Coach Flynn started with, "Everyone knows about the misfortune in this young man's life—the death of his father during the middle of our season. But let me focus on Mike Panther's accomplishments..."
Chapter Ten
We played archrival Assumption the last game of the regular season, also our homecoming game. The Knights were a small Catholic school with a tradition of good athletic teams because they recruited players away from the public schools so well. We called the school Ass High.
We stood at 8-0. One more win and we'd be crowned Cornbelt Conference champs, playoff bound.
The Knights' record was 6-2. Nothing to laugh at.
Under the floodlights on Falcon Field, while the band members burst out with the "National Anthem," I held my right hand over my heart, my helmet in my left hand. Along with my teammates, I watched the wind whip the American flag above the scoreboard in the north end zone. My legs trembled. That was good. Trembling meant I was ready to play.
I thought of the flag on Dad's coffin. It was home folded on my dresser. I wondered how I'd feel if Jodi were screaming in the stands and waving banners for the team like the rest of the kids. Having her rooting for me in the stands would have added to the game's excitement. Christie used to root for me. Mom was here, sitting in the stands with the rest of the parents of team members. When the weather was cold like this, she always dressed in her white jeans and red parka—our school colors, red and white.
The Falcons came out flying high. On a frozen field, yesterday's inch of snow shoveled to the sidelines, we smothered Assumption 28-0. I had a good game: two touchdowns, four extra points, and a fifty-yard punt. We all had a good game. The score tells that.
And we didn't let up after that.
Playing two games a week, we won four more games. The championship game was a thriller in the University of Northern Iowa's domed stadium at Cedar Falls.
After trailing 3-0 at half time and 17-3 at the end of the third quarter, we defeated Granite City, another unbeaten team. We wore the Rocks down in the fourth quarter and finally pounded them into the ground. Honey Hughes scored three touchdowns. Hughes's first name was Roger, but we called him "Honey" because he was a Negro and ran so sweet. I added the extra points in the game and also kept the Rocks pinned in their own territory in the final stanza with booming punts. The Rocks didn't have room to breathe. We came back for a 24-17 win.
After I'd showered and dressed and was leaving the Falcons' jubilant locker room, Coach Flynn stopped me and shook my hand. "You had a brilliant season," he said. "You played tough. Scholarship offers will come from everywhere, and you'll get my recommendation to play at any school you want."
"Thanks, Coach."
A week later, we held our football banquet on Friday night in the school cafeteria. Hughes and I had already been picked as all-conference and all-state players. First team in each case. Landing on the second team thrilled Oz.
Mom went to the banquet with me.
The football banquet was always a potluck dinner. Parents brought either a meat dish or a covered dish or a dessert. The school provided pop, coffee, and milk.
Football banquets took hours. After everyone finished eating, the principal and coaches stood at the speaker's table and gave speeches, promising to keep their remarks short. But they never did. They couldn't resist hearing themselves talk. Since we were state champs, the athletic director and school superintendent also spoke. The gold-and-silver championship trophy, three feet tall, sat in the center of their table.
Then each coach introduced the players in his unit, telling about the kid's contribution to the team, relating a little story about him, embarrassing him.
Coach Flynn spoke last, introducing his starting backfield. I was the last one he introduced. I stood in front of the podium, feeling my face turn red. I shifted from one foot to the other and stared at the floor. I wondered what to do with my hands. I finally slid them deep into my back pockets. My elbows stuck out.
Coach Flynn started with, "Everyone knows about the misfortune in this young man's life—the death of his father during the middle of our season. But let me focus on Mike Panther's accomplishments..." He went on to say that besides being an all-conference and all-state player, I broke school and conference records for a season for number of attempts rushing, yards gained, touchdowns scored, total points, and longest field goal. When Coach Flynn began to wind down, he said, "...and because of his outstanding accomplishments and contributions to this once-in-a-lifetime season, Mike Panther's teammates have selected him as their most valuable player."
Wait! Why not Honey Hughes?
He'd dazzled opponents with the most beautiful open-field runs I'd ever seen. He'd scored the final three touchdowns of the season. The most important ones.
The crowd stood and applauded. I was shaking.
"There's more," Coach Flynn said, motioning everyone to be seated. "The coaching staff has decided to retire Mike's jersey—number six—to be displayed in the school trophy case for as long as Grandview High exists."
More applause filled the cafeteria. People stood up again. Their applause filled my ears, overwhelming me. When Coach Flynn handed me my MVP plaque and shook my hand, I felt choked. I didn't deserve this. I hadn't prepared a speech. All I could say into the microphone was, "Thank you...but everyone on this team deserves a trophy. Everyone's a MVP."
When I staggered back to our table, Mom hugged me, tears in her eyes. "Your father would be so proud of you," she said. "As I most certainly am!"
I ended up shaking hands with nearly everybody there. "Congratulations!" or "Way to go!" is what most people said, slapping me on the back. I felt humbled.
Oz pumped my hand so long and so hard I thought my arm would fall off. "You're a hero, man. I can't believe I know a real live hero."
"You still don't."
When I shook hands with Hughes, he said, "Bro, you are now the coolest dude in town."
"I'll never run as cool as you."
"Don't have to," he said. "Long's you keep runnin' over people. And kickin' hard and far."
As the banquet was breaking up, I cornered Coach Flynn and told him, "Hughes should've been MVP."
"You stepped up whenever we needed you," Coach Flynn said.
"I tried."
"The kids realize that, and they know they wouldn't have finished on top without your contribution. Especially your kicking."
"My dad helped me a lot with that."
"Personally, I think your commitment to Falcon football and your focus this year have been outstanding. I've never seen anything quite like it."
I felt my face getting red again. "Thank you. Um...about my jersey..."
"My high school coach retired my jersey. I was a linebacker with a lot of tackling records. Quarterback sacks. Tackles for loss. I felt retiring my jersey was a token of gratitude from my coach. I hope you'll feel the same way."
"I do. I...thanks."
Clutching my MVP plaque, I left the cafeteria with Mom. I felt thrilled but sad. Thrilled because of the honors but sad because Dad wasn't here to share them with me.
I'd also earned an all-A report card the first quarter.
Just like our football team, I was steaming along in high gear.
Nothing could stop me now.
How about that, Dad! Told you.
If only I could settle this problem with Jodi.
Coming Wednesday—Chapter Eleven: Michael feels awkward, stupid, and guilty.
