Football Genius (2007) (11 page)

IF HAVING SETH WALK
out on him wasn't unpleasant enough, Troy got to look forward to giving Jamie the ball he owed him the next day at school. He'd rather give up the ball, though, than listen to Jamie and his friends calling him a welcher all day long. When he did hand it over, Jamie sniffed and turned it over in his hands before jamming it into his locker and slamming it shut.

"Too bad they suck so much or I could sell it for a couple bucks," Jamie said with a mean smile as he spun the combination dial on his locker. "Nobody really cares about a team that hasn't won a game and probably won't all season. A ball like that from the Cowboys would go for at least five hundred. For this thing, I'd be lucky to get five."

"Too bad none of the Cowboys would know you or your dad if you fell on them," Troy said. "Then you wouldn't have to worry about paying money to get a ball from your favorite team."

"Like you know these guys," Jamie said, turning toward him with a sneer.

"Seth Halloway was at my house," Troy said.

"Whatever," Jamie said, and walked away.

Troy wanted to throw a book at the back of his head, but didn't. He knew that wasn't the way to really fix Jamie, and he knew he wasn't going to get the chance to outshine him on the football field. What would stuff a cork in his hole would be for the Falcons to win and for Troy to be there, helping them do it. He thought of a way he could pull it off, even without his mom's help. It would be daring, but as Troy thought about it through the rest of the school day, he figured he had nothing to lose.

On the bus ride home from school, Troy shared the plan with his friends. Tate didn't like it. She had to go home to watch her little sister anyway, but she thought he was only digging himself in deeper. Troy said he was already in the basement and was able to convince Nathan to come over and help him.

"All you have to do is sit here and play Madden 2006 with the volume up," Troy said when they reached his room. "Is that so hard?"

"What if she comes in?"

"We'll lock the door," Troy said. "I'm the one taking the chance. Your dad's not going to send
you
to military school."

"He'll take my bike," Nathan said, sitting down and crossing his legs. "He did it before."

"You ate your sister's guppies," Troy said.

"
You
dared me."

"Okay, so I dare you to stay here in my room and pretend you're me. Happy? I need this," Troy said, handing him the controller. "Come on."

Nathan took it and started to play.

"I don't know," he said, but his eyes were already fixed to the screen. The game was running.

"Good," Troy said, locking the bedroom door and backing up toward his window. "Just like that. Don't say a word if she calls. She'll leave you alone. As long as she can hear you playing the game, you're fine. She'll think you're me giving her the silent treatment."

Nathan shrugged without looking up. He leaned with the player he controlled on the screen and barked out "Yes" as he scored a touchdown. Troy opened the latch and forced the window open, slipping out and dropping to the ground. He dusted off his hands and started down the path for Cotton Wood Country Club. It took him only ten minutes to get to Seth's place, and two of those minutes were spent wiggling through the hole in the wall. The rest was on a dead run.

He rang the bell and Seth came to the door, wearing Falcons shorts and no shirt, crunching an apple. On the front and back of both his knees were ice bags wrapped in place with Ace bandages.

"Hey," he said, swinging open the door and saluting him with the apple in hand. "Private Troy, reporting for duty, huh? Why am I not surprised? My day off and here you are. Unannounced."

"You said Coach McFadden could help us," Troy said, trying to catch his breath. "Let me show him."

His hands were on his knees and he was bent over in an effort to catch his breath.

"And your mom will then...what? Ship you off and claw out my eyes?" Seth said. "No blind men yet in the NFL, kid. I pass."

"What if McFadden says it's okay? How can they blame my mom? They'll blame you, if anyone," Troy said.

"Nice," Seth said.

"You know what I mean," Troy said. "No one can do anything to you."

"You'd be amazed, kid. That's how the NFL works. N-F-L, Not For Long. Especially when you get a little long in the tooth, like me."

"Long in the what?" Troy said.

"The tooth," Seth said, "like a gopher. They get old, their teeth get long. Let me get a shirt and I'll be right down."

EXCEPT FOR THE GLOW
of the big screen, Coach McFadden's office was dark. Troy's palms began to sweat. His mouth went dry.

"Coach?" Seth said, pushing the door wide open. "I gotta show you something."

McFadden was sitting at his desk but facing the side wall. He spun their way and flipped on the light. Seth gasped and pulled up short. Troy bumped right into him, then saw why Seth had stopped so suddenly. Sitting on the leather couch at the far side of the big office was Coach Krock.

"Seth," McFadden said, "what can I do for you?"

"I...didn't know you were busy," Seth said, looking from the head coach to Krock and back.

"Carl and I were just going over some film," McFadden said. He stood up and shook Seth's hand, then adjusted his glasses and looked at Troy. "Who's this?"

"A kid I met," Seth said. "You gotta see what he can do, Coach. He's like a genius. A football genius."

