Gang Tackle (4 page)

The locker room door flung open. “Sorry about what?” Coach Fort steamrollered in, almost running into Billy. His suit jacket hung open over his belly, and his tie was loose around his thick neck.

Coach and Billy stood face-to-face in the hallway.

“Looks like you’re packing it in, Billy.”

“I have to, Coach. I can’t play in today’s game. Got to work at my parents’ store.”

Jamal thought Coach might give Billy a break. Especially since he was the number-one center. He should have known better.

“You’re doing the right thing, Chang.”

“Yes, Coach,” Billy said glumly.

“I can’t think of anything worse than missing the first game of the season.”

“I know.”

“You’re letting the whole team down. And you’re letting yourself down.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” Coach said, his voice getting louder. “You can say no to your parents and yes to your team.”

“I can’t do that. They’re my mom and dad.”

“Who’s more important? Your parents or your coach?”

“My parents,” Billy said quickly.

“You had a real future in football.” Coach pointed a stubby finger at him. “Now you’re going to end up just like them—working night and day in a grocery store.”

“He’s just working there after school,” Jamal said. “It doesn’t mean he’ll be there forever. Maybe one day he’ll start his own business.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” Coach shook his head and laughed. “Flipping burgers, stocking shelves—it’s all the same. In twenty years you’ll both still be doing it.” Jamal bit his lip. He didn’t want to say what he really thought. That Coach was wrong about Billy and him. That they wouldn’t be flipping burgers and stocking shelves forever. But he was already in Coach’s doghouse. He was down to being second-string receiver. If he ever wanted to play again, he knew he had to shut up.

Coach held up a piece of paper with names scrawled on it. He waved the list in front of the rest of the team. “I’ve got the starting lineup for today’s game right here.”
He took a pen from his pocket and drew a line through one of the names. “Chang out.” He held the pen ready to scratch off another name. “Now, who else has to miss today’s game?”

The air buzzed with excitement. Cheerleaders danced along both sidelines, shaking their pom-poms. The Southside band played “When the Saints Go Marching In.” The stands were full of fans who had stayed after school to watch the game. Principal Campbell and Coach Kemp were just taking their seats. The
TV
crew from
The Sports Channel
had set up their camera next to the Saints bench. They stood ready to record all the action.

The players were pumped. The Saints in their blue and gold. The Jets in their green and white. All eyes were on the referee, who blew his whistle to start the game. Rico ran the North York kickoff back to the Saints twenty-yard line. Eli and the rest of the Saints offense took the field for the first play.

Everything looked just like it had when the Saints played the year before—except for one thing. Last year’s star quarterback and receiver were still sitting on the bench.

“I don’t get it,” Jamal said. “Last season I started every game.”

“Me too.” Darnell nodded. “I hit you with passes all game long. Now look at us.”

“Getting splinters from riding the pine.” Jamal pounded the bench in frustration.

The Saints started the game deep in their own end. Eli was doing his best to lead the team at quarterback. He stood behind the new center and called the signals for the first play. Before today, Davey Sanchez had always been a guard, one of the big guys who protected the quarterback.
But now that Billy had been forced to quit, Davey had to step in and take over.

“This isn’t going to be pretty,” Jamal said, watching the game.

Eli called for the ball, and Davey snapped the pigskin between his legs. Or at least he tried to. The ball went flying past Eli and rolled into the backfield.

“Fumble!” Darnell shouted, trying to alert his teammates.

Eli raced back and fell on the bouncing pigskin. He had to make sure the Saints kept possession. Then three jumbo Jets swooped in and landed on him. The ref marked the ball. There was a loss of five yards on the play. It was second down and fifteen to go for a Saints first down.

On the second play, Eli made a handoff to Rico, who was playing halfback. He held the leather in the crook of his arm and tried sweeping around the right side. Rico had good wheels, but not good enough.
Bang!
He was met by a squadron of Jets. He was shot down after picking up only a couple yards. Now it was third down and the Saints
were forced to punt. Rico picked himself up and joined Eli, Malik and Davey trotting back to the Saints sideline. Coach Fort was waiting, his hands firmly planted on his hips.

