Football Nightmare (3 page)
“I see,” said Keith’s father, turning to study his son’s expression. “But I don’t see how I can help you with this.”
Heck cleared his throat and thought carefully before speaking. “The thing is, I mean,
you’d
like to see Keith play ball with us this season, wouldn’t you? Don’t you think he’s making a mistake, staying away?”
Mr. Stedman stood up, wincing. “Stiff knee,” he said. “Guess I’m getting a little old. Boys, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can help you here. Whether Keith plays football or not is up to him, and I have nothing to say about it.”
Cody blurted, “But if you —”
Mr. Stedman held up a hand as if he were stopping traffic at a crossing. “I meant that. It’s not my place to give an opinion or say anything about this matter unless Keith asks me to say something. Otherwise, I’m keeping my mouth shut.”
He looked down at his son. “Want me to say anything?”
“No, I guess not,” replied the boy. “Except … well, except, thanks. For not butting in, I mean.”
Mr. Stedman patted his son’s shoulder. “That’s all right. Guys, I’ll see you later. And I’m sorry I couldn’t help, but it isn’t my place to get involved here.”
He went back inside.
The three boys sat silently for a minute. Keith didn’t know what to say and neither, apparently, did his friends.
Finally, Heck spoke. “I guess Cody and I sort of hoped you’d change your mind, but … okay, if you won’t, you won’t.”
“I just don’t think I want to do it this year,” Keith said. “But we’re still friends, right?”
“Sure,” Heck said, but Keith didn’t think he sounded very enthusiastic about it. “It’s just we won’t be seeing that much of you once practice starts.”
“Yeah, I know,” Keith agreed, not happy with that notion.
“Well, maybe we could watch some videos this weekend or go to a movie,” suggested Heck.
“Sure, that’d be cool,” Keith said.
Cody stood up, looking unhappy. “I have to go home. You coming, Heck?”
Heck shook his head. “Go ahead, I’ll see you tomorrow, all right?”
“Yeah, sure.” Cody kicked the ground and stood there, looking from Heck to Keith. “Anyway … later, guys.”
Keith watched Cody walk out of the yard and turned to Heck. “I know you think I’m being a total jerk —”
“No, you don’t,” Heck cut in.
Keith was startled. “Huh?”
“You
don’t
know what I think,” Heck said calmly. “So don’t say you do. I don’t think you’re being a total jerk at all. But, if we’re really going to talk about this, I’ll tell you what I
do
think.”
Keith shrugged. “Go ahead.”
“I think you feel like it was all your fault that we lost that game, and that’s not true. Billy overthrew a pass in the first half when you were totally open and if you’d caught it we would have had six points more than we did.
“Cody missed a block that let a guy get through and throw me for a loss. If we’d gotten a first down there we might have scored a touchdown. The tight end didn’t make a move toward the sideline when he was supposed to and if he had, maybe we’d have scored on that series. The —”
“Okay, okay, I see what you’re saying,” Keith said impatiently. “But we
still
would have won the game if I had caught that last pass … which I should have and didn’t.”
Heck sighed and said, “Wow. You really have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”
Stung, Keith snapped, “What is that supposed to mean? What are you talking about?”
“Anyone else can make a mistake and it’s no big deal, but when
you
make one, it’s like,
‘Stop the presses! The great Keith Stedman messed up!’
The rest of us guys are allowed to mess up, but not Keith Stedman!”
“Very funny!” Keith yelled.
“No, it’s not funny — it’s sad,” Heck said. “You’re the one who’s giving yourself a hard time. If you’d just let it go, so would everyone else. But if you can’t, you’re better off staying out of sports. You’ll just drive yourself crazy, and take your friends along for the ride.”
He jumped up and walked quickly away. Keith got to his feet and noticed that his little sister was standing there, looking upset. How much had she heard and understood?
He smiled, trying to look as if everything was cool. “Hey, Trace, what’s up?”
She didn’t say a word, but it seemed like she might be about to cry.
“Trace? What’s the matter? Come on, you can tell me, what is it?”
Very softly, almost too softly for him to hear, she said, “You’ll be mad at me.”
“No, I won’t. Come on, Trace, I promise I won’t get mad. If there’s something wrong, tell me. Please?”
