Koesler could recognize a blind alley when he was trapped in one. “Well …” He thought better than to light another cigarette with this visit obviously concluding. “… there is one more request that Vinnie will make, I’m pretty sure.”
Finn waited without comment.
“Any chance,” Koesler said, “that Vincent can be granted extra time at home with his mother?” Koesler sailed on through a possible but premature reply from Finn. “I know that these will be the last couple of months before ordination and they’re important. But we both know that Vincent is close to being a genius. He can absorb these courses with no sweat. And it would be such a great comfort to his mother. I would wager that, to a man, everyone-students and faculty-would not begrudge him extra time at home.”
No response. Finn was loath to set any sort of precedent. He well knew how students could and usually did take advantage of exceptions to the rule. But what Koesler said carried a lot of truth. Probably no one-at least very few among either faculty or students-would object to a modest latitude in home visitation for Delvecchio. And how many students would have a terminally ill parent … especially as ordination approached?
“I think we might be able to reach some sort of accommodation in this matter,” Finn said finally. “If Mr. Delvecchio wants to talk to me about it, we’ll … talk.”
The meeting was concluded. Finn would not steer his visitor to the door, but Koesler sensed that this impromptu chat had disrupted the rector’s schedule. With a handshake, they parted.
Koesler slid into his black Chevy, rolled down the window, and lit a cigarette.
As he drove away from the seminary, he assessed what, if anything, he had accomplished. It was mid- afternoon, yet it seemed as if he’d been up and about for more than a day. He’d gotten nowhere with Father Walsh. Koesler knew that the pastor’s decision on a parishwide prayer crusade for a medical miracle was written in stone. No matter how Lucy might plead the case, there would be no change in the course Walsh had set. And, in his heart, Koesler didn’t believe that Lucy was 100 percent in agreement with Vincent’s plan of prayer.
Further, Father Finn would disappoint Vinnie in not. committing the student body to a radical form of prayer. On the other hand, Koesler felt confident that Finn would cut Vinnie some slack on the matter of home visits. Koesler figured that was one round he’d won. The young man would have to be satisfied with that.
Next, Koesler would see how his present pastor felt about the miracle prayers. Actually, he anticipated a charitable veto. After all, the sick person had no remote connection with St. Norbert’s parish.
Funny, this morning, when an enthusiastic Vincent had proposed this program, Koesler had caught the fire and was confident they could pull it together. Now, he felt like a deflated balloon. Things did not look as hopeful as earlier they had.
15
Tony Delvecchio had two things going against him.
One: As a WMU student, he did not represent one of the “biggies.” Though Western was not a small college by anyone’s standards, neither was it Michigan, Notre Dame, Florida, or Texas. The professionals would take this into account.
Two: He didn’t have the height the pros preferred in a quarterback. Granted Eddie LeBaron at only five feet seven in his heyday had managed to reach his receivers with consistency; still the defensive linemen were getting bigger by the year. Nowadays Tony would nearly have to stand on tiptoe to see the pass patterns his receivers ran. Other young men had made it without topping six feet. Still it was definitely a consideration.
Of course, there was the possibility that he might be shifted to another position-cornerback, say, or safety. That was an additional consideration.
The problem with these options was that lots of eager young graduates automatically qualified. There were plenty of big quarterbacks. There were even more young athletes who had played in the defensive backfield from high school through college. Their talent didn’t have to be enhanced; they were the proper size and speed with plenty of invaluable experience at their positions.
In his favor, Tony was extremely strong and fast. He could meet almost any physical demand made of him. And, a not inconsiderable bonus, he was highly intelligent.
Surely he was smart enough to know that, as qualified as he might be, there was no certainty that he would be taken on by any pro team, let alone enjoy a reasonably long pro career.
And, should football fail him …? What if the hitherto unthinkable
He would teach. All along, he had favored math. There was something so satisfying about the product of math-absolute answers.
And so, among the courses he carried were trigonometry, calculus II, and statistics. To these he gave minimal attention. He was relatively unconcerned about finals. Had he really applied himself, he would now be flirting with something between 3.4 and 3.8. As it was, he would pass with enough to spare.
At this moment, his mind was launched on a stream-of-consciousness voyage.
“You’re, not here,” Beth Larson, his steady, said. “Where are you?”
“What?” Tony returned to the present.
“Well, there’s hope. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the past fifteen minutes. I was beginning to think I’d never get you back.”
“Uhmm.”
“We were going to study together tonight … remember?”
“I guess I got distracted.”
The two seniors were in Beth’s apartment in Kalamazoo. Final examinations loomed.
“I was wondering which team might take me. And what they might pay.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you, sweetie? First come the exams.”
“Not for me. The exams come second. Football comes first.”
Beth, legs folded beneath her, was seated on the couch, surrounded by books. “I’m well aware of your plans, Tony. First comes the pro game. Then a long career as a sports announcer. And I know we’ve talked about this, so pardon me if I’m repeating myself, but tell me again why you can’t just skip the playing days and go right to the announcer’s booth without passing Go or going to Jail?”
“Yes, we’ve talked about it, Beth. It’s the coming thing. I know it. Sports announcers and commentators used to be hired for their voice. Guys like Red Barber and Van Patrick have sports voices. But put Van Patrick on the field in uniform. Let him try to return a kickoff and watch him have a heart attack.
“No, the coming thing is to get players-guys who’ve been in the trenches. But-and here’s the rub-they’ll want guys who are articulate. And, believe me, honey, there ain’t too many players can measure up.
“And that”-he rose from his chair and joined her on the couch-“is how come I’ve got to make it as a player before I can move to the safety of the booth.” He kissed her forehead lightly.
Beth’s figure was dazzling, though some might argue she was a tad slender. No one would engage Tony in such an argument. In Tony’s eyes, Beth was no less than perfect, mind, body, and countenance. Her lively eyes were set off by cheekbones that were the envy of less fortunate females; abundant light brown hair framed a classic profile. At five feet eight, she was tall for a young woman. But not too tall for Tony.
“Why all this concern about my playing career?”
“Because people get hurt playing that game.”
“Not everybody.”
“It’s a violent contact sport.”
“As someone said, dancing is a contact sport; football is a collision sport.”
“Just what I mean. I don’t want to spend our golden years helping you out of a chair or into a bed.”
“Honey, you will never have to help me into a bed. You get in and that’s all the motivation I’ll need.”
“Get serious, Tony. I see these stories about players who’ve been permanently injured. I don’t want you to be a statistic.”
“I’m studying statistics. That way I won’t be one.”
“Be serious!”
“I am, lover.” Tony swung around, knocking several books off the couch and settling down with his head in
