Game Day

                                                                                    GAME DAY

         The sound of Joel's foot on the football made a satisfying whomp!  The ball sailed high and skimmed  across the face of the setting sun like a weird oval-shaped bird and drove his friend  Reggie, who was waiting downfield,  back  another ten yards.  Reggie  fielded the ball and said, "Whoo!  That was something."
         Reggie's  voice reverberated through the autumn quiet  and Joel sucked in some of the chill air and  ran down the field to catch Reggie's throw. 
         "Haven't you had enough?" Reggie called out.  "Your leg must be ready to fall off."
         "Just one more," Joel answered.  "I want to see if I can increase my hang time."
         He imagined a tense moment in the game, calling out the snap count, seeing the defense lined up like something primeval and predatory, and the snap coming in waist high.  He dropped the ball and felt the whomp! as his foot made good contact.  The ball floated  up against the face of the sun.  Reggie raced back to catch the ball and ran toward Joel.
         "That's great," Reggie said.  "I'm ready for something warm to drink.  How about you?"
         "Sure," Joel said with resignation. 
         "Don't sweat it, man," Reggie said.  "You're kicking fine.  What happened last week wasn't your fault.  The dude missed the block, that's all."
         Reggie tucked the ball under one arm and clapped Joel on the shoulder.
         "That's not what they said on talk radio," Joel said.  "I'm the worst thing to ever happen to Cougars football.  They want to hang me from the goal post."
         "They're stupid, that's all," Reggie said.  "Talk radio is bad for your mental health. And it was Coach's bad decision anyway."
         They were walking to the end of the practice field and Joel imagined  himself back in the game against Notre Dame.  The Cougars had a fourth down  and four yards to go  at their own five yard line. There was a little over two minutes left in the game. He needed  a good punt to pin the Irish back so his defense could preserve their four point lead.
         It was a crisp fall afternoon and  the bright sunlight glittered off the gold helmets of the Notre Dame defensive linemen.  The snap was low and the defensive line surged and his own line blocked  for him.  He dropped the ball and got his leg into it, but the Notre Dame defensive end slipped  around a  block and got his hands in the air to block the kick.
         The ball rebounded crazily toward the end zone.  Joel desperately  tried to force the ball out of bounds so there would be a safety, but he was pinned down  by a 300 pound defensive lineman.  Notre Dame recovered the ball in the end zone for a touchdown.
         The radio talkers said that Joel should have run out of the end zone and taken the safety.  The Cougars would have maintained a two point lead and he could have kicked the ball from the twenty yard line.  But the coach had instructed him to punt. When the defense surged he didn't have time to run out of the end zone. 
          Joel wondered if Coach Williams was upset with him.  Williams had been looking closer at the second string punter all week.  Joel wasn't sure if he would be starting or if the other guy, Seth Cook, would get the start.
         When he and Reggie went into the shower room Reggie stripped off his clothes and headed for the showers.  Reggie was built like a cheetah, Joel thought.  Reggie was toned and muscular and sleek.  On the football field Reggie streaked  through the opposition's defenders like an exploding rocket.
         Joel liked to shower alone.  He left Reggie at one end of the shower room and found his favorite stall and turned on the hot water.  He  let the steam rise up around him like a cloud.  He knew that it irritated Reggie when  he took long showers.  Reggie showered the way he played football:  quickly and efficiently.
         "You about ready?" Reggie called out.
         "Okay," Joel  said, reluctantly turning off the shower. 
         He toweled and dressed  and met Reggie just outside the locker room.  Reggie was dressed in a  black  Barbour  coat,  cream-colored slacks, and a red  polo shirt.  Joel wore his old scuffed brown  leather jacket and blue jeans.  Reggie frowned in disapproval.
         "What?" Joel asked.
         "If you make it to the NFL, you're going to have to dress better.  Me," Reggie pointed to himself, "I'm getting ready."
         "The salient point," Joe said, "is that you will probably make it to the pros and I won't."
         "Don't say that, man," Reggie said.  He began  walking down the street to the restaurant they frequented.  Joel rushed to catch up with him.
         "They won't pass on a great kickoff return specialist like you," Joel said.  "Punters like me are a dime a dozen."
         "Your stats are  impressive," Reggie said.  "Some of the old geezers in the NFL are ready to retire.  They need a fresh young leg like you."
         They reached the outside of the restaurant called The Goalpost.  They could have pulled lots of things from football jargon, Joel thought.  It could have been The First Down or The Forward Pass or even, he thought wryly, The Safety.
