A Significant Factor

We played the game in the park a couple blocks from the neighborhood.  The field was ringed with trees, but the trees were far enough away from the playing field itself that they were not a factor in the game. Bryant used to say stupid things like that. It’s not a factor in the game, he would say, or It’s going to be a significant factor in this game, like he was a football broadcaster on TV. It’s a stupid park football game, Miles would say, then shake his head resignedly when Bryant gave him some stemwinder of an explanation as to why the trees, or the rain, or the wet ground, or the temperature, or the fact that Clyde had on his second-fastest shoes that day were going to be a critical factor in the game.

We played the York high varsity one Wednesday afternoon after their football season had ended and they had all walked through the trees onto the field like a pack of ghosts assuming position for the haunting that night. Suddenly they appeared, all in a row sort of like the team photo, the small fast guys in front and the big guys in the back. They stood eleven strong, just like we did though we looked more makeshift than they did, and none of us played high school varsity football.

Unschooled, we were. Untrained, uncoached, a seemingly hopeless cause. York was the big school across town; big and new. We all went to the school on the other side of the tracks, older and poorer and less hopeful, both in football and in life.

We had been just tossing the ball around and talking half-heartedly about going five versus five on the short end of the field, just to loosen up before heading home. And when the York guys showed up at first, I thought maybe they were just passing through, or they’d come and we could mix them in and go ten versus ten, but the way they stood there all together I got the sense they came as a package. They wanted to play as a team, like they did on Friday nights. 

Crap, Love said. They are going to smoke us. They were 8-2 this year. 

Yeah, but they didn’t play anybody all that good, Bryant said. 

Great, let them tackle you, Love replied. 

We need another guy anyway, Clyde commented, or one of them has to sit out.

I saw the new kid out of the corner of my eye. Hey you! I shouted. Hey!

Clyde and Miles turned to look, and both moaned aloud. He must have followed us from the neighborhood to the park, walking behind us right outside detection range. I’d seen him around school and the neighborhood, but he didn’t talk much. The old Krantz place had gone up for sale a couple months ago and his family had moved in.   Krantz was a good guy, big and fast. He would have been handy in this game. But this guy? He looked like a soccer player.

What, do we need a kicker? Miles asked. 

No, but we need eleven guys. I said. We’ll put him somewhere. 

You’re an optimist, Clyde said. 

He and Miles walked over to a guy who appeared to be the captain of the York boys. He was tall and wide. Took up a lot of space. They had a conversation, then they came back and motioned us together. The eleven of us huddled up: Me, Miles, Bryant, Clyde, Love, Wisener, Brad, Jacob, Stu Miller and his brother Sam, and the new kid.

Okay, here’s the score. Miles said. It’s eleven versus eleven till dark, two completions for a first down, and no ineligible receivers. Full field. He pointed out the boundaries.

Tackle or touch, the new kid said. 

Clyde looked at him like he had two heads. We play touch with the girls, he said. It’s tackle. Want to go home? 

Heck no, the new kid said. 

You might want to in a while, Stu said, and his brother chortled.

This is going to be tough, Clyde said, but I think we can take them. 

What, they all going to play on one leg? Love snorted.

Our lack of size will definitely be a factor, Bryant said. 

Shut up, Clyde said. I’m faster than anyone on that team. 

Let’s play. What else do we have to do? Miles said, tossing me the ball. Kick it off, Colby.

That’s my job. I kick off, I punt, snap the ball to Miles in shotgun formation and block someone. On defense I play outside linebacker and try to force the ball carrier into the middle of the field where Jacob and Brad will wrap him up. Our big guys are Wisener, Brad, Jacob, Stu, and Sam. Miles is the quarterback. Clyde is a running back or receiver, depending on the situation. Bryant is a receiver too, but he catches like he has a frying pan in each hand. I’m an average athlete, but I’ve known Miles since we were both in kindergarten and I’ve snapped the ball to him in countless football games, plus caught his pitches in baseball, so I know what he’s going to do before he does it, and vice versa.

Miles is tall, strong, and very athletic. He could play on our football team, but he seems more interested in working at his job, playing video games, and chasing girls on the dance team. None of the other guys played either; I would have liked to, but after mom died it just didn’t work.

