The One & Only(62)

Lucy laughed. “Did you tell them about Ryan yet?”

“Not yet. And I must confess, I can’t wait,” I said, smiling.

“Yeah. That will be so satisfying,” Lucy said.

I looked down the field at Coach, as he blew his whistle and shouted, “Dammit, Sanders! If I tell you a duck can pull a truck, then shut up and hook the sucker up.”

I laughed and wrote the quote down. I knew I probably wouldn’t use it, and certainly not without Coach’s okay, but I still wanted a record of it to read later, along with our texts that I had yet to delete.





Nineteen





In a game that was even more ugly than the one Coach predicted, we barely escaped with a win in Waco, beating Baylor 21–20. Other than the final score, pretty much everything went wrong for us. We dropped the ball, missed field goals, and got a lot of stupid penalties. I knew from experience that Coach was going to be terse in the press conference, more frustrated with his team for their mental lapses and lack of discipline than happy to come away with a victory.

Sure enough, he came out surly, barking at reporters and barely acknowledging me when I raised my hand. Instead of calling my name, he simply pointed at me and said, “Yep. Question right there.”

“Coach Carr,” I began nervously, “what did you see in the play where Rhodes fumbled? At the end of the first half?”

“What did I see?” He squinted, as if confused, then replied, “I saw the official call a fumble. That’s what I saw.” His voice was gravelly from yelling over fifty thousand fans—and probably at his team afterward.

I felt my face turn red but pressed on. “Have you seen the replay? It looked very close as to whether he was down or not.”

“Yeah. I saw the replay.”

“And? Do you think the right call was made?” I asked, flustered, not able to articulate what I really wanted to know—which was how he felt about his team collapsing after such a pivotal call.

“It was the official’s call. And, as you well know, I had already used my challenge on an earlier play. So. They ruled it a turnover, and that was that. It really doesn’t make any difference what I think.”

I looked at him, thinking it made every difference what he thought about that call, the game, and everything else, too. He stared back at me, waiting, as I forced myself to ask one final question. “Do you think that changed the tide of the game for …” In the nick of time, I stopped myself from saying “us” and finished the sentence with “you.”

Coach crossed his arms and heaved a weary sigh. “There were a lot of plays in this football game. A lot of things we could have done better. Bottom line, we were lucky to get a win. Damn lucky. Okay. That’s all.”

He got up abruptly and, without another word, walked off the platform and out the side door, back to the visitors’ locker room.


That night, I was in a mood as foul as Coach Carr’s and ignored the phone when it rang, not picking up for Lucy, or for Ryan, who was at the Four Seasons in St. Louis, preparing for the Rams game tomorrow. The only person I wanted to talk to was Coach, but I didn’t dare call him, knowing the last thing he wanted to do was hear from a reporter who asked him annoying questions. At some point, though, after I had filed my story, I broke down and decided one little text wouldn’t hurt. After drafting and deleting at least a dozen versions, I wrote: Sorry about the game and also for the dumb question.

I didn’t expect to hear back from him at all, and certainly not right away, but he replied almost instantaneously: It’s ok. I’m sorry for snapping at you.

Then, before I could respond, the phone rang. It was him. Shocked, I fumbled it Rhodes-style, then scrambled to scoop it up and answer before it went to voice mail.

“Hey,” Coach said. “How are you?”

“Probably the same as you,” I said, though my frustration over the game was suddenly supplanted by relief that he wasn’t angry at me.

“That was one hell of a hollow win,” Coach said.

“It was still a win,” I said.

Coach made a disgusted sound, then said, “I’d rather play well and lose.”

I wasn’t sure if I believed him, and I know I didn’t subscribe to the notion, especially during a year like this one, but I still murmured my agreement, adding, “That was a terrible call, though.”

“Even shittier on the replay. That ref is a joke. And yes, to answer your question, I think that was a game changer. It definitely changed things for those boys. Got in their heads. We do that against a better team, and we’re done for.”

“Yeah,” I said, letting him vent.