Hail Mary (8 page)

Lincoln Financial Field, home to the Eagles, was loud with rambunctious, happy fans full of nachos, hot dogs, and beer. Late October in Philadelphia was only slightly milder than late October in Wisconsin. A few degrees shy of freezing.

All the Tide players on the sidelines were in full pads, moving up and down, some jumping in place, while others had their hands buried in their hand warmers, all in order to work off their tension and contain as much heat as possible. Most wore their long team coats over their uniforms to ward off the snow and the chill. It was the kind of chill that seeped into your bones and did not let go until you were underneath a long, hot shower. Or a soft, willing woman.

In order to prevent his hamstrings and quads from tightening up, Michael refused to sit; instead, he roamed up and down the sidelines as the Tide’s Special Teams went in for yet another punt. He hated the fact he could only control what happened when he was on the field and couldn’t do a damn thing about Johansen’s mental breakdown.

He stood off to the side and behind the other players and coaches, fully avoiding Murray and Johansen. His two teammates were a train wreck looking for a place to happen. It didn’t look like any fists would be raised but with those two, anything was possible. Including a knock-down, drag-out brawl on the sidelines. He hoped like hell that Murray and Johansen could keep it together for the last thirty minutes. If they were going to go at it, he wanted them to wait until the cameras were off. Fucking press would have a field day with an intra-team fight between their struggling quarterback and defensive captain.

“Sack up, Johansen. Get your fucking head in the game and get a fucking first down. Remember first downs? It’s where you move the ball at least ten yards in three plays,” Murray criticized the Tide’s veteran quarterback.

Johansen spit out his water, glared at Murray, but remained silent.

“What? You forgot what a first down looks like?” Murray continued. “My guys are fucking exhausted. If you want us to have any hope of holding them from here on out, you’ve got to score and take some time off the clock.”

Murray was right. The Eagles offensive line was starting to manhandle the Tide’s defense, a defense that was exhausted due to the numerous three-and-outs Johansen and the rest of the offense had put up. The team’s last first down had come late in the first quarter. Johansen needed to engineer a comeback that started with at least a six minute drive down the field. It was the only way they’d be able to catch their breath in order to terrorize the Eagles’ offense.

None of the players were meeting each others’ eyes. The half time break hadn’t been great since they were behind and had gotten there because they were sloppy, slow, and sluggish. In addition to Johansen and the offense not having a first down since late in the first quarter, the defense had given up over three hundred yards in the first half alone, a stat that mortified Michael. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d allowed that much yardage this early. They were lucky the score wasn’t worse, like sixty-four to zero, but it was bad enough. If they mimicked their actions from the first half, they were sure to head home with a big, fat, loss, something everyone wanted to avoid and more importantly, needed to avoid.

Michael and Murray prepared to run back on the field and lead their defense when Murray left Johansen with a parting shot.

“It’s time you fucking earned your paycheck,” he proclaimed, punctuating each word with a jab to Johansen’s chest. Johansen’s restraint impressed Michael. If Murray had been riding his ass like that, there would have been blood, regardless of the fact that they were in the middle of the game. While he agreed with Murray’s sentiment, he wasn’t sure about the timing of his advice. Johansen seemed like a man on the edge the last few weeks. In the five years Michael had played with him, his signature style was to play with his emotions close to the surface. In the past, he’d typically fired up the sidelines with his fire. This season, he had about as much fire as a vacant church lot.

Still, in the face of Murray’s attack, Johansen kept his cool. Anyone watching at home would only see the Tide’s defensive captain giving words of advice to his beleaguered quarterback. No one would see the tension or hear the words that demonstrated how far from encouragement they were.

“We’ll do our job. You do yours.” The only noticeable sign Murray’s words had any effect was the tightening of Johansen’s jaw as he watched the defense take the field.

Michael followed Murray out onto the field and lined up on the right side of the defensive line.

~ * ~ * ~

It was the Eagles’ first down on their own thirty-four yard line. They had four wide-outs and one running back, no fullbacks and no tight ends. Higgins, the Tide’s defensive coordinator, called for a full penetration blitz on the Eagle’s quarterback.