“Aren’t you going to play football anymore? Ever?”
Keith didn’t know what to say.
“I’m not going to play for a while, anyway. I don’t know about ‘ever.’ But not right now. Did you hear what Heck and I were talking about out here?”
She nodded. “Uh-huh. You were having an argument.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it an
argument
exactly, Trace. …”
“And you said you didn’t want to play football and I felt sad.”
Keith walked over and kneeled down facing the young girl. “Why does my not playing football make you sad?”
“Because I liked to go and see you play and now I won’t be able to. And the last thing I’ll remember about you playing football will be you dropping that ball and lying there on the ground. If you played some more, you’d do good things and I’d have those to remember instead of that. That’s why I feel sad.”
She went into the house, leaving Keith standing there by himself, thinking hard about what she’d said.
T
he following day was Sunday, and Mr. Stedman was trimming a hedge when Keith walked outside and stood watching him.
“Hey, Slugger,” said Keith’s father, not looking up. “You slept late this morning, huh?”
“Yeah … well, no. I was sort of lying there, thinking. Do you have time to talk?”
Mr. Stedman stopped clipping and stretched. “I could use a break, anyway. Want some lemonade? There’s a fresh pitcher in the refrigerator.”
“No, I’m okay. I can get you some if you want,” Keith offered.
“I can hold out awhile. Come on, sit here.” Mr. Stedman led the way and sat on the front-porch steps. “Does this have to do with the conversation with Heck and Cody?”
“Yeah.” Keith sat with his father. “Heck’s mad because I won’t play with the Bucks.”
“Is that right? Hmmm … somehow, that doesn’t sound like the Heck I know.”
“Well, he sure sounded mad when he stomped out of here. And he said that I think a lot of myself, too. That’s not fair.”
“How did he mean that? I mean, what do you think he meant? That you’re always bragging about how good you are?”
Keith shook his head. “No, he knows that I don’t do that stuff.”
“What, then?”
“Well …” Keith thought back. “He said that I think it’s okay for other players to mess up, but when
I
do it, it’s bad.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s wrong! And he ought to know it! I’m not a selfish player!”
“I don’t think that’s what Heck meant.”
“Well, what, then?”
Mr. Stedman turned to face his son. “It sounds like he thinks you expect too much of yourself, more than you expect of other players. It’s like you have a higher standard for your playing than for the rest of the team’s. That’s not selfishness, but it can be a problem for you.”
“A problem?” Keith looked skeptical. “How can wanting to play well be a problem?”
Keith’s father sighed. “It’s not wanting to play well, it’s. … Before I say any more, I want one thing clear. Whether you play football or not is
your
decision to make, and I’m going to try not to push you one way or the other. That’s not my place. I hope that’s understood.”
“Sure.”
“All right, then.” Mr. Stedman stood up. “All athletes, no matter what level they’re playing at, no matter how good they are, will make mistakes. People make mistakes, that’s human nature. Sometimes you’ll do it at an especially bad time, when it’ll have serious consequences, or when you’re in the public eye and everyone sees you.
“Now, it seems to me that what you have to do then is move on. You can learn from it, but you shouldn’t dwell on it. Once it’s done, you have to leave it behind you. And, even more important, you can’t spend your life looking to avoid all the situations where you might mess up. If you do that, you’re likely to end up sitting there and doing nothing at all, or nothing that really matters. You’ll always be afraid, you’ll forever be saying, ‘What if?’ That’s no way to live. You’re thirteen, and you have your life ahead of you. I would hate to see you let this one incident have such a huge effect on you.
“But, like I said before, what you choose to do is up to you. Just know that, whatever you decide, Mom and I will always be here for you. But you already know that.”
Keith nodded, grateful for what his dad had said. “Yeah, sure I do. And thanks. I’ll think it over.”
“Good.” Mr. Stedman looked up and studied the sky. “Know what? It’s too beautiful a day to spend working on the yard. Want to toss a football around for a while?”
“Yeah, sure!” said Keith.
“Hang on a minute and I’ll get the ball.”
Keith sat and thought about what his dad had told him. Maybe, he thought, he’d been thinking too long and hard about that game. Maybe he ought to try to give it a rest … maybe …
“Sorry it took me so long,” said Mr. Stedman as he returned with the football. “Ready?”
