The Law of Second Chances

27

The Navajos had won the Greater Metropolitan League Championship four years in a row, and they appeared to be on their way to another one. They were undefeated, and their average margin of victory was twenty-one points. They didn’t like to merely defeat their opponents-they liked to crush them. They wore the Green Bay Packers colors-not just shirts like the Lexingtons, but everything: shirts, pants, socks, helmets. Hell, they even had their own cheerleaders. To top matters off, the Mount Vernon field was their home field. The deck was certainly stacked in their favor.

Frankie O’Connor huddled the team up before the opening kickoff.

“All right, guys, this is what all the sweat all year was about. Let’s show these blowhards how to play football.”

The Navajos took the opening kickoff and marched down the field for a touchdown. Their kicker made the routine extra point, and on the ensuing change of possession, they forced the Lexingtons to punt. A twenty-yard punt return gave them excellent field position, and they scored again. After the second extra point was made, the score stood at fourteen to nothing and the game was only five minutes old. The defense stiffened up after that. Still, at halftime, with the score fourteen to nothing, the Lexingtons looked like a defeated team.

Frankie O’Connor gave an impassioned speech in the locker room at halftime.

“Those guys are a bunch of prima donnas!” he told them. “Yet they’re playing like a team. We fought hard to get to this game. We’ve had each other’s backs the entire season. Now let’s go out there and show it!”

It was a short speech, but it had the desired effect. Everybody ran out of the locker room with fire in his eyes.

They fought back in the second half, and with three minutes left in the game the score was fourteen to twelve. Even with their new kicking team, the Lexingtons had missed both extra points. Jimmy Walsh was kicking well and they had their timing down, but Rico was too small to play center and the middle linebacker was blowing by him every time and blocking the kicks.

It didn’t look like the team would have another opportunity either. The Navajos had the ball, and they weren’t about to give it up. It was third down and four yards to go. A first down would seal the victory.

The next play was like slow motion for Johnny. He watched the quarterback take the ball from the center and set up for the pass. The wide receiver came off the line and ran five yards downfield, then gave his first fake and planted his opposite foot. Johnny reacted instinctively, moving toward the area where he expected the ball to be thrown. He cut right in front of the receiver and caught the ball in full stride. There were two linemen to avoid, and then it was off to the races. He got past the first one, but the second one caught him by the ankles, slowing him down just enough to allow the quarterback to make a game-saving tackle on the twenty-yard line.

All the Lexingtons went crazy when Johnny intercepted, and they were still going crazy when he ran to the sideline after the play was over. Rico slapped him on the helmet. “Way to protect that turf, Mayor.” Johnny laughed and slapped his hand.

The ball was now on the Navajos’ twenty-yard line: there was less than two minutes left, and they were down by two. However, they only gained three yards on the next three plays. With ten seconds left, there was only time for one more play. The euphoria of minutes ago had vanished. The Lexingtons’ sideline was hushed. Joe Sheffield called a time-out and summoned the entire offensive team over to the sideline.

“What do you suggest?” he asked Bobby Schmidt, his quarterback. They both knew there was only one call-a long pass into the end zone. Standing behind the coach, Johnny looked over at Rico, who was about ten feet away. Rico didn’t say a word. He knew exactly what Johnny was thinking. Before the quarterback could respond, Johnny broke in. He hadn’t said ten words to Joe Sheffield all year, but now, at the most important moment of the most important game of the season, he was interrupting the coach and his quarterback.

“Coach, we can do it.”

“Do what?” Joe asked, agitated by the interruption.

“Kick a field goal. Doug can help Rico block the middle linebacker and Jimmy can kick it through.” Doug Kline was the left guard.

It was an absurd suggestion. They hadn’t made an extra point all year and hadn’t even attempted a field goal. Joe Sheffield looked out on the field and saw the Navajo defensive backs positioned well back near the end zone. A long pass was almost futile. He looked at Bobby Schmidt, who shrugged his shoulders. “It’s as good a shot as any, Coach,” he said.

“Doug, are you sure you can get that middle linebacker?” Joe asked.

“Don’t worry, Coach. He’s mine,” Doug replied.

Still Joe Sheffield hesitated. “Aw, what the hell. Let’s give it a shot. Jimmy, get in there and kick that ball through the uprights.”

Johnny, Rico, and Jimmy raced onto the field with the rest of the offensive team and huddled up. “Just like we did in practice,” Rico calmly told them. They broke the huddle and lined up.

“Hike!” Johnny shouted. Rico hiked the ball. As he did, the middle linebacker headed straight toward him. Off to the left, Doug Kline went airborne. As the linebacker reached Rico, Doug blindsided him.

Rico’s hike was a perfect spiral. Johnny caught the ball and set it in one fluid motion. As he put the ball on the ground, Jimmy Walsh took a step forward and swung his right leg back and then through the ball. It sailed off the turf. All eyes stayed on the football as it turned end over end toward the goalposts. The referees hesitated a moment as the ball passed the uprights before raising their hands and signaling that the kick was good. Just then the clock ran out.

Johnny, Rico, and Jimmy were hugging each other, jumping up and down.

“We did it! We did it!” Rico was yelling at them.

The rest of the team caught them on the field in mid-jump, and they were buried in a swarm of white and green jerseys. Joe Sheffield stayed on the sidelines and took it all in. It was a moment he would remember forever.

Coach Sheffield came to the Carlow East that night with the championship trophy. The Carlow regulars were as excited as the team, and nobody more so than Mary McKenna.

“Three cheers for Mary!” Frankie yelled out. And everybody cheered.

“Coach!” Frankie said when the cheers had died somewhat. “Will you say a few words?”

They got a chair for him and he stood on it with the trophy in his right hand. The place went dead silent.

“As you guys know, I’m not much for words. I just want to say that this might be a small league and an insignificant victory to the outside world, but I could not be prouder of a group of guys than I am of this team, and I would have said the same thing to you had you lost today. You are a team. You are so much of a team that I’ll bet none of you noticed throughout the entire season that you were the only integrated team in this league. That’s right. Some of you are colored.” Everybody in the bar laughed. Joe put his hands up to quiet them.

“There are leaders on this team who I assure you will be leaders in life. And there were friendships made that will also last a lifetime. For me, I will always cherish this trophy.”

Everybody clapped as Frankie helped Joe off the stool. There were more than a few misty eyes in the place. Johnny was standing with his buddies, Rico and Floyd.

“I’m with the coach,” Johnny told them. “I’ll never forget this season. And you guys are two of the leaders he was talking about.”

Floyd hoisted his glass. “To friendships that will last a lifetime,” he said, and all three tapped their glasses together before draining them.

They went their separate ways after that night, assembling only one more time as a team-six months after the Navajos game. They met at the Carlow East before heading to the funeral up in Harlem. Mary McKenna went with them. Her good friend Pink Floyd had been killed in Vietnam.