McFadden chuckled and said, "Well, we got the Saints coming up and any ideas on how to slow them down are welcome.

"Wherever it comes from," he added, looking over the tops of his glasses at Troy, obviously amused.

"Oh, bull crap," Krock said, leaning back in his chair and splaying his plastic leg out to the side. "I seen this parlor trick, Bart. Don't waste your time."

"It's not a trick," Seth said, glaring at Krock until McFadden cleared his throat.

"Run a couple plays, Coach," Seth said to McFadden. "Go ahead. I'm serious."

Krock snorted and shook his head, muttering something about work.

"We got work to do, Seth," McFadden said, his face turning serious.

"Please, Coach. You have to."

McFadden shrugged, nodded his head, and went back to his chair. He flipped off the light and ran the film. One play. Two. Three. Four.

Krock started to snigger.

"Sweep left," Troy said, looking at the three men quickly before turning his attention back to the screen.

It was a sweep. To the left.

"Probably saw that game on TV, Bart," Krock said. "You get that dish, you can see them all."

"Coach," Seth said, "I've seen him do it live. He did it with the Georgia Tech game on Saturday and the Giants-Jets game on
Sunday Night Football
. He can do it with any game, just not preseason."

"Why?" the head coach asked. "No strategy in a preseason game?"

"I think," Troy said.

McFadden nodded and got up from his desk. He walked over to his bookcase and removed a cassette from a high shelf.

"I know he didn't see this game, Carl," McFadden said to Krock. "He wasn't born when this was on."

McFadden put in the tape and let it run. After six offensive plays, Troy began to tell them what the next ones were going to be. He got ten plays in a row right.

"What'd you call him?" McFadden asked Seth, turning off the machine.

"A genius," Seth said, "a football genius. All the tendencies and formations that we study and plug into computers, his brain just calculates it all. Instantly. But he does it better than the computers. We just get little bits of it, like whether in a certain formation on third down they're more likely to run or pass.

"He calculates it all. Everything. What yard line they're on. The positions of the players. Formations. And what they've run on the previous plays. You know every coach has his game plan scripted out to run certain plays in certain situations? It's like he sees a little of what they're doing and his mind fills in all the blanks. He knows the whole game plan. All he needs is to see a few plays to get the pattern."

"My mom says it's like the weather," Troy said. "I say ESP."

"Your mom?" Coach McFadden said.

"She's the new PR assistant," Seth said. "That's how I found him. He was the one on the sideline at the Cowboys game."

"I tried to tell everyone they were going to run T.O. to the outside instead of to the inside," Troy said, getting excited.

"All right," Krock said, growling and rising to his feet with a clank from the metal joints in his leg. "That's enough. We're oh and two and we haven't had a winning season in three years. Now you're going to bring a twelve-year-old in to save us?"

"You gotta take this chance, Coach," Seth said. "We could win it all with this kid."

"Carl, go ahead and sit down, okay?" McFadden said.

"My leg makes it more comfortable for me to stand, Coach," Krock said, "if you don't mind."

"Sure, sure. Just be comfortable."

"I doubt that, Bart," Krock said, glancing at Troy. "I specifically told that little brat there to stay away from me and stay away from this team. I told Halloway that the last time he brought him around. Now here they are again, talking to you. This kid
cost
us the Cowboys game, running around the sideline, distracting everyone, causing confusion. The police had to take him."

"That's a lie!" Troy said, leaning toward Krock. "I tried to tell you the play."

Krock turned his head sideways and shot a glare at Troy from his near eye. Troy remembered Nathan's words. NFL players were afraid of this guy. Now he knew why.

"I grew up on a pig farm," Krock said through his teeth. "Never knew one that didn't make a stink. I used to wait for slaughter day like it was Christmas, and I'm looking that way for the day I don't have to see this one."

"Carl--" Coach McFadden said.

"Don't do this to yourself, Bart," Krock said, holding up his hand. "I respect what you done, as a player and a coach. Don't go out this way."

"Carl, you saw what he just did," McFadden said.

"Can you imagine the newspapers?" Krock snorted. "What they'll say on TV? They'll laugh you out of coaching. You won't get a high school job by the time it was done."

"No one would have to know, Carl," McFadden said. "We could turn this season around. We could win the whole thing if he can do what I just saw him do. If that happened, you'd get the next head coach job that opened up."

"But Bart," Krock said, his sarcastic drawl sweet and slow, like pancake syrup, "I'm happy right here, bein' your assistant. Until Mr. Langan says otherwise.

"But," Krock added, turning back to Troy and pointing his finger, his voice angry and quiet, "if things keep sliding and they do make me head coach of this team? Well, I can feel a hankering coming on for a whole new PR department. Get rid of the whole mess of 'em."

A mean smile curled the corners of Krock's mouth. He turned and thumped out. Troy could hear him laughing to himself as he moved off down the hallway.