Miles is an unknown to these guys, and that will be a factor, Bryant said to me as I took the ball. I kicked off, and even though it bounced awkwardly, their return guy grabbed it and ran it for a good thirty-five yards before Brad tackled him.

We assumed our defensive positions and they ran their first play, a sweep where they managed to get the whole offensive line around the corner, and I had five big York starters all coming for my head. My goal of turning the run into the middle was a total washout and right after they ran over me, they ran over Love and would have scored on the first play from scrimmage, but Clyde was playing safety and he ran the ballcarrier down about ten yards from the goal line.

Wonderful, Miles said, as we limped back to the new line. You girls okay? He asked me and Love. It was just a couple more plays and they were in the end zone. 

No wonder they don’t care about that no ineligible receiver rule, Bryant said. They are planning to just run over us. I believe I mentioned that our lack of size would be a factor, he continued.

Shut up, Miles said.

We got the ball and moved it downfield pretty well. They were not prepared for the fact that anyone on offense can catch a pass. The standard rules of American football make all interior lineman - around half the players on the team - ineligible to handle the ball, but we were playing sandlot football, with ad hoc rules designed for a game that may have only five or six players to a side on it. The York guys didn’t play sandlot football, and the first time Wisener, who was playing guard, faked blocking someone and then snuck over to the sideline to receive Miles pass just before being tackled, then turned and went upfield about fifteen yards, they were yelling and complaining about the obvious rules violation.

Don’t you guys know how to play this game? One fellow asked. We can teach you, he continued threateningly.

Miles and Clyde reminded them of the rules they had agreed to at the beginning of the game, and they ended up grudgingly accepting the rule, but not before making all sorts of threatening remarks about how two could play at that game and they are looking forward to being on offense again and if we thought they scored easy the last time, well wait till next time.

It took us about three more plays to score. Miles threw another pass to Brad, then one to Stu, and then they came up with a plan to guard our lineman, which eliminated their rush on Miles, and he stood in the backfield and waited till Clyde got behind their safety and threw a thirty-yard strike to him in the end zone.

It was going to be a matter of our small talent and sandlot rules against the well trained and developed elite of the York high school football program.  Our little rule exception didn’t help them all that much; their linemen couldn’t catch or run pass patterns, and they weren’t used to thinking that way anyway, whereas we played that way all the time.

Up till now the new kid hadn’t really had much impact on the game. But at least he wasn’t hurting us. He caught a couple short passes on offense and covered a man on defense.

He had just appeared at school one day. We knew Kranz and his family were moving; his dad got a promotion, and they were moving somewhere in Michigan. They had lived in that house for at least fifteen years, and we had gone to school together since kindergarten, all of us. Their house sat empty with a for sale sign for a few months, then one day the sign indicated it was sold. A few weeks later we saw the house was inhabited, but I honestly can’t say I remember seeing a moving van at the house. And the kid started coming to school. We’d see him walking to and from school, and sometimes around the neighborhood we’d see him, but he was mostly just a ghost.

I overheard one of the teachers talking to another and they said the boy lived with his father. His dad’s job required him to move all the time.  Apparently in ten years, he’d been to something like twelve or fourteen schools. She said it with that sort of clucking sound adults make when they are trying to be all sympathetic and crap; I heard it myself a couple years ago when the word got around school that my mother had cancer. I got sympathy and a little more attention for a couple weeks, but after that it was Colby this, Colby that, Colby sit down and stay away from that cheerleader. 

I never understood why the fuss. It’s life, and you just have to deal with it. I’m only sixteen, but I’ve managed to figure that much out. I don’t need a bunch of teachers clucking their tongues over me.  I figure the kid probably had had more teachers doing that to him than I would have ever experienced if he’d been to fourteen different schools. I wondered how he dealt with it.

The game went on for an hour or so, and it was pretty even. By the time it was dusk, we were up 21-14 and things were starting to fade to grey on the field. It was what the photography teacher would have called a sepia tone, except that it was grey instead of brown. It was starting to get colder. Fingers were getting numb; Miles almost dropped a snap, and I did drop a pass right in my hands on third down, which forced us to punt. They weren’t having it any easier; in the next series their quarterback threw a ball right to the hands of a wide receiver and he dropped it, which earned him derision from his teammates. It was fourth down, no completions and they had to punt.  Or so we thought. They got into formation looking like they were going to punt, with a wide receiver they used as kicker back deep and the quarterback set up short, and the ball was snapped to the quarterback, not the kicker, and he ran to his right, then pitched the ball to the kicker, who was out wide. It was a nice little trick play, and it fooled us completely, and he got a couple good blocks and they scored a touchdown. Tie game.

