Fantasy League (3 page)

“Thanks for not sugarcoating it,” her mom said. “You can bring the chips and dip up, just don't make a mess. Your dad will have the grill fired up and the burgers ready to go at the half.”

“Hope our team hasn't made me lose my appetite by then,” Anna said.

It actually made her mom laugh.

“It's only our second preseason game,” Anna's mom said. “You can't give up yet.”

“Watch me.” Anna took the plate from her mom, and led Charlie out of the room and up the stairs.

Toughest guy he knew was a girl.

THEY WATCHED THE FIRST HALF of the game, watched Chase Sisk, their second-year quarterback, throw an interception on the Bulldogs' first series, then go three-and-out on the next two, by which time it was 14–0, Bears.

But the whole time, even as bad as the Bulldogs looked on both sides of the ball, Charlie and Anna did their favorite thing in the world: Spoke football to each other.

And argued about it.

It was part of the fun of the two of them being together, a football game on in front of them, even when they were agreeing to disagree about the team they both loved.

“He should have pulled it down and run with it,” Anna said at one point after Chase nearly threw another interception, in there one more series than the announcers thought he would be.

“No way,” Charlie said. “He made the right decision, just a lame throw. Gilmore was open.”

“You're wrong,” she said. “He had open field in front of him. Should have run for the first down.”

“Wrong? I thought you said I was the real brain here.”

“Yes, wrong. Better get used to it, Brain. Your boy Gilmore probably won't even make the team.”

Michael Gilmore, rookie from Tennessee. Charlie's new favorite player, just off the Bulldogs' first preseason game.

Gilmore was a fourth-round draft choice. Charlie had seen him play against Auburn as a sophomore, saw him make this amazing one-handed catch in the back of the end zone to win a game for Tennessee, had followed him ever since. Charlie loved that the Bulldogs had drafted him, even though the Bulldogs were mocked around the league for the way they'd been stockpiling receivers like Michael Gilmore since they'd been in business.

They'd been doing this even though the Bulldogs had never had a quarterback accurate enough or good enough to get all those hotshot wideouts the ball.

“He'll end up in the Pro Bowl one of these days, wait and see,” Charlie said.

“We should have taken a defensive lineman. Or a linebacker.”

“Like who? All the impact defenders had been drafted by then. Why waste the pick.”

“We can't stop the run,” she said. “We've never been able to stop the run.”

“Our problem,” Charlie said, knowing he sounded like a know-it-all, and knowing that would make her dig in even more, “is that we've never been able to score in a scoring league. Michael Gilmore will give us a better chance to do that.”

Anna crossed her arms, shook her head. “We need wide bodies, not another wide receiver. Did I mention that we can't stop a sneeze, much less a good running back?”

“Just because we've been wrong drafting skill position players in the past, doesn't mean we should pass up a guy like this, especially when he fell into our laps in the fourth round.”

“Oh,” she said, “he's got a position all right. Just not enough skills.”

Grinning back at him. Enjoying this as much as he was. Never giving an inch.

“Here you are, always breaking down football like it's a math problem,” she said. “But then you fall in love with a rookie receiver like any other crazy fan.”

“I am a crazy fan,” he said. “Doesn't make me for-real crazy.”

It was just one of their normal debates. What Charlie and Anna would be doing from now until the Super Bowl.

Neither
of them giving an inch.

In that moment on the screen, Chase Sisk threw Gilmore a short pass and he turned it into a sixteen-yard gain.

“Yeah, you sure know your football, no question about
that
.”

Anna made a face at him. “Sarcasm is a weapon for the weak.”

“What's weak,” he said, “is your opinion of this guy.”

Before long it was 24–0, Bears, and Anna reached for the remote. She muted the sound on the game, saying that the announcers were starting to annoy her. Something that usually happened when the Bulldogs were this far behind.

“Another stellar team my uncle Matt has assembled,” she said.

Charlie wasn't ready to give up just yet. There were only three minutes before the half, the Bulldogs moving the ball for the first time all night, JJ Guerrero in at quarterback, a free agent from UCLA they'd signed during the off-season. Didn't have a great arm, but could move in the pocket, wasn't afraid to mess up his completion percentage and quarterback rating by throwing the ball away when he had to.

One more thing that Charlie knew about football: completion percentages and quarterback ratings could lie right to your face; you needed to see how a guy got to both. Look for the numbers within the numbers.

He wondered if the people in charge of the Bulldogs did the same.

Charlie said, “Can I ask you something?”