         The Goalpost was one of the busiest campus hangouts.  Most of the kids here were  casual football fans.  They wouldn't recognize Joel  out of uniform, or wouldn't care if they did.
         The food was decent.  He smelled burgers barbecuing, chicken on the grill, and the smoky  tang of barbecue sauce.  Big screen televisions populated the walls on three sides to show whatever sports event was happening now, or showed  replays of recent sports events.  He hoped they wouldn't show his blocked kick against Notre Dame.
         "The girls are  meeting us here," Reggie said over the din of the jukebox.  They were playing something loud and not very melodic, Joel thought, but music wasn't his forte.  That's why he was majoring in business administration.  It was something dull and ordinary and safe.
         "Hey, guys," he heard his girlfriend Jennifer's voice.  He turned to see Jennifer and Noelle, Reggie's girlfriend, come into the restaurant.
         He hugged Jennifer and she said, "You smell good.  How was practice?"
         "Okay," he shrugged.  "Reggie and I got some time in on our own."
         "I hope," Jennifer  shouted over the noise, "you're okay after what happened on Saturday."
         "I'm okay," Joel said.
         They took their menus from the waitress, but Joel put his menu aside.  He always ordered the same thing:  a chicken sandwich, French fries, and iced tea.  It tasted good, was  cheap, and it was predictable.           
         He looked at Jennifer  now.  She had her hair up.  She was wearing a Cougars jacket and blue jeans.  She was an art major and she laid the sketch pad she always carried with her on the table. Her hair looked like honey in the light.
         Noelle looked like she belonged with Reggie.  She wore a charcoal gray  sweater, a business-like white blouse, and dark pants.  They could have been modeling  on the cover of a business magazine, Joel thought.
         "What are you working on?" Joel asked Jennifer.  He nodded toward her sketch pad.
         "Nothing really," she said.  "I'm just doing sketches around campus."
         "May I see?" he asked and she handed him the pad.
         The first sketch was the front of the campus with the wide expanse of manicured lawn and tall  maple trees.  The trees had dropped their foliage and they looked bare and cold against the sky.  The old and stately brick administration building loomed  in the background and people walked briskly across the campus.
         He flipped on through the sketches, amazed at how Jennifer could capture so much with just a few pen strokes.  Then he found a sketch of a kicker, his leg suspended  in the air, as he boomed a punt downfield.
         "Me?" he asked.
         "Of course," she smiled.  "You're my model for all kickers everywhere."
         "I hope you have one of a kick returner," Reggie said.  "It's like yin and yang.  A kicker is nothing unless there's a kick returner on the other end."
         "Kick returners are the enemy," Joel said.  "It's like hitters and pitchers in baseball.  Kick returners are there to make me look bad."
         "Whatever," Reggie said with a wave of his hand.  "So what do you think of Ohio State this weekend?"
         "Their punt returner is really good," Joel said.  "I've been watching lots of film.  But he's not as good as you."
         "I think their coverage teams are vulnerable," Reggie said.  "Kick returners have piled up some big numbers against them.  I do think about that guy Watson, though."
         "Watson," Joel said, seeing the vicious tackler in his mind.  "He's going to be tough."
         "If you boys are going to talk shop, Jennifer and I are leaving," Noelle complained.
         "I think it's interesting," Jennifer  cut in.  "If our guys become pros, we'll  listen to a lot of football talk the next few years.  Who's this Watson guy?"
         "He plays on the kick coverage teams," Joel said.  "He's quick and he's mean and he has hurt people."
         "Hurt people how?" Noelle asked, looking at Reggie.
         "Don't worry about it," Reggie told her.  "Contact is part of the game."
         "How has he hurt people?" Noelle pressed.
         "A couple of concussions, I think," Joel said.
         "Hey," Reggie said.  "He can't hurt someone he can't catch." 
         "Is this Watson guy fast?" Jennifer asked.
         "Yes," Joel said.  "Like a shark that has smelled blood."
         "Stop it," Reggie said.  "You're scaring the girls.  Let's talk about what we'll do in the pros."
         Joel hoped he would  be picked in the NFL draft and make it to the pros.  He loved playing football and the thought of not playing anymore made him feel empty inside.    The alternative was  wearing a suit and carrying an attache case and going to lots and lots of meetings.  How many young boys fantasized about wearing a suit and carrying an attache case, he thought.          
         The waitress brought their food and Joel methodically consumed his dinner.  Maybe I'm obsessive compulsive, he thought, or a little like Rain Man.  I have to stay within my routine.
         "What are you thinking, babe?" Jennifer asked.
