punt, resulted in a comical ninety-four-yard touchdown run, which lasted, according to an accurate timing of the video, 17.3 seconds. Standing in his own end zone, and quite nervous about it, Nat had taken the snap, released the ball, kicked nothing but air, then been slaughtered by two defenders from Grove City. As the ball was spinning benignly on the ground nearby, Nat collected himself, picked it up, and began to run. The two defenders, who appeared to be stunned, gave a confused chase, and Nat tried an awkwardpunt-on-the-fly. When he missed, he picked up the ball again, and the race was on. The sight of such an ungainly gazelle lumbering down the field, in sheer terror, froze many of the players from both teams. Silo Mooney later testifed that he was laughing so hard he couldn’t block for his punter. He swore he heard laughter coming from under the helmets of the Grove City players.
From the video, the coaches counted ten missed tackles. When Nat finally reached the end zone, he spiked the ball, didn’t care about the penalty, ripped off his helmet, and rushed to the home side so the fans could admire him at close range.
Rake gave him an award for the Ugliest Touchdown of the Year.
In the tenth grade, Nat had tried playing safety, but he couldn’t run and hated to hit. In the eleventh, he had tried receiver, but Neely nailed him in the gut on a slant and Nat couldn’t breathe for five minutes. Few of Rake’s players had been cursed with so little talent. None of Rake’s players looked worse in a uniform.
The window was filled with books and advertised coffee and lunch. The door squeaked,a bell rattled, and for a moment Neely was stepping back in time. Then he got the first whiff of incense, and he knew Nat ran the place. The owner himself, hauling a stack of books, stepped from between two saggy shelves, and with a smile, said, “Good morning. Lookin’ for something?”
Then he froze and the books fell to the floor. “Neely Crenshaw!” He lunged with as much awkwardness as he’d used punting a football, and the two embraced, a clumsy hug in which Neely caught a sharp elbow on his bicep. “It’s great to see you!” Nat gushed, and for a second his eyes were wet.
“Good to see you, Nat,” Neely said, slightly embarrassed. Fortunately, at that moment, there was only one other customer.
“You’re looking at my earrings, aren’t you?” Nat said, taking a step back.
“Well, yes, you have quite a collection.” Each ear was loaded with at least five silver rings.
“First male earrings in Messina, how about that? And the first ponytail. And the first openly gay downtown merchant. Aren’t you proud ofme?” Nat was flipping his long black hair to show off his ponytail.
“Sure, Nat. You’re looking good.”
Nat was sizing him up, from head to toe, his eyes flashing as if he’d been guzzling espresso for hours. “How’s your knee?” he asked, glancing around as if the injury was a secret.
“Gone for good, Nat.”
“Sonofabitch hit you late. I saw it.” Nat had the authority of someone standing on the sideline that day at Tech.
“A long time ago, Nat. In another life.”
“How about some coffee? I got some stuff from Guatemala that gives one helluva buzz.”
They wove through shelves and racks to the rear where an impromptu café materialized. Nat walked, almost ran, behind a cluttered counter and began slinging utensils. Neely straddled a stool and watched. Nothing Nat did was graceful.
“They say he’s got less than twenty-four hours,” Nat said, rinsing a small pot.
“Rumors are always reliable around here, especially about Rake.”
“No, this came from someone inside thehouse.” The challenge in Messina was not to have the latest rumor, but to have the best source. “Wanna cigar? I got some smuggled Cubans. Another great buzz.”
“No thanks. I don’t smoke.”
Nat was pouring water into a large, Italian-made machine. “What kinda work you doing?” he asked over
From the video, the coaches counted ten missed tackles. When Nat finally reached the end zone, he spiked the ball, didn’t care about the penalty, ripped off his helmet, and rushed to the home side so the fans could admire him at close range.
Rake gave him an award for the Ugliest Touchdown of the Year.
In the tenth grade, Nat had tried playing safety, but he couldn’t run and hated to hit. In the eleventh, he had tried receiver, but Neely nailed him in the gut on a slant and Nat couldn’t breathe for five minutes. Few of Rake’s players had been cursed with so little talent. None of Rake’s players looked worse in a uniform.
The window was filled with books and advertised coffee and lunch. The door squeaked,a bell rattled, and for a moment Neely was stepping back in time. Then he got the first whiff of incense, and he knew Nat ran the place. The owner himself, hauling a stack of books, stepped from between two saggy shelves, and with a smile, said, “Good morning. Lookin’ for something?”
Then he froze and the books fell to the floor. “Neely Crenshaw!” He lunged with as much awkwardness as he’d used punting a football, and the two embraced, a clumsy hug in which Neely caught a sharp elbow on his bicep. “It’s great to see you!” Nat gushed, and for a second his eyes were wet.
“Good to see you, Nat,” Neely said, slightly embarrassed. Fortunately, at that moment, there was only one other customer.
“You’re looking at my earrings, aren’t you?” Nat said, taking a step back.
“Well, yes, you have quite a collection.” Each ear was loaded with at least five silver rings.
“First male earrings in Messina, how about that? And the first ponytail. And the first openly gay downtown merchant. Aren’t you proud ofme?” Nat was flipping his long black hair to show off his ponytail.
“Sure, Nat. You’re looking good.”
Nat was sizing him up, from head to toe, his eyes flashing as if he’d been guzzling espresso for hours. “How’s your knee?” he asked, glancing around as if the injury was a secret.
“Gone for good, Nat.”
“Sonofabitch hit you late. I saw it.” Nat had the authority of someone standing on the sideline that day at Tech.
“A long time ago, Nat. In another life.”
“How about some coffee? I got some stuff from Guatemala that gives one helluva buzz.”
They wove through shelves and racks to the rear where an impromptu café materialized. Nat walked, almost ran, behind a cluttered counter and began slinging utensils. Neely straddled a stool and watched. Nothing Nat did was graceful.
“They say he’s got less than twenty-four hours,” Nat said, rinsing a small pot.
“Rumors are always reliable around here, especially about Rake.”
“No, this came from someone inside thehouse.” The challenge in Messina was not to have the latest rumor, but to have the best source. “Wanna cigar? I got some smuggled Cubans. Another great buzz.”
“No thanks. I don’t smoke.”
Nat was pouring water into a large, Italian-made machine. “What kinda work you doing?” he asked over
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