“Except for that bit of covert propaganda, it’s fine,” Smiley said. “We’ll run it tomorrow.”
That evening after practice, I stopped Coach on his way back to his office and asked if he had a minute.
“For you? Sure,” he said, adjusting his cap with an easy half smile.
I smiled back at him and said, “You feeling good about LSU?”
“Yeah. I am. But don’t print that.”
“Obviously. I’m not that much of a rookie.” Then I took a deep breath and said, “But … I just wanted you to know that we … I have to run another story tomorrow.”
“Oh, yeah?” he said.
“Yeah. About the investigation.”
He stared at me for a second, then gave me a brisk nod. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know how much you hate distractions.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I don’t listen to what people say and write about this program. There are fifty-two thousand people yelling at me in this stadium every time we play. I learned a long time ago to tune out the noise.”
I nodded and said, “I hope you can tune it out. I hope Reggie can tune it out, too. He’s named in the story.”
“I hope you can tune it out, girl. Don’t let this get you down.”
We were in that golden hour of dusk, the setting sun reflecting in his eyes, and he shifted his gaze to something in the distance.
“I’ll try,” I said. “I just hate having to write a story like this.”
“It’s your job,” he said. “You don’t have a choice.”
I nodded, hoping for more, perhaps an adamant denial of any wrongdoing. I got something almost as good, as I watched him switch gears into his philosophical coaching mode.
“It’s like this,” he said, and I prepared myself for a good nugget. “You know in your heart when you’re doing the right thing and when you’re not. And you just have to do everything you can to stay the course.”
“Right,” I said.
“Keep your eyes on the prize.”
Twenty-one
The story ran the next morning, and by noon I had over fifty texts and emails, most from alarmed friends and former colleagues. They were surprised by the story, but more surprised that my name was attached to it. A lot of people asked if I was okay. No death threats yet, I told them, although the hate mail was beginning to trickle in from a few Walker crazies.
That night, my mother came over in a panic and demanded to know what was going on, why I hadn’t told her anything, and whether Coach was mad at me.
“No, he’s not mad at me,” I said.
“Is he okay?”
“Yes, Mom. He’s fine. He’s a head coach. He’s just focusing on our next game. One day at a time.”
“Well, is it true?” she said.
To anyone else, I would have said a flat no. That the reports came from jealous boosters at a rival school. A bitter transfer. Someone with a beef or a chip on his shoulder. But there was something about my mother, always so extreme in her views, that made me say, “Probably some parts of it. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be an official notice and a full-blown investigation.”
She shook her head and said, “No way. I don’t believe it.”
At that moment, I heard and saw myself in her, my blind allegiance to Coach Carr and anything related to Walker, and it made me a little sick.
“It’s not that black and white,” I said. “This isn’t SMU in the eighties. But, yeah, we probably looked the other way …”
My mother shook her head adamantly. “Cheating is black and white,” she said. I could tell she was talking about my father, and I marveled at how she always forgot that she was once a cheater, too. That that’s how it all began. How I came to be. “Bottom line, Coach Carr would never knowingly cheat,” she finished.
With this, I had to agree—and did, aloud.
“Do you know, in all those years of marriage, he was always true to Connie? Always. Do you know how few coaches at his level can say that? Connie told me stories you wouldn’t believe … Brazen, rampant serial cheating by so many coaches. I think they’re worse than investment bankers.”
My heart skipped at the mention of Connie and Coach and their marriage. I loved the affirmation of his strong character, but my heart filled with something else, too. Maybe guilt, maybe a dash of envy. Which in turn confused me and made me feel even more guilty.
“So they were really happy, huh?” I said, lowering my eyes.
“Yes,” she said, but then hesitated as if considering whether to say more. “They had a very happy marriage, but it wasn’t easy … It’s tough being married to a coach. She was lonely a lot. Sometimes she said she felt like a single mother. Especially around the holidays. She loved him so much, but …” Her voice trailed off.