         "Nothing important," he said.          
         Reggie looked at his watch and said, "It's getting late for a growing boy like me.  I better get back to my room, study a little, and sack out."
         "Yeah," Joel said.  "I know you'll study hard."
         Reggie stood and took Noelle's hand.  "Well, we have to at least keep up appearances, don't we?"          
         They watched Reggie and Noelle walk outside.
         Jennifer said,  "He's really counting on making it to the pros, isn't he?"
         "Yeah," Joel sipped at the last of his tea.  "If nothing happens, I think he'll make it."
         "What could happen?" she asked.
         "Injuries," he said, "or, I don't know, lots of stuff.  I don't like to talk about it."
         "I don't believe it," she said.  "You're superstitious."
         He  said, "I'm like a diamond.  I have all kinds of facets."
         Joel paid their tab and they went outside.  The sky  was a bowl  spilling over with stars  and the air had a crackling cold; it felt ready to shatter into shards of ice.
         "I remember something from James Joyce," he told Jennifer.  "He wrote something about a heaventree of stars."
         "You read Joyce?" she said.  "You have even more facets than I imagined."
         "Don't be too impressed," he told her.  "It's just one line."
         They walked down the street and he kept his arm around Jennifer until they reached her dorm.  He stood facing her, their breath creating steam and mingling in the frigid air.
         "I guess parting is such sweet sorrow and all of that," she said and he leaned over to kiss her.  He liked the feel of her body against him, the smoothness of her skin, the light scent of her perfume and the softness of her hair.
         "Well, I'd better go," he said, taking her hand.
         "I'm glad you're a punter," she said.  "You don't have to deal with this Watson guy."
         "The linemen trying to tear my head off are bad enough," he told her. 
         He watched her go into the dorm and he turned to walk to his room.  He passed a few  students along the way, but the campus felt deserted.  The sound of his footsteps on the sidewalk was  like something out of an old detective  movie,  he thought.  It was quiet and distant  from the roar of the crowd he would hear on Saturday.
         When he went into his room he logged onto the Internet so he could reseach Paul Watson, the man who would be stalking  Reggie on Saturday.
         The most recent articles  were about players injured by Watson.
         One article began, "Michigan State kick returner Carl Evans said the hit he took from Ohio State's Paul Watson defined 'getting your bell rung.'  It was, said Evans, the hardest hit he had experienced in his high school and college football careers."
         The articles emphasized that no one had  directly accused Watson of dirty play.  But one opposing coach was quoted as saying, "Watson's style is savage, just on the borderline of being illegal."
         Joel read other biographical articles about Watson.  The articles said that Watson had grown up in a small town outside of Columbus, Ohio.  His goal from the time he was in grammar school was to play for the Ohio State Buckeyes.  He was a good church going kid, the articles said, but with a split personality.  The kid who prayed before games tested the limits of mayhem on the football field.
         Joel thought that the buildup to a game against a major opponent was a little like a symphony.  The tension kept building until the crescendo at kickoff.  The anticipation for the game was high on campus and in the newspapers and on the television and radio sports shows.  Thankfully, most of the attention was now on the Buckeyes and less on his blocked kick from the Saturday before.
         Coach Williams  tried  to decrease the tension before a game.  He wanted his players ready, but relaxed. 
         In the team meeting on Friday he said, "Mr. Stiles, what is a Buckeye?"
          Stiles said,  "A player for Ohio State, I guess."
         "You're partly correct," Williams said in an exaggerated Southern twang he occasionally used.  "But I'm talking about the original buckeye here, gentlemen."  Williams reached into a bag and pulled out a nut.  He held up the nut for them all to see, looking at it critically.  "A buckeye," he emphasized, "is a horse chestnut.  It's the kind of thing you feed livestock."
         The players were quiet, not knowing what to expect.  "What would a cougar  do to a pig?  To a cow?  To a sheep?  Gentlemen, I ask you what  chance a horse chestnut has against a cougar."
         The players laughed and Joel felt  the tension drain from the room.
         "You know our game plan," Williams went on.  "We aren't as physical as they are, but we're faster.  We're going to outrun those boys and beat them to the punch.  I especially want you to outperform them on special teams," and he looked directly at Joel.  "Get with your coaches and let's get to work." 
         Williams clapped his hands and the players grouped together with the assistant coaches.
         The special teams coach was a man named Joe Fowler, a 50-something graying man almost too thin to cast a shadow, Joel thought.  He liked Fowler and appreciated how Fowler had defended him after the blocked kick against Notre Dame.