“It is going to annoy me as much as these announcers?”

“How'd your uncle Matt get the job in the first place?”

Anna rolled her eyes.

“Uncle Matt played in college, at USC,” she said. “And he'd always done well helping Gramps in the real estate business, and with the sports radio stations they ended up buying. And it was Uncle Matt who did a lot of the negotiations with the league and with the city. On top of all that, I think Gramps had always promised him that if they ever did get a team, they were going to run it together, the way Jerry Jones does with his kids in Dallas.”

JJ Guerrero missed with a third-down pass into the end zone, Charlie seeing that it wasn't his fault. Ike Barber, a wideout Charlie thought was already in decline only three years after the Bulldogs had drafted him, had been slow making his cut to the outside.

Before Charlie could say anything, Anna said, “Real barbers run better pass routes than Ike does.”

“Tight end was wide open,” Charlie said, “watch on the replay.”

Anna made a snorting noise.

“Mo is open a lot,” Anna said, talking about Mo Bettencourt. “Doesn't matter if nobody throws him the stupid ball.”

The Bulldogs at least managed to kick a field goal, making it 24–3 to end the half.

“Not the most encouraging start to the season,” Charlie said.

“Speaking of seasons,” Anna said, “when does practice officially start for you guys?”

“Monday.
Can't wait
.”

Saying it in a way that let her know he meant the opposite.

“C'mon,” she said, “you know it will be fun.”

“For who?”

“You like being with the guys.”

“The other guys can play. I can't.”

From downstairs, they heard Anna's mom calling them for dinner.

“If you keep thinking that way,” Anna said, “you're never going to get better.”

“It doesn't matter how I think,” he said, “I'm never going to be good enough. I don't run well enough, I don't tackle all that well, and I've never been able to throw it or catch it well enough.”

Anna smiled at him. That smile, he knew, made her even prettier. And even though Charlie Gaines would never admit it, when she smiled at him that way it made him as happy as football did.

Maybe more.

“Well, look at it this way,” Anna said. “If you're really that bad . . . you might grow up to play for the Bulldogs someday!”

They ate dinner and managed to laugh about the state of the L.A. Dogs the whole time. When they were finished, Anna's mom asked if they were going to watch the second half.

Anna looked at her and said, “I can't believe you even asked us that.”

Charlie said, “Seriously Mrs. Bretton? Sometimes I feel like I don't know you anymore.”

They watched the second half, knowing that so many of the players they were watching weren't ever going to make the team. The Bears ended up winning, 38–10. Charlie's mom showed up about ten minutes after the game ended, perfect timing. Anna said she'd call Charlie tomorrow, maybe they could go to a movie before the Giants-Packers game on Sunday night—just assuming they were going to watch it together.

“Your house or mine?” he said.

She smiled at him again. “I totally don't care.”

Neither did he.

“We'll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Hey?” she said.

He turned at the door to her room.

“The way we're obsessed with football, you think other people think we're weird?” Anna said.

Charlie was the one smiling now. “Probably,” he said. “You care?”

“Not even a little bit.”

When he got into the car, his mom asked if he and Anna had had fun.

“We always have fun,” he said.

“I think I might have picked up on that,” she said.

On the way home, he thought about something one of the announcers had said in the fourth quarter, about how this was going to be another long season for the Los Angeles Bulldogs.

Charlie understood what the guy meant; he hadn't seen anything tonight that made him think the team was going to get better anytime soon.

Or ever.

Still: As far as he was concerned, the football season was never long enough to suit him. He was already thinking about Giants-Packers. There were a couple of rookie running backs on both teams he wanted to see. And one of the Packers' best receivers was coming off shoulder surgery, and was expected to be out there for the first time since he'd gotten hurt last December.

One game had just ended and he couldn't wait for the next one to start. Six more months of football in front of him, as far as he could see. Like football was a family reunion with endless relatives he couldn't wait to see.

The kid without a dad feeling like part of the biggest family around.

FOR ALL THE JOKES he made about his own football ability, or lack of it, Charlie really did love being a part of the Culver City Cardinals.

He loved being part of a team, loved being with his friends, loved putting on pads and a helmet. Loved being a linebacker, analyzing the offense before the ball was snapped. It was football, after all, real football, Charlie getting the chance to be on the inside of it for a change, not just studying it in front of a television or his laptop screen.