Last score wins, they shouted when they set up to kick off, and we agreed. It was getting dark rapidly and we all had school the next day, homework to do, parents to appease, siblings to torment. I knew that my sisters would need help with dinner when I got home; Dad worked late on Wednesday. Just as well – an hour of banging into those big guys is long enough. I could tell that I would be sore the next day.

Clyde received the kickoff, and he went right. I went to block an opponent that was relatively close and not far from my size, but before we could collide a guy the size of a house from the other team hit me in my blindside and leveled me. He knocked my feet up in the air and I landed on my back and it knocked the wind out of me. I laid there alone for a minute or two trying to get my breath back. When I sat up, everyone was crowded around Miles. When I got there, I could see that his ankle was twisted in the wrong direction. His face was twisted in pain, and I could see that he was done for the day. Stu and Sam got him on his feet and got him to the sideline where he sat, cursing to himself.

This is going to be a big factor in the resolution of this game. Bryant said. Stu rolled his eyes.

We huddled up. We were a man short, end of the game, and we had no quarterback. The guys looked at me. Since I had known Miles longer than anyone, the guys would sometimes ask me what we should do. It’s only because they thought I knew what he would think, no other reason. 

We’re down a man and we need a quarterback, and it’s getting dark. I said, trying to think what Miles would say in this situation. Last score wins, so we need to finish it here, and soon. Any ideas? I said to the group.

Who’s going to QB? Sam asked. This is a conundrum, because in the day Krantz would take over for QB when Miles wasn’t around, which was rare. I can throw a good twenty-yard pass, but any longer than that and I can’t guarantee where it will go. Clyde would be the next obvious choice, but he was also our fastest guy and if he were quarterback, he’d have no one to throw to.

I’m open to suggestions, I said.

Has to be you, Colby. Bryant said. All the team nodded.

I can do it. The new kid said. I can play QB.

Where did you play quarterback? Clyde scoffed. Grade school?

Well, yeah. The kid replied. And high school, but I never stayed in a school long enough to stick with a team. I picked up the ball and tossed it to him. Throw a pass, I said. He took the ball and threw it back to me. He threw a hard tight spiral right into my chest. I grunted with the impact.

Okay, I said. You’re it.

What’s your name, by the way, Bryant asked. 

Vance, the new kid said.

The York guys were talking amongst themselves when we lined up at the line of scrimmage. I saw one of them smirk when he saw who was lined up at quarterback. I snapped him the ball and Vance immediately started moving, saw Love open down the middle and threw a strike right into his hands for about fifteen yards.

The next few plays were as close to poetry in motion as I have ever seen for a bunch of high school losers against a legitimate varsity team. We were the metal shop guys, the auto repair careerists. Three guys that I know of on our team went to college. I wanted to go, but I had to help dad get my sisters through and never got round to it. Not all the York players were Division one blue chip recruits, but some got to that level, and the rest played at lesser schools, and they had been trained and taught at this game. We were what my dad would have called hobbyists.

But at this point, we were shredding them, and it was all due to Vance. He rolled right and hit Stu on the sideline for about ten yards. Next play, I slipped my block and ran straight down the middle, and he threw one over my shoulder that I barely grabbed with my fingertips. A ten-yard gain. The next play, they rushed nearly everybody, and Vance disappeared behind three defenders, then dipped a shoulder and got through them and ran for twenty yards or so before their safety dragged him down.

The guy was a talent, no doubt about it. The thing that separated him from stardom was a decisive factor, as Bryant would say, and it didn’t seem that he could do anything about it. I figured out a while ago that life works that way and you just have to adapt to the situation. I hoped he could.

On the next play, he threw a perfect strike to Clyde, who sprinted past everyone into the end zone. Game over. We just beat the York varsity by a touchdown on a cloudy November evening, a man short, with a quarterback we had never even met before the game. On the walk home Bryant was next to me. He said that guy Vance was a decisive factor in the game.

No kidding, I said.

Two days later his house was on the market. I never saw him again.