“Davey, what’s with the bad snap?” Coach barked. “It’s like you’ve never played center before.”

“I haven’t, Coach. Billy always played center. I wish he still was.”

“Forget about him. He didn’t care about our team. You shouldn’t care about him.”

Jamal knew nothing could be further from the truth. Billy loved playing for the Saints. At practice, he was always the first guy on the field and the last guy to leave. The other players knew he’d do anything for the team. Having to quit was killing Billy.

Coach narrowed his eyes at Davey. “We can’t afford mistakes like that. See that it never happens again.”

“Yes, Coach.” Davey nodded.

Coach Fort’s round head swiveled on his neck. “Eli! Malik! Get over here.” The quarterback and receiver sprinted to his side. “They’re shutting down our running game.”

“What should I do?” Eli shrugged, unsure what play to call.

“Next time we get the ball, let’s try a pass to Malik.”

“What route should I run, Coach?” Malik asked.

“A post pattern should put you in the clear.”

The Jets made a couple of first downs on running plays. That moved the ball to midfield. The Saints defense finally held when Carlos made a diving tackle and brought down the Jets tight end after a short pass. The Jets had to punt. The Saints got the ball back on their own thirty-yard line.

Eli broke the huddle and sent Malik to the far left side. Davey snapped the ball. It was perfect this time. Eli grabbed the leather and rolled to his left, looking for Malik downfield just like Coach had said. Davey and the Saints guards blocked the Jets rush, giving him time to throw. Malik raced straight, then cut in toward the far goalpost.

“He’s in the open!” Coach shouted from the sideline.

Eli pulled back his arm and flung the ball. Instead of the spiral that Darnell would have thrown, the ball wobbled through the air, fluttering like a wounded duck. Malik was in the clear when the ball left Eli’s fingertips, but he was covered by the time the ball finally arrived.

“Uh-oh,” Jamal said, covering his eyes.

Just like in their after-school pickup game, the Jet defender leaped high in the air and intercepted Eli’s pass. And he wasn’t finished. He dashed down the field toward the Saints goal line. Davey, Malik and Eli all tried to tackle him, but he was jackrabbit fast. Jamal opened his eyes to see the Jets speedster dance into the Saints end zone. His teammates mobbed him. Jamal glanced at the scoreboard. It was 7–0 Jets.

Eli trudged off the field. His head was down.

“What was that?” Coach Fort yelled. “That was the dumbest pass I’ve ever seen.”

“Tried my best, Coach.”

“I thought you said you were a smart quarterback.”

“I think
you
said that, Coach.”

“Well, you better smarten up.”

Jamal elbowed Darnell on the bench. “Here comes your chance, bro. Coach has to make a quarterback change after that play. Get ready to go in.”

“You better make some passes in the second half, Eli,” Coach said, shaking his head. “That’s all I can say.”

Jamal couldn’t believe it. Coach was going to give Eli another chance and leave Darnell sitting on the bench. He shook his head. At least he’d still have company.

The Saints slumped on the bench during halftime. It had been a tough game. Everyone but Jamal and Darnell was worn out. Coach lumbered in front of the players like an angry bear.

“You guys look beat out there,” he growled.

“Must be from all the laps you didn’t make us run,” Rico wisecracked. The other players snickered.

“I thought your kind was always in shape. Just naturally.”

Our kind?
Jamal wondered what Coach meant.

“But don’t worry. Next practice you won’t be laughing, you’ll be running.” Coach glared at Eli, Malik and Rico. “Our offense isn’t getting the job done. That means our defense has to step up. Get the ball back for us.”

The Saints took the field for the second half, and the defense must have been listening. The beefy guys on the D-line started to break through the Jets front four and put pressure on their quarterback. On one play they were able to sack him for a ten-yard loss. On another, the
QB
panicked while being rushed. He threw before he should have, and Carlos was able to pick off the pass. That gave the ball back to the Saints just like Coach wanted.

But the Saints offense couldn’t get off the ground. Every running play to Rico was piled up by Jet defenders. Every passing
play Eli tried was either short for only a few yards or way off the mark. His throws to Malik and the other receiver were too high or too wide. The ball never got close enough to Malik to find out whether he could even catch a pass.

