Two-Minute Drill - Mike Lupica [36]
Chris was still bent over. But he turned now and met Scott’s eyes, before pointing right at him.
Mr. Dolan took off his cap despite the soaking rain, and rubbed his forehead. Scott thought the coach looked lost for a moment, Chris still speaking at his side.
Then, as if suddenly remembering where he was, Mr. Dolan put his cap back on.
“Parry!” he yelled, his eyes looking everywhere except at Scott. “You’re in!”
It took Scott a second to realize what he’d just heard. When he did, he began shaking his head no. But Chris caught his eye again and nodded.
Then Chris, straightening up now, waved him over.
Scott ran toward them.
“Are you crazy?” he said to Chris. “What the heck did you say to Coach?”
“I told him about our secret weapon,” Chris said. “Like he said, you’re going in.”
“To do what?”
“Kick for it,” Chris said.
Scott waited for some sign that he was joking, even with eight seconds left in the championship game. Only he wasn’t. He meant this. This was what he’d been talking about with Mr. Dolan, what he’d just spent nearly the whole time-out talking him into.
Scott couldn’t talk now, couldn’t move, just stood there shaking his head.
“No,” he managed finally, still shaking his head. “No way. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
Then Chris Conlan was grabbing Scott by both sides of his helmet, forcing him to focus. “Let’s go win a championship,” he said.
TWENTY
“This is insane,” Scott said.
“Nah,” Chris said, “it’s Parry Field. Just muddier.”
They were standing in front of Mr. Dolan now. The whole team had gathered behind them, wanting to know what was going on. Mr. Dolan said to Scott, “You can do this?”
Chris answered before Scott could. “Coach, he can do it. I know he can even better than he does. It’s not just our best chance to win—it’s our only chance. You saw what just happened when Jeremy was in the clear. And I couldn’t throw a pass to save my life even on two good legs.”
Mr. Dolan ignored Chris. He tipped back his cap just slightly. Now Scott could see his eyes, staring at him.
“I’m asking you,” he said to Scott. “Can you make this kick?”
“Yes,” Scott said, “I can.”
The ref came over to where they were standing. “Coach, I’ve been giving extra time on the whistles.
But you gotta get these kids lined up soon or I’m gonna have to call a delay of game on you.”
Mr. Dolan nodded. The ref left. When Mr. Dolan started talking again, it was as if he were talking to himself.
“This is nuts,” he said. Then looked back at Scott and said, “Go for it.”
Jimmy Dolan had been over on the sidelines, trying to clean some of the mud out of his spikes, so he didn’t know what they’d been talking about.
“Go for what, Dad?”
“We’re gonna kick for it,” Mr. Dolan said.
“Who’s gonna kick for it?”
Mr. Dolan said, “Scott.”
“You’re gonna let the brain try a field goal?”
Jimmy said. “Tell me you’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”
Mr. Dolan gave his son a long look and said, “Tell me something, son. Do I look like I’m joking?”
Scott ignored them, turned to Chris instead.
“You’ve gotta come out, right?”
Chris nodded.
“So who’s going to hold for me?” Scott said.
“It’s like I just finished telling Coach,” Chris said. “We’re not gonna need a holder. It’s just one more thing that could go wrong.” He paused and said, “That’s why you’re gonna drop-kick it.”
Scott felt the air come out of him the way it had that time Jimmy’d hit him in practice and he was afraid he was never going to catch his breath, the day he’d somehow held on to the ball.
“I can’t drop-kick a field goal,” he said, choking the words out.
“Would somebody mind telling me what a drop-kick is?” Jimmy said.
His dad said, “It’s like a punt, except you drop it on the ground before you kick it.”
“But it counts the same as a placekick?