Keith admitted to himself that he felt nervous as he walked into the yard. It would be the first time anyone would have thrown him a ball since … since that day last fall.
His father threw a lazy, soft pass and Keith felt his whole body get tense as he reached for it … and bobbled it on his fingertips, before getting it under control and hanging on. He flipped the ball back to Mr. Stedman, who threw it back again, slightly harder and on a flatter line.
After a few more catches and throws, Keith was feeling more at ease. His father waved at him to cut across the yard, then fired a bullet that Keith snared easily.
“Nice! You know,” said Mr. Stedman, “you’re looking like you did last season. Really.”
Keith smiled, but said, “Sure. When there’s no one looking and it doesn’t matter, I’m a superstar.”
“Maybe you’d look this good even with a bunch of fans whooping and hollering in the bleachers,” said his father, cocking his arm to throw again. “Hi, Heck.”
Keith turned to see Heck in the driveway, dismounting from his bike.
“Hey, Mr. Stedman,” said the other boy. He looked at his friend and nodded casually. “Hey, Keith.”
Mr. Stedman tossed another pass to his son, overthrowing it slightly and forcing Keith to lunge for the ball. Keith grabbed it and hung on.
“Looking good,” Heck said, clapping. “Is it okay if I get in on this?”
Keith hesitated. Mr. Stedman said nothing and kept his expression neutral. “Sure,” Keith said. “Why not?”
He flipped the ball to Heck, who threw it to Keith’s father. Within a few minutes, the three were tossing the ball around just as they had done many times over the years. And Keith was surprised that it was normal and natural. A little later, Mr. Stedman excused himself and went inside, while the boys kept going.
At one point, Heck’s throw to Keith was low and to one side. Without stopping to think, Keith dived and made a shoestring catch just before he hit the ground.
He got up and brushed dirt off his pants. “Did you do that on purpose?” he demanded, staring hard at Heck.
“No way! The ball just slipped. I’m a running back, not a quarterback, remember?” Heck looked convincing, Keith thought.
“But,”
Heck added a moment later, “I have to say, you still have good hands, buddy.”
Keith smiled. Heck was right about that.
“Listen, if we went to the park, we could air it out more,” suggested Heck. “What do you say?”
Keith liked the idea. “Let me just tell Dad where we’re going,” he said, running to the front door and calling his father.
When Mr. Stedman appeared, Keith said, “We’re going to the park for a while.”
“Fine. Have fun,” his father replied.
Keith was turning to go when a thought struck him. He turned back. “Did you call Heck up and ask him to come over when you went to get the football?”
Mr. Stedman grinned. “You caught me. Are you mad at me?”
Keith tried to keep his face straight, but he couldn’t help smiling back. “Nope. Thanks.”
“See you later,” said his father, patting Keith on the arm.
As the boys biked to the park, Heck said, “Listen, about yesterday. … I shot off my mouth too much.”
“That’s okay,” answered Keith. “I thought about what you said, and you probably had a point. Anyway, no hard feelings.”
At the park, Keith and Heck threw longer passes and ran patterns. Keith had just made an over-the-shoulder catch running flat out when he heard someone call, “Awesome play!”
He discovered Cody watching from the edge of the grass. “Hey!” Keith called. “Been there long?”
“Just a few minutes. Long enough to see that you look good. We could sure use you this year. I don’t want to push it or anything, but … is there any chance you might change your mind and show up tomorrow?”
Keith looked from Cody to Heck and back, and said nothing.
“If you don’t want to, then that’s that,” Cody added. “But, is there any chance?”
After chewing on his lower lip a moment, Keith said, “Maybe.”
The boys played for a while longer, then split for lunch. Keith helped his dad around the yard the rest of the afternoon. His father didn’t say a word about football, but it was all Keith thought about.
That night, at dinner, Keith made an announcement.
“I changed my mind about football. I’m going to practice tomorrow — if Coach Bodie is willing to let me play.”
“Yay!”
shrieked Traci, clapping her hands.
“I imagine the coach will be happy to have you there,” Mr. Stedman said.
“Of course he will,” Mrs. Stedman agreed.
“By the way, what made you decide to go out, after all?” Keith’s father asked.