         The punting team met with Fowler at its end of the practice field and Fowler said, "Field position is going to be very important in this game.  Ohio State doesn't have a major passing game.  If we give them long fields, we can make them grind out yardage.  I want to keep them pinned back on their end of the field.  Joel, you will be a major part of winning or losing this game."
         Joel immediately felt his spirits lift.  That meant he would be the starting punter the next day.
         "Seth, why don't you work with the return team?" Fowler said.
         Joel watched his competitor trot over to the return team and, in a few minutes, Cook was booming high arcing spirals downfield to Reggie. 
         Joel  hit some good kicks of his own.  He hoped the air at game time would be like this, a mix of bright sunshine and light wind.  He thought conditions  like this added at least five yards per punt.
         The team finished its light practice and went back into the locker room.  Coach Williams gave them the usual pre-game speech.  No drinking, no staying out late, no sex.  Joel had heard the speech more times than he cared to remember.
         He didn't need much prodding to be a monk, he thought.  Sure, he and Jennifer had heated things up now and then, but as Game Day approached he kept strictly to his routine.  He did his necessary class work, ate his ritual dinner, watched game film, and went to bed early.
         His dreams were fragments.  He kept seeing Paul Watson, shadowing  Reggie like a panther, and Watson evading his blockers and hitting Reggie straight on.  In his dreams he saw Reggie sprawled on the ground and writhing in pain and the crowd ominously, depressingly silent.
         Joel thought back to the story about Abraham Lincoln on the day Lincoln was assassinated.  Lincoln had a dream that seemed almost a warning about his approaching death.  You're being ridiculous, he told himself.  Watson hasn't killed anyone.  He's just an aggressive and talented football player.  For that matter, so is Reggie.
         When he woke on Saturday morning Joel went to the window and checked the weather.  There were streamers of high white clouds.  Condensation formed on the window and the trees outside quivered in the breeze.  But it would warm by game time and be sunny or partly cloudy.  It was the kind of day made for good kicking, he thought.
         He ate his usual game day  breakfast of a poached egg, two strips of crisp bacon, toast with strawberry jam, orange juice, and coffee.  He knew he shouldn't read the sports page, but he couldn't resist.
         He didn't  understand the hostility of some local sportswriters.  The most prominent columnist had a headline stating BUCKEYES EXPECTED TO ROMP.  The writer started the column by saying, "When you look at the 8-1 record compiled by the Cougars you're tempted to go 'hmmm, that's impressive.'  But when you delve below the surface you see a number of problems in Cougar  country.  Last week's botched coaching call and failed execution that led to a blocked punt, a Notre Dame touchdown, and the first loss of the season exposed weaknesses in the Cougar facade."
         Joel folded the paper and took his dirty dishes to the sink and washed them quickly.  Then he put on his leather jacket and headed for the stadium.  A lot of the players arrived early, especially if they needed any physical therapy.  He liked to gradually get into uniform, listen to music, and talk to his friends on the team.
         Almost every player had his pregame ritual, Joel thought.  Some guys moved incessantly, trying to burn off nervous energy.  Some were almost morbidly quiet, lost in whatever zone their thoughts took them.  Some players got physically sick and spent their time throwing up in the bathroom.  Joel tried to treat it the same as a practice.  It got harder, though, as game time approached and he heard the marching bands outside and smelled the food cooking from the various tailgate parties.  He would associate barbecue with football the rest of his life, he thought.
         Reggie strolled by, still only partially in uniform and said, "It looks like a great day for a game.  I wish I could have some of that barbecue I smell.  But barbecue would slow me down."
         "There will plenty after the game," Joel said.  "Did you read any of the sports page?"
         "Nah," Reggie said and sat next to Joel.  "Sportswriters like to play with your head.  Let me guess.  We're going to lose by forty points and look like a high school team against mighty Ohio State.  Am I right?"
         "Pretty much," Joel said. 
         "Today Paul Watson meets his match," Reggie said.
         Reggie was always intense on game day, Joel thought, but his intensity was up several degrees today.  It was as though this was more a personal rivalty with Paul Watson than a game against Ohio State. 
         Joel left the locker room and went into the bright sunshine for his pregame warmups.  The stands were already filling up and he saw swathes of scarlet and gray, the Ohio State colors, and on the other side an even greater pallette of red and white, the Cougar colors.  He looked in the stands and saw Jennifer and waved. 