He worked hard at it, too, tried even harder, did everything he could to get better. He
did
want to get better in the worst way, even though he didn't admit it, even with Anna. Wanted to believe all the things that he had ever heard about football—or any sport—that if you had the passion and the heart and the drive and you were willing to work, you could become the player that you wanted to be.

But Charlie knew that the part they left out of that inspiring pep talk was the part about talent. And if you evaluated pro football players the way he did, if you prided yourself on properly assessing their strengths and weaknesses and then deciding how much they could help you, you had to be realistic about talent.

Charlie was just as realistic about his own talent.

He didn't lie to himself about the players he drafted and he wasn't going to lie about himself. Oh, he could use his brain on Memorial Field. He knew not only where the offensive guys were supposed to be, he had the ability to recognize where they planned on going. He wasn't afraid when he was playing outside linebacker, wasn't scared to trust his instincts as he read a play unfolding in front of him. And he was actually a decent tackler when he had the chance.

But even when he was in pads, the way he was today, his friends still thought of him the same way, the nickname Kevin Fallon had given him: Brain.

It was a nice way of calling him a nerd when it came to football. The nerd playing outside linebacker and special teams for the Culver City Cardinals. The guy without speed or strength.

Just being realistic.

They had gone through two days of tryouts the week before, the coaches deciding which guys were on offense and which ones on defense. Most of the first official day of practice had been basic stuff, blocking, tackling and agility drills, the quarterbacks and running backs and receivers breaking out to walk through a couple of plays.

After that Jarrod Benedict, their starting quarterback, and Kemar Brady, his backup, did some throwing against the linebackers and defensive backs.

“Just a day to get you into a football frame of mind,” Coach Dayley had said.

As if I ever need any help with that
, Charlie thought.

With about twenty minutes left in practice, Coach Dayley announced that even though they'd finished everything he wanted them to do on the first day in pads, they might as well have a little fun and do some scrimmaging, eleven-on-eleven.

Coach Dayley would handle the offensive play-calling. Kevin Fallon's dad, an assistant coach with the Cardinals, would take care of the defense.

Coach Dayley put the ball on the defense's twenty-five-yard line and told the offense it had four plays to score, no first downs. Then he went into the offensive huddle with his playbooks. Charlie could see him pointing something out to Jarrod.

In the defensive huddle Mr. Fallon said, “For today we'll just go with our basic 4-3. Corners take the wideouts, safeties you read the play. Charlie, you cover the tight end if he lines up to your side. You're gonna hear this a lot from me this season, but I want you all to read and react once the ball is snapped.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Coach Dayley called out, stepping away from his huddle. “If the offense scores, the defense has to run laps. If the defense can hold all these fancy boys I've got here on offense, then the fancy boys will be the ones doing the running.”

Now it really felt like football season at Memorial Field. And for a handful of plays, Charlie got to feel pretty fancy himself, responsible for the tight end, rocking it with the first stringers.

Like one of the guys.

Offense lined up. Coach blew his whistle. Kevin, not just their best runner but the fastest kid on the team by a lot, took a pitch from Jarrod Benedict on first down, got to the edge in a blink, looked as if he might end the scrimmage on one play before Kyle Nichols, one of their safeties, came flying in to knock him out of bounds after a ten-yard gain.

On second down the tight end, Billy Gallo, caught a short pass in front of Charlie, Charlie having no chance to break it up, but managing to drive a shoulder into Billy and slow him down before Kyle came from the backside again to put him down for real.

Ball on the ten now, two downs left.

The offense ran Kevin again, same toss. This time he ran for eight yards, cutting back when he saw some daylight, finally brought down at the two by a swarm of defenders.

Last play.

Either the offense would score and get to watch the defense run, or the other way around.

In their huddle Kyle Nichols said, “No way I'm running more than I already have today.”

“Then you better get one more stop, big boy,” Coach Fallon said.

Charlie could feel his heart trying to get out of his chest, not wanting to be the one who messed up and made the rest of the guys on D have to run. It was funny, Charlie thought, when you were in the game and in the moment, when it was happening to
you
, even in Pop Warner and even in practice, everything seemed to speed up.

No DVR out here; you couldn't stop things, replay them as much as you wanted, sometimes just to confirm what your eyes told you when you'd watched a play in real time.

The offense lined up. Billy Gallo on Charlie's side of the field again. As soon as Billy took his stance, before Jarrod starting calling signals, Charlie took a deep breath, looked over to Coach Fallon on the sideline, and yelled over to him.

“Are we allowed to call a time-out?”

“Excuse me?”

“Coach, can we call a time-out like we would in a real game?”

