Two-Minute Drill - Mike Lupica [24]
This time Scott was the one initiating the contact.
Just not very well.
Scott dropped his shoulder and tried to drive it into Jimmy’s midsection. But the moment he did get low, Jimmy grabbed Scott by his left shoulder pad, like he wanted to just toss him out of the way.
Even as he started to fall, Scott was determined to finish the block, no matter what.
Somehow he rolled forward as Jimmy tried to step over him, only managing to catch him with his legs.
Instead of being in the clear, Jimmy stepped on Scott’s foot. His leg collapsed underneath him, and down he went.
Hard.
As soon as he hit the ground, he was grabbing for his right ankle and yelling at Scott, “You tripped me, you stinking cheater.”
Scott said, “No—”
Mr. Dolan was there now, standing over both of them.
“Dad, you saw it,” Jimmy said. “He leg-whipped me when I started to go by him.”
Mr. Dolan was kneeling next to Jimmy by now.
Mr. Hartung, their assistant coach, had gone to get an ice pack out of their first aid kit.
Mr. Dolan turned, looked up at Scott and said, “We don’t block with our legs, Parry. It’s against the rules, and it’s how people get hurt.”
“I was just trying to stay with the block,” Scott said.
“Sure you were.”
Scott didn’t just feel Mr. Dolan’s eyes on him. He felt everyone’s.
“Our legs got tangled up,” Scott said.
“He’s lying!”
Jimmy.
Mr. Dolan, in a low voice, not anything like his coach voice, said to Scott, “You haven’t stayed with one block all night.”
“I tried to block him, not trip him,” Scott said.
“Mr. Dolan,” Chris said, stepping forward, “Scott doesn’t lie.”
Mr. Dolan turned, and now he gave Chris Conlan a long look.
“Did you see the play, Conlan?”
“No, sir. I’m just sayin’—”
“My advice would be to not say anything,” Mr. Dolan said.
“He’s not good enough to play, so he plays dirty,” Jimmy said.
Mr. Dolan was the one holding the ice to his ankle, still staring at Scott. Scott looked around. Everybody was staring at him.
“I didn’t mean to hurt anybody,” he said, knowing he was sounding lamer by the second.
“Right,” Jimmy said. “I tripped myself.”
Mr. Dolan helped him to his feet, telling him not to put any weight on his ankle, then saying, “Let’s get you home and hope that thing doesn’t swell up on you.”
Then he looked right at Scott and shook his head, saying, “Your first real contribution of the whole season is getting one of our best players injured.”
Then he and Jimmy left without another word and walked toward the parking lot, leaving Scott feeling alone, even with the rest of the team standing there with him.
Usually Scott would have been getting a ride home from Mrs. Conlan, because it was her night to pick up. But she and Chris were making a quick trip to the mall to get him some new pants for school since he’d already grown out of the ones she’d bought him in the summer.
So Scott’s mom was coming to pick him up. She just hadn’t shown up by the time Mrs. Conlan and Chris were leaving.
Chris rolled down the window of his mom’s car and said, “You sure you’re gonna be all right?”
“My mom will be here any second.”
“I meant about what happened out there tonight.”
“I’m good,” he said.
He wasn’t.
He sat down on the curb and waited, head down, replaying his block on Jimmy Dolan again and again until he looked up and saw the three of them standing over him.
Bren Mahoney, the team’s middle linebacker and Jimmy Dolan’s best friend on the team. Charlie Grow, another linebacker. And Quinn Kellogg, who played nose tackle on defense and center on offense.
Bren spoke first.
“You happy now, brain?”
“No,” Scott said, not making any move to get up. “Actually, I’m not.”
Charlie said, “You know how this could mess us up totally, right? If Jimmy’s out for the year?”
“He twisted his ankle, is all,” Scott said.
“Oh, now the brain is a doctor,” Quinn