"CAN'T YOU JUST FIRE
him?" Seth asked.

McFadden shook his head and said, "I'm in no position to fire anyone, Seth. I'm the one in trouble if we don't start winning."

"We could work around him," Seth said.

McFadden held up his hand. "I'm not going to go out that way, Seth. Carl was right--a story like that would ruin me, forever. Hey, this season isn't over. We win a couple games these next few weeks and we'll be back on track. You just think about that, Troy."

McFadden mussed Troy's hair and showed him to the door.

"And as long as I'm here, you don't have to worry about your mom. She's got a job with me, son."

Troy thanked him and Seth led him downstairs and past the empty weight room.

"Will they keep him?" Troy asked when they were alone.

"We gotta win," Seth said, swinging open the door to the locker room. "We got the Saints coming up and the Packers after that. Then the Bucs and the Panthers, all games we could win. Or lose. We lose those and he'll get fired. He could be gone in four or five weeks."

"And I gotta believe that's just what's gonna happen," said a nasty voice behind them.

They turned and saw that Krock had come out of the elevator. He was smiling in a mean way and he moved up close to them, standing almost toe-to-toe with Seth.

"'Cause it's gettin' awful hard for me to make the defensive adjustments I need for us to win these days," he said.

"You'd
lose
on purpose?" Seth said, disgusted and scowling at the same time. "How could you even think like that? You're on a
team
."

"Well," Krock said softly, touching Seth's chest, "not that I'd do it on purpose, exactly. It's just hard for me to adjust my defense when I got an overpaid veteran middle linebacker who's...well, I guess he's lost a step."

Seth clenched his hands. Even Troy knew that when a player got old and they said he lost a step it meant trouble. Whenever that player missed a tackle, or made a mistake, that's what people would say. And once a player had that name tagged on him, there was no fixing it. The end was very near.

"I got big, fat defensive tackles as fast as you," Krock said with a sneer.

"You know I get to the plays quicker than anyone just knowing where to go," Seth said, his voice low but starting to waver.

"I told you," Krock said softly, patting Seth gently on the shoulder, his mean smile widening. "This game ain't a chess match. It's a street fight. You
lost
a step.

"'Bout four weeks left, little piggy," Krock said, turning to Troy, "before your momma's in the welfare line. Four weeks, tops."

Krock pushed past them, thumping through the locker room and disappearing out the far door with a shrill
"soo-eee"
pig call that vibrated the air.

Seth didn't move, and Troy stood there next to him, the sound of the call still ringing in his ears. Finally, Seth sighed and muttered a curse under his breath.

"You're still the top tackler," Troy said, following Seth across the locker room.

"If you owned an NFL team, I'd be all set," Seth said, pushing through the door.

"I'm sorry, Seth," Troy said as he climbed into the yellow H2.

"Not your fault," Seth said. "Win some, lose some."

They rode in silence until they came up to the turnoff on Route 141 for Old River Road, the way to the Cotton Wood Country Club entrance.

"Look," Seth said, "I'm thinking your mom isn't going to want to see my face."

"I can walk from your house," Troy said.

Seth just nodded. They passed through the gates with the guard waving cheerfully. They drove down the curving streets, passing expensive cars and homes the size of small buildings that Troy could see through the trees. He sighed and picked at the tattered hem of the T-shirt he wore, then poked a finger through the hole in the leg of his jeans. The laces on his sneakers were gray. He turned his foot on the side and saw the treads were worn nearly flat.

"So," Seth said as they pulled into the driveway of his big stone house, "your mom must have a guy she sees, right?"

"No," Troy said. "I don't think she likes men in general. Outside my gramp."

"I kinda got that impression," Seth said.

"Why?" Troy said. "You think she's pretty?"

"Of course she is," Seth said, turning off the engine and putting his hands on the wheel. "But I'm far from her favorite person after what I said. You know, about the money."

"You were trying to be nice," Troy said.

Seth nodded and sighed.

"Women," he said.

"Yeah," Troy said.

Seth smiled at him and slapped both his knees before opening the truck door. "Well, at least I know where all my footballs have been going."

"I only took one," Troy said. "Honest."

"I don't care," Seth said, swatting the air. "You need a ball, you just come get one, Troy. I got plenty."

"You could come to one of my games sometime," Troy said. "I don't do much. Punt team, sometimes. Unless this jerk Jamie Renfro breaks his leg."

"Easy, killer," Seth said. "Maybe in about a month, if your mom cools down by then."

"You don't have to sit with her or anything," Troy said. "Just see the team."

"Well," Seth said, "you never know. Hey, you go easy on sneaking into this place. You get caught, they won't like it much."

Seth looked at his watch and said, "Hey, I gotta go, my man."

"What time is it?"

"Almost seven," Seth said.

"Jeez, seven? Oh, Nathan's gonna kill me," Troy said, and he took off running for the wall.