Coach Fallon made a gesture with his hands, palms up, his way of saying he had no idea, looked over at Coach Dayley and said, “Little help here, Ed?”

Coach Dayley told the guys on offense to hold on, came jogging over to Charlie. Grin on his face.

“It's Charlie, right?”

“Yes, sir. Charlie Gaines.”

“The one they call Brain.”

Charlie said, “It's more of a joke than anything else, Coach.”

“So why do you want to call time, Charlie?”

Charlie took another deep breath and in a low voice said to his coach, “I know . . . I
think
I know what they're going to run. Well, actually, what
you're
going to run, Coach.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Care to tell me?”

Charlie tipped back his helmet now so Coach could see him grinning as he said, “You promise you won't tell?”

“Promise,” he said. “But I'm not going to tell you if you're right, either.”

“Fair enough.”

“What you got?”

“You're going to throw to Billy again.”

“And you know this . . .
how
?”

“The two plays when you ran the ball,” Charlie said, still keeping his voice low, “Billy lined up practically shoulder to shoulder with the tackle. But when he was going to be the receiver, he put more space between him and the tackle. And I noticed this time he put down his outside hand when he took his stance, the way he did when he caught that ball in front of me. I think it helps him make a quicker move off the line.”

Coach Dayley started to say something but before he did, Charlie said, “Plus, I'm thinking that if you ran the same pitch play twice, you'll do the same with that short pass, since it worked the first time.”

Coach Dayley just stared at him.

Finally he said, “That all?”

“Pretty much.”

“Call your time-out. If you're right, and I'm not saying you are, I promise not to change the play. Then we'll just snap the ball and see how it all turns out.”

Charlie turned to his defensive teammates, as if this were a real game, raised his arms, brought his hands together, fingers into palm, signaling time-out. They huddled up again. He told them what he'd seen, what he thought they were going to run. Told Kyle Nichols that he couldn't cover Billy Gallo on a bet, and to pinch in so he was there as soon as the ball was snapped and Jarrod took the same quick drop he had before.

“I explained I didn't want to run laps,” Kyle said to Charlie. “You heard that, right?”

Charlie nodded.

“You really got this?” Kyle said.

Charlie Gaines—Brain—said, “I do.”

Billy Gallo lined up where he had before. Same way he had before. A good yard of separation this time between him and the tackle. Outside hand down.

Charlie moved up a little, knowing that they needed just two yards for a score. Knowing that if Jarrod made a good throw once Billy made his quick move to the outside, it was all over, easy score.

Jarrod went to a quick count, took his quick drop. Billy was turning his body as he came off the line, putting his inside shoulder past Charlie with no problem, like Charlie was nothing more than a speed bump.

For one split second, Billy looked to be wide open again.

Until he wasn't.

Until Kyle Nichols, having snuck in behind the middle linebacker, flying again as soon as the ball was snapped, launched himself between the ball and Billy, left arm outstretched, knocked the ball to the ground.

The guys on the defense whooped and high-fived each other as if they'd just won the first game of the season, not just the first day of practice.

Charlie hadn't made the play himself, but felt as if he at least ought to get an assist.

Kyle Nichols came over, helmet already in his hand, slapped Charlie hard on his left shoulder pad. Then did it again.

“You really saw all that in three plays?”

“Kind of.”

Kyle shook his head.

“Brain,” he said, grinning. “I could definitely use one of those.”

Now Coach Dayley and Coach Fallon were both walking toward Charlie.

Coach Dayley said, “That was pretty cool, I have to say.”

“My friends on offense won't be too happy with me,” Charlie said.

They were running the first of two long laps around the entire field.

“They'll get over it,” Coach said. “Important thing is,
I'm
happy with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I just found myself the first player-coach in the history of Culver City Pop Warner,” he said.

“I take it that would be me?” Charlie said.

“Wow,” Coach Dayley said. “They really don't call you Brain for nothing.”

He put his arm around Charlie. “But listen to me,” he said. “Just because I'm calling you my assistant, I still think of you as a player, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And just because there are guys ahead of you at outside linebacker doesn't mean you should stop trying to prove me wrong and earn yourself more playing time.”

“I don't think you're wrong about me, Coach,” Charlie said. “But I won't stop trying.”

Then Coach Ed Dayley said, “I don't know how much you're going to end up playing this season, kid. But I've got this feeling you're going to make a contribution.”

Charlie hoping it would be doing something more than doing what he was doing right now: standing next to his coach.