I told myself I’d make it up to him later—and that I couldn’t turn down the chance to talk to Coach Carr on record. If I was going to be a successful reporter, I had to take these opportunities when they presented themselves. It was as simple as that.
A few hours later I walked into the Third Rail to find Coach already at his table.
“You look nice,” he said.
I thanked him, but felt suddenly overdressed in one of Lucy’s ensembles, especially given that he was in the same casual clothes he had been wearing earlier. “You been here long?” I asked, sitting across from him.
“Long enough to order this,” Coach said, taking a sip of beer. “Are you hungry?”
I nodded.
“Wings?”
I nodded again, then said, “So. This is quite an honor.”
“An honor? C’mon, now, girl,” he said, batting away my comment with his hand, making me feel slightly foolish.
“I just meant … thanks for suggesting this. It means a lot to spend time with you. And I know you don’t like to go out during the season.” I paused as the same waitress from the other night came by to check on us. She seemed not to remember me, apparently that blinded by Ryan, and it annoyed me that she was markedly less impressed with Coach. I asked for a Blue Moon, and she departed briskly.
“You don’t have to thank me, Shea,” he said. “And I don’t mind coming out to quiet spots like this.”
Our waitress returned with my beer and asked if we wanted to order anything to eat. Coach told her wings and specified spicy, as I knew he would. “If that’s okay with you?” he said, looking my way. I nodded and said that was the way to go as ESPN began its telecast.
“Too bad Faith Hill doesn’t do Monday Night Football,” I said, musing aloud about how great her legs were.
Coach raised his brows and nodded with appreciation so acute that I felt a pang of irrational jealousy. But the comment also made me feel close to him. Like we were on the same page. Coach and reporter bonding over beers and wings and Faith Hill’s killer wheels.
I took a sip of beer, then looked at Coach. Really looked at him, trying to pinpoint that certain quality that made him different from other men. There was just something so solid about him. He had a way of taking up the space around him with such quiet dignity. It was almost as if there were an invisible barrier around him that you knew you couldn’t penetrate with the usual congratulatory small talk about the last game. Coach was always warm and gracious, even to strangers, yet he remained walled off, self-contained, almost mysterious in a way that had always captivated me.
“What’s on your mind?” he suddenly asked.
I shook my head, as if to say nothing at all, as we both turned our attention to Jon Gruden, informing us that Dallas had won the toss and had elected to receive.
“Good,” Coach said. “Better for Ryan to establish an early rhythm. Calms him down. I don’t like him on the sidelines at the beginning of the game.”
Coach Carr and I both nursed our beers as the Giants kicked off for a touchback.
“I like the matchup in the secondary,” Coach mumbled as Ryan handed off. “If they can protect him up front, he’s going to have a good game.”
The series didn’t prove fruitful, though, as Dallas went a quick three and out.
“So, Coach? Are you a big Cowboys fan?” I said. It sounded like a throwaway question—a total given for any Texas native, especially one who had once coached the current starting quarterback, but I could tell he understood that the question was more nuanced than that. I was asking about his passion, and, in my mind, it was difficult, if not downright impossible, to have more than one passion in life. In other words, I know you pull for the Cowboys, but do you truly love them?
He gave me a very lackluster yeah, confirming my hunch.
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” I said.
He laughed. “Well, I’m definitely a fan, but growing up …” He paused, glanced around the room, then peered up at the ceiling as if searching for hidden cameras before leaning in to share his secret. “Growing up I was a Green Bay fan. Still am sort of. But that is way off the record,” he said with a deep, gravelly chuckle.
“Green Bay? Why?” I asked, intrigued.
“Because of my old man. And Vince Lombardi … My dad loved Lombardi as much as—” He struggled to finish his sentence as I thought, As much as all of Walker, Texas, loves you?
Coach gave me a funny look, as if reading my mind, but said, “One of his own. I don’t know how a man born and raised in Fort Worth came to that—but he passed it on to me. You know how that works …”