Pasadena Memorial Stadium was packed. Somewhere in that sea of faces was Mama. Joe always felt more apprehensive when the team played away. He wasn’t used to the surface, the stripes, the score board. It took him a while to get oriented. Still, knowing Mama was up there helped.

  The drums thumped a wild rhythm. Darryl couldn’t keep his body still. He had to dance. Further down, Joe saw Danita moving to the music too, she danced way better than Darryl. Christy’s hair flew into view, and Joe quickly turned his eyes back to the field. One more play and the Tiger offense would be on the field. Pasadena Memorial was playing better than expected, but they still failed to score. As Joe ran onto the field he glanced at the stands. He needed to see Mama. He had a lump in his throat that ran all the way to his stomach. There on the front row was Mr. Thorton. He raised his hand to Joe. Joe didn’t know what it meant, so he pretended like he didn’t see it.

  They lined up, the play was put in motion. Joe followed his appointed path, but his legs weren’t hitting right. He was out of sync. The ball was coming his way. He extended his hands, but the ball brushed against his fingertips. It hit the ground and bounced.

  Another line up, another try. Joe was not the receiver this time. His legs were not finding their stride. The play was short, hardly any yardage gained. As he made his way to line up again, he glanced into the stands. This time he saw Mama. She was not alone, the damned preacher was beside her. Could tonight get any worse? Fourth down came and went and they still weren’t on the boards.

  Play after play was executed. Pasadena scored a field goal. Only three points on the board.

  By late second quarter Joe had gained some yardage, but he had yet to score.

  In the huddle Stan signed the next play in the palm of his hand. The ball would be directed to Joe, if he was open. The huddle broke up and they fell in line. The ball snapped. Joe took off running. He dodged his defense, but his foot lost ground. The next thing he knew he was slammed from behind. Wham. His helmet, his entire body bounced off the artificial turf. A strange ringing sound echoed in his head. The last thing he needed was a concussion. He remained very still.

  A lot of cleats circled around him. Perlman Jenkin’s asked, “Do you think his neck’s broken?”

  Joe hadn’t even thought of that.

  Doc Bradshaw fingered his spine, then his neck. When he finished he asked, “Can you move your arms and legs Joe?”

  “I think so.” Joe wiggled his fingers and toes, then his arms and legs.

  Doc carefully rolled him over and shone a little light into his pupils. “How’s your head feel?”

  Except for the ringing, his head felt okay. “Good.”

  Perlman and Doc hoisted him up. The movement up made him feel dizzy. He staggered a little, then his legs became steady. As he was led off the field he looked up into the crowd. The crowd was clapping. He wished they were clapping because he had just scored. Then he saw Mama pressed up against the barrier. Terror registered in her eyes. He smiled at her. Her expression softened. Then Joe noticed she was holding Brother Greene’s hand. Abruptly he turned away.

  During half time Doc Bradshaw gave Joe a thorough going over. When he finished he said, “Just got the wind knocked out of you. Think you will be up to playing?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’ll tell Coach Wilson. You just rest here till it’s time to go out. I don’t want you running through that damn paper banner though, so hang back.”

  Joe didn’t know what Doc had against paper banners. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they win. And to win, he needed to get his legs and his focus. He must concentrate on the ball and only the ball. Not anything or anyone else.

  Back on the field, it was agony sitting on the bench. Joe hated it. His butt was getting numb. How did Darryl stand it? Darryl sat beside him, content, humming to himself, watching the cheerleaders, the drill team and any stray band girl whose white pants were tight. All Joe wanted to do was play.

  Darryl mumbled, “Relax man, enjoy. You work too hard anyway.”

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  “We are loosing.”

  “So, somebody’s got to loose.”

  Joe started to argue, but he didn’t want to waste his energy.

  Finally, half way through fourth quarter, Coach Wilson called him. He asked, “You up to it Joe?”

  “Yes.” He went to the sidelines to be substituted in.

  Grateful to be on the field, Joe vowed not to let himself get distracted. When the ball was put in play he took off running. His legs still felt odd, but that didn’t matter, the ball was not intended for him. The ball arced toward John Reeves. John caught the ball and took off running. Joe blocked his defender. John gained fifteen yards, but they were still a long way from goal.

  The rest of the plays turned sour. Offense left the field. Defense went on. Joe watched Darryl. His moves were slow and inexact. He looked like he could care less. When Darryl came off the field, Joe shouted, “You could at least act like you care.”

  Darryl growled, “I do care, I’m just not freakin’ obsessed.”

  Another thing to let go. Joe stepped onto the field and ran to his position. Why had he yelled at Darryl? No time to figure that out. He glanced at the clock. Precious moments were speeding away. Fifty-nine seconds. They were going to loose by three lousy points if they didn’t come up with something.

  A little yardage here, a little yardage there. First down, second down, first again. They weren’t in field goal range yet. Joe hadn’t gotten his hands on the ball. Not once. Stan had apparently lost faith in him. Another thing to let go. Joe lined up. The ball was not intended for him again. It was snapped. He cut loose and out distanced his defender by several yards. He glanced back. Stan was throwing the ball. But it was not coming to him. Still Joe knew, felt, this ball would make it. He saw John stretch out his arms. He had it. With fingers curled around it, he ran over the goal. Score!

  The stadium exploded with noise.

  Back home, in the field house everyone was in a party mood, but Joe. They had won, but it had been a sloppy win. Joe had played badly and he knew it. If any scouts were out there tonight, he knew he had not impressed them. Slowly he undressed and tossed his uniform in the laundry cart, then shoved his pads into his locker. All he wanted to do was go home and forget this game. He went to the showers.

  Darryl, dripping wet and naked was singing songs in Spanish. Seemed like Purple Bomb was rubbing off on him. As Joe stepped under a showerhead, Darryl asked, “Want to go to Stan’s?”

  “No, I just want to go home.”

  “Well, then you will have to find another ride.”

  “Fine.” In the mood Joe was in, a run home, might not be such a bad thing. He needed time to find his legs. What had happened to his stride? But he was tired, dog-tired. Too tired to run or beg Darryl for a ride home.

  After a hasty shower, Joe toweled off and dressed. Outside the field house the night was turning cool. A circle of haze glowed around the moon. He took in a big gulp of air. He saw Christy Thorton and some other cheerleaders cross the parking lot. Danita wasn’t with them. Joe hid in the shadow of the field house entry. Then, he saw Mama, standing in a pool of light near her car.

  Unexpected tears stung Joe’s eyes. He went to her, grateful she was alone. She smiled at him and said, “I had to check on you. How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” He wasn’t. All he wanted to do was throw himself up against Mama and wail like he did when he was a little boy. He wanted to hear her say the things she used to say to him, to soothe him and calm him down. He wanted her to tell him everything would be all better. And he wanted to believe her words were true.

  She said, “I guess I’ll be going. Don’t stay out too late.”

  Before he spoke, Joe swallowed hard. He did not want his voice to sound all quivery when he asked, “Could you take me home?”

  Mama didn’t ask why, she just said, “Sure.”

  When they were inside the car, he said, “I played really bad tonight.”

  “Some nights are like that, Josie.” She reached for his hand. Briefly her fingers closed over his. It wasn’t much, but it made him feel better. She said, "Next week, there is another game, and you will do better."