As a defensive end, Michael played on the outside edge of the defensive line. He was prepared to attack Harrison or stop any offensive runs to the outer edges of the line of scrimmage depending on the call. Campbell, the veteran defensive end, took his place on the left side. The Tide had drafted Tamar Johnson to replace Campbell within the next couple of years, but until then, Campbell showed up every week with everything he had. That was the only kind of intensity Michael respected.

As soon as Ball, the Philadelphia Center, flipped the ball to Harrison, Michael took off like a rocket, blasting around the right side of the offense to penetrate and sack Harrison. He loved this. The rush. The fight. The blitz. None of their offensive linemen could stop him and he nearly succeeded, but narrowly missed at the last second as Harrison was able to get the ball off and aim it towards his running back, Tyrese Bradshaw, who let it slip through his fingers.

Fuck, fuck, fuck
.

There was no excuse for letting that happen. A rookie mistake he’d never even made as a rookie.

On Second and Ten, same play, but this time, Michael flew around the offensive line, and sacked Harrison for a loss of seven yards. The play quieted the crowd and all around him, his teammates congratulated themselves. DiPalma was clapping his hands enthusiastically on the sideline and the other coaches were nodding their heads, trying to maintain the optimism generated by the play. There were momentum-changing plays that electrified the team, energizing them. This qualified as one.

Even so, no one approached him to congratulate him, slap his ass, or chest bump with him. They knew better. Murray was the only one who dared comment.

“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Let’s go rip off the rest of Harrison’s nuts.”

On Third and Seventeen, Santiago penetrated the offensive line and caused a fumble that Campbell immediately recovered. Johansen converted the fumble into a touchdown and the Tide ended up pulling it out, twenty-four to twenty-one in the final three minutes of the fourth quarter.

“Helluva game, Santiago,” Murray congratulated him as they headed towards the locker room.

“I should have had that last interception.”

“Look. Every game has one or more plays that could have been improved on. We won and that’s all that counts. Enjoy it.”

Michael’s icy silence was his only response.

~ * ~ * ~

After the conclusion of the Tide’s game against the Eagles, Mary laced up her sneakers and searched for Max’s new leash. She’d had it earlier in the afternoon, but seemed to have misplaced it. Calleigh had called and was on her way over for an evening walk. Knowing Calleigh, it would be more run/walk than walking, but Mary was looking forward to it. She’d spent the afternoon with her rear glued to the couch. It wasn’t her fault one of the four televised football games was the Tide’s game against the Eagles, was it? She’d practically been forced to watch it. In her deepest heart, she knew it wasn’t so much the Tide that held her interest captive, but the Tide’s right defensive end. At least that was what she told herself as she found her eyes focused on the sidelines whenever the station would cut over to the uniformed players in grey pants and navy jerseys, searching for any sign of number thirty-nine.

She hadn’t been disappointed. Michael was single handedly responsible for three sacks and one fumble recovery. Despite his successful plays, every time the station’s camera tracked him to the sidelines, none of his teammates engaged in celebrations with him. No ass slapping. No chest bumping. Not even the basic, retro high five. No one talked to, or even approached him. It saddened her he appeared to have devoted his life to a sport and a team he received no joy from.

Calleigh’s text announced she was outside waiting. After recovering the leash in the bathroom, Mary and Max joined her at the bottom of the building’s steps.

“Hey you.”

“Hey yourself. Hi, mister. I think you know I brought you something.” As Max nosed his way up and down the side of Calleigh’s pants, she withdrew a heart sized dog treat from her jacket pocket Max practically jumped once it entered his field of vision.

“You are too good to him. You know that, right?”

“Max deserves to be spoiled. And what exactly are you talking about? I’ve never known you to not make sure Max gets a treat after every single walk and even after every time you let him out.”

“True enough. I can’t help it. He’s my baby.”

