in practice. So he was ready for it. It’s not as much of a gamble as you’d think.”