The Jets hadn’t been able to score any more points in the second half. But neither had the Saints. Southside was still down by seven points—a full touchdown.

The game was now late in the fourth quarter. Jamal checked the clock. Just one minute to play. The Saints had the ball at midfield and still had a chance. They had to drive down the field and score. If not, they’d lose the game. Jamal knew Coach didn’t want to start the season with a loss.

Coach Fort cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Let’s go!”

Eli called a handoff to Rico. He barreled straight up the middle for eight yards. On second down, Eli flipped the ball to his favorite running back again. This time Rico broke a tackle and sprinted for the sideline. He wanted to stop the clock. By the time
he stepped out of bounds, he had gained twenty yards. It was an awesome run.

Jamal checked the scoreboard. The clock showed thirty-three seconds. The ball sat on the Jets twenty-seven-yard line. They were closing in.

Eli broke the huddle. He took the snap from Davey and dropped back to pass. Jamal watched Malik bolt from the line and run another post pattern toward the Jets end zone. It was a pattern Jamal had run hundreds of times before and always beaten the defenders. Malik ran as fast as he could, but he didn’t have Jamal’s speed. The Jets safety was all over him. Had him covered like a blanket.

“Throw the ball!” Coach yelled from the sideline.

Eli tossed the pigskin. Even though Malik was covered, Eli had no choice. He had to take the chance. There was only time left for two plays. He had to make each one count.

The ball sailed out of Eli’s hands, wobbling through the air.

Coach watched the pass and grabbed his head with both hands. “Noooo!”

It wasn’t anything like the perfect spiral Darnell would have thrown. Malik reached out his hands, hoping to catch it. But that was all he could do—hope. He wasn’t in the clear, and the ball wasn’t anywhere near him. The pass floated harmlessly ten feet over his head.

Coach Fort waved his arms on the sideline. “Time-out!”

The ref blew his whistle. Eli and Malik ran to the sideline. Coach wasn’t about to wait for them. He ran onto the field. His face raged red with anger. He grabbed both players by their face masks.

“What the hell was that?” he screamed.

“Sorry, Coach,” Eli said. “The ball slipped.”

“You’re making the Fort logo look bad! And you’re making me look bad!” He yanked on Malik’s face mask, sending him tumbling to the ground. “There’s no way I can win this game now.”

Jamal shot a look at Darnell. They leapt off the bench and ran to Coach’s side.

“We can still win the game, Coach,” Jamal said.

“There’s only time for one play,” Coach Fort said. “And these clowns will never be able to score a touchdown.” He pointed at Eli and Malik, who still lay sprawled on the turf.

“We can do it,” Jamal said.

Coach narrowed his eyes. “You guys have been sitting on the bench all game, where you deserve to be. What makes you think you can do what these deadbeats couldn’t?”

“Because we’ve done it a hundred times before,” Darnell said.

“Okay, get in there,” Coach Fort said, crossing his beefy arms. “But it’s the only chance I’m giving you. If you don’t score, it’s back to the bench next game.”

Jamal and Darnell raced onto the field, strapping on their helmets as they ran. Jamal was worried they weren’t warmed up. His legs and Darnell’s arm were stone cold from sitting on the bench all afternoon. But they had to find a way.

Darnell called the last play in the huddle. “Flag to Jamal.”

Jamal nodded and clapped his hands. “Let’s do this.”

Darnell crouched behind Davey. He signaled for the ball, and Davey snapped it cleanly. Darnell dropped back deep into the pocket. He wanted to give Jamal time to run his pattern.

Jamal dashed from the line of scrimmage. He flew down the middle of the field, straight at a Jets defender. Just when it looked like he was covered, Jamal slanted to his left. He darted toward the flag in the corner of the end zone. The Jets safety couldn’t keep up. Jamal sprinted into the clear.

Darnell cocked his powerful arm and launched the ball. The pass sailed smoothly through the air. There was no wobble, no flutter. It was a perfect spiral arcing through the blue sky.

Jamal looked over his shoulder. The ball shot toward him, but he didn’t slow down. His legs raced beneath him as he reached out his hands. The ball landed softly on his fingertips. He squeezed the pigskin and pulled it tight to his chest.