Read Online Two-Minute Drill by Mike Lupica - Free Book Online

after Chris on every play and double-covered Jimmy when he went out for a pass, they were going to win the game.
    But on third-and-four from the Eagles’ forty-yard line, Chris crossed them up.
    Big-time.
    He took the snap and started rolling to his right. If you had been watching the game, it looked like every sweep he had been running to that side all day. Suddenly, though, he stopped, turned and threw the ball back across the field to Grant, who was wide open on the left sideline, nothing but green grass stretched out ahead of him.
    Grant wasn’t the fastest guy on their team. In fact, next to Scott, he was probably the slowest. But with most of the Rams chasing Chris, and Jimmy Dolan having taken his two defenders deep down the right side, he was in the clear.
    The only two Rams with a chance were the ones down the field with Jimmy. But Jimmy blocked one of the guys somehow. Like he was a streak of light, Chris appeared out of nowhere, thirty yards from the spot where he’d released the ball, to take down the other.
    Grant ended up running sixty yards for the touchdown that made it 6-6, and Chris threw a pass to Jimmy for the conversion. The Eagles had won again.
    When Mr. Dolan gathered the team around him at midfield after the game, he said, “ This game is the one I’ve been talking about since the start of practice.” He tapped the top of Grant’s helmet lightly with his knuckle, like he was knocking on a door. “And this guy right here is the player I’ve been saying I want you all to be. When it was his turn to make a play, he was ready.”
    Mr. Dolan stood up then, putting his big right hand out in front of him, meaning it was time for the players to bring it in.
    “I want the rest of you to go home today and think about the play Grant made for us and the game he won for us,” Mr. Dolan said. “And tell yourself that you’re going to be ready when your number’s called.”
    Every number except mine, Scott thought as he put his hand in there with all the rest.
     
    In the car on the way home, Scott’s dad said, “I’m thinking about having a talk with your coach.”
    Scott was still in his uniform, helmet on his lap. “Dad, no.”
    “You don’t even know what I want to talk to him about,” his dad said.
    “Yeah, I do. You want to get him to play me. But you always said you were never going to be one of those dads.”
    “And I’m not going to be one now. I’d just sort of like him to explain why he won’t play you.”
    “Not just me,” Scott said. “Eric Dodds, also. And Nik Solo.”
    “There’s three of you? Good, then I’m not just talking about my own kid.”
    “We’re not playing because we’re not good enough,” Scott said.
    “To do what? Make it to the Pro Bowl this season?” Dialing up his voice just a little.
    “Dad, you don’t see our practices.”
    “I’ve seen enough to get a pretty good handle on things.”
    “If you saw us every day,” Scott said, “I’m pretty sure you’d see what Mr. Dolan sees. Which is that I stink.”
    “You put in the time,” his dad said. “You go to every practice. It seems to me he could reward you with a couple of downs here and there.”
    “He says he doesn’t coach that way,” Scott said. “He says it doesn’t teach us anything about sports and it doesn’t teach us anything about the real world.”
    “Which I’m sure he is a huge expert on,” Hank Parry said. “He must have learned it all at the Ohio State-Michigan game.”
    They were in a line of traffic, waiting as a train went through town. Scott turned so his dad could see him smiling, not wanting him to make a big deal out of this. “This isn’t like school,” he said. “Coach isn’t going to give me a gold star for perfect attendance.”
    “You’re aware that you’ve already played half the season, right?”
    “I can still do math,” Scott said.
    “You should get into a game.”
    “Dad, listen,” Scott said when the car was moving again. “I’ve