Cody's Varsity Rush Page 9
ATV teed the ball up, moved back into position, then rumbled toward the ball. I wonder how far this one’s gonna go, Cody wondered.
As it turned out, about fifteen yards. ATV executed a textbook onside kick, the ball dribbling close to the ground. The Lancers were caught off guard. Clark pounced on the ball, and it was game over.
As the Eagles trudged up to the locker room toward what was sure to be one of the most raucous celebrations in school history, Clark drew alongside Cody.
“So, Martin,” he said, “praying in the end zone. I thought that kinda thing wasn’t your bag?”
Cody smiled. “Maybe not always,” he answered, “but as the wise philosopher Pork Chop Porter once said, ‘Sometimes you gotta be who you be.’”
Chapter 1 Unfinished Business
Cody Martin smiled as he walked past the Grant High School gym. Ah, the sights and sounds of basketball practice, he thought. You gotta love ’em.
He stopped momentarily at the south gym doorway and surveyed the flurry of activity: the rat-a-tat slapping of leather on hardwood as Terry Alston showed off his dribbling skills near the south baseline. The clang of Greg “the Cannon” Gannon’s high-arcing jump shots as he tried to find his range from twenty feet. The squeaking of Terrance Dylan’s shoes as he ran agility drills along the east sideline. Taking stock of it all was Coach Clayton, who had moved up from his Grant
Middle School position to lead the Eagle freshmen. The loose-limbed coach prowled the near sideline sporting a brand-new blue and silver warm-up suit, offering such helpful pointers as, “For the love of Rick Barry, will you puh-leeze concentrate when you shoot free throws, Mr. Matt Slaven?”
It was 6:25 in the morning on the second Monday of November, five minutes before the first frosh basketball practice. Gannon launched an air ball and almost ran into Cody as he scrambled to retrieve it.
“Hey, Martin,” he panted. “You gonna join us this morning?”
Cody wagged his head. “Uh, Gannon, it’s still football season for me. Second round of the play-offs are this Friday, in case you haven’t heard.”
Gannon shrugged. “I know. I just thought you might put in double duty. You know, run with us in the mornings, do football in the afternoons.”
“Did a basketball hit you in the head, dude?” Cody asked with a chuckle. “I’m so sore I’m walking like Frankenstein. That’s why I’m here so early. Gonna take a whirlpool, gonna have Dutch help me with some stretching.”
“Well, I wish you guys well,” Gannon said. “But we’re gonna miss you. And Pork Chop, too. It rocks that you’re both playing varsity football as freshmen. But we’re thin without you. Especially on defense. We need some stoppers like you and the big fella. What’s Porter weighing now, anyway? About 225? We could use that beef under the boards.”
Cody turned to the locker room. “Hey, I hope we’re out here with you soon,” he said. “But not too soon.”
With an involuntary groan, Cody slowly lowered himself into the bubbling water of the stainless steel whirlpool tub in the training room. I wonder if there’s any part of me that doesn’t hurt. He considered the question for a moment. Maybe my hair. And I think my ears are okay.
As he felt his aching muscles begin to relax, he leaned his head back and replayed the highlights of the Grant Eagles’ win in the opening round of the Colorado high school football play-offs, just two days before.
Bishop Moreland was a Catholic school in the southern part of the state. Cody and his teammates had watched a videotape on them during their lunch hours leading up to the game. The Bulldogs were huge, but they looked a bit slow. Their offensive line didn’t explode off the snap the way Pork Chop and his O-line teammates did.
On the other hand, Moreland had a 230-pound fullback named Michaels who played like a human battering ram. If that guy breaks through the line and into the secondary, Cody thought with a shudder the first time he saw Michaels on tape, I don’t know how I’m supposed to bring him down. He weighs twice as much as I do!
Fortunately for Cody, when game day arrived the Eagles stacked their defense against the run, putting five players on the line with three linebackers playing tight behind them. That meant only three defensive backs, making Cody the odd DB out. He entered the game on likely passing downs, but even in these situations, the Bulldogs favored sending Michaels into the teeth of the Grant defense.
Watching most of the first half from the sidelines, Cody couldn’t understand the strategy. The middle of the Grant line was occupied by Gordon “ATV” Daniels, a 210-pound tank who bench-pressed 340 pounds and owned legs like tree trunks.
Playing right behind ATV was Brendan Clark, among the state’s best middle linebackers. He was a fierce hitter, and Cody felt himself cringing every time Clark collided with Michaels. The big fullback had more than thirty pounds on Clark, but more often than not, the latter stopped him cold.
The first half ended with the Eagles up 7–0. ATV, who was an even better fullback than a D-lineman, rumbled up the middle for a thirty-eight-yard touchdown run late in the second quarter to give the home team the edge.
After cups of Gatorade had been guzzled and a few ankles re-taped, Coach Martin Morgan gathered the team around him in the locker room. “You’ve seen the tapes,” he said evenly. “You know what they’re gonna do—keep blasting Michaels up the middle, hoping to wear us down physically and mentally. Most teams can’t stop that big bruiser for a whole game. But you’re not most teams. You keep plugging up the middle, and they’re gonna get desperate. And that’s when we slam the door on ’em.”
ATV stood and began slamming the door of a locker behind him. Such was his power that Cody feared the door would fly off its hinges.
“Slam the door!” ATV bellowed after each effort. “Slam! Slam! Slam! Game over!”
Cody saw Coach Morgan catch the eye of Coach Curtis, one of his assistants. The latter flashed a quick smile and wagged his head admiringly. Since joining the varsity earlier in the season, Cody had found himself understanding football better and better each week. He had come to appreciate that motivating players was a huge part of a coach’s job. That must be why the coaches love a guy like ATV, he thought. I’m pretty sure he was born motivated!
Neither team was able to generate much offense in the third quarter. Bryce Phillips, the Eagles’ best wideout, picked up fifteen yards on an end-around, but as he struggled to churn out a few extra yards, he fumbled near midfield, halting Grant’s only promising drive of the quarter.
The Bulldogs took over and, for the first time in the game, sent in two wideouts. “Okay,” Coach Curtis barked. “Standard defense in—now! Two safeties, two corners!”
Cody swallowed hard as he buckled his chin strap and slid in his teeth guard.
He lined up at cornerback against number 84, a lanky wide receiver on the weak side (opposite the tight end) of the Bulldog line. As the center hiked the ball, the receiver charged at Cody, growling and snarling like an angry beast.
Cody held his ground, sending 84 a telepathic message: All that noise might have worked against me early in the season, dude. But since then I’ve been growled at, screamed at, cussed at, and threatened by all kinds of guys bigger than me. So you’re gonna have to bring something more than noise.
Cody raised his arms and chucked 84 hard across the shoulder pads, then stepped inside him as he saw Michaels slide off-tackle and rumble upfield. Clark
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