The rain had stopped and they set off turning left on Northwest Twenty-Third to trek up to Burnside, over to Twenty-First and back to Mary’s apartment. The streets on a Sunday night were characteristically quiet as though they too were trying to rejuvenate and prepare for the week ahead.

“How was your week?” Mary asked.

“I’ve had better. I had two DHS calls, one on Monday and a second one on Tuesday. Then on Thursday Lauren called me up and floated the idea of going to Mexico for Christmas. Mexico, for God’s sakes.”

“What’s wrong with Mexico?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Mexico for things like Spring Break or summer vacation. But Mexico is not meant for Christmas. I mean, would it kill her to enjoy a traditional holiday?”

“You could have fun. It might be nice to get away and catch some rays in December.”

“I’ll be with Lauren. Vacationing with my mother is most definitely not fun
.
Unless you want to join us. Now we would have fun. What are you doing for the holidays?”

“Going home. I haven’t seen the ‘rents since I moved out here. It’s time and I want to see them.”

As they crossed Lovejoy, Calleigh cleared her throat. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Mary turned to study her, her long look missing nothing. “That sounds ominous.”

“It’s not ominous, but it’s something that’s been bothering me and I’ve been wondering how to address it.”

“It’s usually best to get it out.”

“Ok. Here goes. Last week, on the phone, I felt like you were holding something back. About Michael Santiago.”

Mary immediately had the urge to crack her neck, something she only did when she was uncomfortable. Or nervous. She was prepared to deny she’d held anything back, but the cover of night fortified her with courage. By withholding, she wasn’t being fair to Calleigh. Mary let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Nothing happened per se. Nothing sexual,” she clarified. “Look, it was a weird night. He came over and was a lot like he was in college--quiet, unassuming. Big. He’s a lot bigger than I remembered.” Remembering the way Michael had filled out during the intervening years caused a pleasant shudder to course through her body.

“What was the problem?”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t know. Everything was fine. We were sitting there eating dinner--”

“What’d you make?” Calleigh interrupted.

“Lasagna.”

“I love your lasagna,” Calleigh sighed.

“Yeah, well, I made it because I figured it was safe. Things were fine and we were making general, somewhat benign, superficial conversation, when he snapped at me.”

“Snapped at you about what?”

“He wanted to know if I was interested in dating his teammates.”

“What? Where would he get that from?”

“Hell if I know. All I do know is after I said I wasn’t, he shut down, cleared his dishes and blew out of my apartment. He didn’t even stay for the dessert I made.”

“Well, it’s been a week. You heard from him?”

“No.”

“Have you contacted him?

“No.” A few seconds of silence. “Do you think I should have?”

“No, absolutely not. He needs to be the one to extend the olive branch, not you. Putting him aside for a moment, how do you feel?”

“I’m confused. I don’t know why he said that and I didn’t deserve to be treated like that,” Mary confessed.

“You’re absolutely right. What possibly made him think you were interested in any of his teammates? I mean, do you even know any of them?”

“No. I was asking him what he did on the weekends for fun and he said all he does is watch game tapes. Even during the off-season. Since he doesn’t seem to do much, I was trying to tease him about what his teammates do and that was when he accused me of being interested in the other players.

“I never should have asked him over in the first place. He didn’t want to come and I’m sure he was only humoring me.”

“Mary,” Calleigh said. “I told you before. Single men, who as far as I can tell includes Michael, do not give up their Friday nights to spend with women they are not at least somewhat interested in.”

“You don’t know Michael. He doesn’t do much socially. Never has.”

“I may not know Michael, but I know men. No single, straight man would have come over to your apartment on a Friday night without either some hope or some desire for something more than dinner. They wouldn’t have done it, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Trust me on this.

“The comment Michael made about you dating his teammates? That’s not the kind of comment a man makes about a woman he considers,” Calleigh used both hands for air quotes, “‘a friend.’”

Mary rolled her eyes, shrugged her shoulders and tried to inspire Max to keep moving. “Maybe. If he was interested though, and I don’t think he was, wouldn’t he have done something differently? Like not act like a jerk?”