Two-Minute Drill - Mike Lupica [33]
Mr. Dolan came back with the ice, handed it to Scott’s dad. Scott thought Mr. Dolan wanted to say something. But there was something in the look Scott’s dad gave him that made him just walk away, as if his dad had glared him away. “I’ll call later,” Mr. Dolan said, “to see how he’s doing.”
“Do that,” Hank Parry said.
He wrapped the ice pack around Scott’s wrist, told him to hold it tight, no matter how cold it got. Then he helped his son to his feet.
As he did, the rest of the Eagles began to applaud.
It wasn’t broken.
His dad had driven him straight to the emergency room. And even though his dad had said they might have to wait, it must have been a slow night there, because the nurse took him in right away to get x-rayed. They took pictures of the wrist from all angles.
After the x-rays had been developed, Dr. Accorsi showed Scott the injured area on the outside, said it was a combination of bone bruise and sprain, had him move it around a little more. Then he told Scott that just to be on the safe side, he was going to put a soft cast on it for a couple of days.
“But I’ve got a game tomorrow!” Scott said.
The doctor smiled. “Your team does, but I’m afraid you don’t.”
“It’s the last game of the regular season,” Scott said, as if that was somehow going to change the doctor’s mind.
Dr. Accorsi looked at Scott’s dad, then back at Scott. “The good news is that the wrist will be as good as new in a couple of weeks,” he said. “The bad news is that you’ve already played your last game of the regular season.”
Scott waited until he got in the car.
Then the football player started to cry.
Chris called in the morning to see how he was doing, ask if Scott was coming to the Panthers game.
“My wrist is still killing me,” Scott said, even though it felt much better. “I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“Come on,” Chris said. “After the game we’ll go hang out at my house.”
“Nah,” Scott said. “Watching a game I was going to get into will hurt even more than my wrist does.”
That much was the truth. The kind his dad sometimes called the painful truth. Scott didn’t want to watch the Eagles crush the Panthers, didn’t want to watch another guy off the bench getting carries he would have gotten today, didn’t want to go there and act like he was still a part of the team when his season was over.
He’d go to the championship game next Saturday, just to root for Chris. Not because he had to. Because he wanted to. If your best friend was playing for the championship, well, that wasn’t a game you could miss.
Today’s game he could miss.
After he hung up the phone, he got his ball and whistled for Casey. His parents were in the kitchen having coffee. His dad looked up when he saw Scott with the football. “Hey,” he said, “I don’t think you should be running around with that wrist today.”
Scott said, “I’m just gonna kick. Case will do the running around.”
They walked out to Parry Field. In an hour or so, the Eagles would be playing the Panthers.
I was gonna get in the game, he thought.
I was gonna play.
He walked slowly to the end of the field, where the goalposts were, Casey right behind him, ready to chase.
The two of them were right back where they started.
Like this was the only game in town.
NINETEEN
When the doorbell rang the next Saturday morning, the morning of the Eagles’ championship game against the Lions, Scott said he’d get it.
He didn’t look outside to see who it was, just opened the door and there was Chris, already dressed for the game except for his helmet.
“I told you on the phone I’d see you over there,” Scott said.
“Go suit up.”
“No,” Scott said. “We talked about this yesterday.”
“That was before your cast came off.”
“Who told?”
“I can’t reveal my source,” he said, then grinned.
“Okay, your mom told my mom.”
Dr. Accorsi had taken it off the day before, then wrapped the wrist in an Ace bandage, saying that was more of a reminder for him to be careful with it than anything else.
“I don’t have to be in