         He took his place around the 30 yard line and began lifting the ball downfield.  He was pleased so far.  He was getting a hang time of three seconds or longer.  He had to maintain a balance.  He didn't want to "outkick his coverage," kick the ball so far downfield his teammates didn't have time to converge on the returner.  He needed to kick the ball deep enough and high enough to hold the returner until the coverage got downfield.
         Joel finished his warmups and went back into the locker room for the pregame speech and instructions by Coach Williams. 
         After the Coach's speech, the team filed onto the field.  Joel stood next to Reggie and  looked for Paul Watson.
         "That's him," Joel pointed out.  "There's Watson."
         "He's human after all," Reggie said.  "He has one head, two arms, and two legs just like me.  We'll see how tough he is."
         "You just be careful out there," Joel told him. 
         Just before the coin toss Joel saw Paul Watson and other players on their knees in prayer.  Then Watson stood quietly with his arms at his sides and watched the coin toss, a little like a pit bull eyeing an adversary, Joel thought.
         The Cougars won the toss and Reggie took his usual place near the goal line.  The Ohio State kicker hit a low line drive and Reggie streaked up to  intercept the ball.  He was sliding around tacklers with ease until he ran up against Paul Watson.  Joel heard the impact all the way over on the sideline.  Reggie tried to look nonchalant as he trotted back to the bench, but Joel could tell he was wobbly.
         "You all right, man?" Joel asked.  When Reggie didn't respond he asked, "You hear me, Reggie?"
         "Yeah, yeah," Reggie said as he sat on the bench.  "The dude can hit.  There was nothing dirty.  He's just like a brick wall."
         The game took on the characteristics of a heavyweight prize fight.  Each team threw roundhouse punches that were parried  by the other team  The Cougars scored on an early field goal and a touchdown.  Ohio State scored a touchdown after a long drive.  Joel's punts were keeping them pinned back.  The special teams coach had double teams on Paul Watson and Reggie ripped off some good returns.
         Neither team scored in the third quarter.  It was a battle in the trenches with each team trying to wear down the other.  It wasn't a favorable scenario for the Cougars, Joel thought.  Ohio State was bigger and more physical and when the game turned physical it negated the quickness of his team. 
         Joel also knew that even double teaming wouldn't keep Paul Watson away from Reggie.  When he saw Watson slicing across the field it was a little like watching a ghost materializing and dematerializing, he thought.  Watson was a coverage genius.
         Ohio State scored a touchdown and took the lead 14-10 with about five minutes remaining.  In his mind Joel imagined the theme from the movie "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly."  The confrontation between Reggie and Paul Watson was coming.
         Shadows lenghened  across the field and the air was chilly.  Joel looked up and saw that the tatters of clouds had blown off to another part of the sky.  He saw  the first thin outline of the moon.  He watched  Reggie catch the kickoff and begin his race upfield.
         Reggie cut to the right sideline, away from Paul Watson's side, and flew  around tacklers along the sideline.  Then he cut back to the middle of the field.  Paul Watson was the only man standing between Reggie and the goal line.
         Watson was angling to intercept Reggie and from somewhere deep inside Reggie found more speed.  Watson made a frantic dive to stop Reggie, but Reggie stepped as high as a world class trotter and streaked into the end zone.
         Joel looked on in amazement as Reggie spiked the ball and began taunting Watson.  Watson stood with his hands on his hips about twenty yards away glaring at Reggie's theatrics.  The officials threw penalty flags for unsportsmanlike conduct.
         Coach Williams was livid when Reggie trotted to the sideline.
         "Are you trying to cost us the game?" he hissed.  "You're benched.  Get out of my sight."
         Reggie walked through a gauntlet of players, who pointedly ignored him.  He sat on the bench and took off his helmet and watched the Cougar place kicker kick the extra point.  The Cougars were leading 17-14.
         The Cougar defense held Ohio State and the Buckeyes decided to take a chance that their defense could stop the Cougars and get the ball back.  There were about three minutes left in the game.
         The Cougars had  to move the ball and pick up a first down so they could force Ohio State to use their timeouts.  But the Cougar quarterback got sacked around his own ten yard line and the Cougars had  to punt. 
         As he trotted onto the field Joel felt a sense of deja vu from the week before.  He stood in his own end zone, calling out the snap count, anticipating the rush of the Ohio State defense.  He suddenly didn't even hear the crowd.  The snap came in waist high and he felt the good familar shape of the football in his hands. He dropped the ball and his foot made contact and he knew he had nailed a great punt.
         He watched the ball arc high across the face of the moon and against a backdrop of stars and he wished for a moment that it could hang there forever, defying gravity to become a part of the sky.