drew more fans than most high schools. We learned the same plays Rake was calling on Friday night.The same system. We dreamed of being Spartans and playing before ten thousand fanatics. By the ninth grade Rake himself was supervising our practices and we knew all forty plays in his book.Knew them in our sleep.'
'I still know them,' Neely said.
'Sodo I. Remember the time he made us run slot-waggle-right for two solid hours in practice?'
'Yeah, because you kept screwin' up.'
'Then we ran bleachers until we puked.'
'That was Rake,' Neely mumbled.
'You count the years until you get a varsity jersey, then you're a hero, an idol, a cocky bastard because in this town you can do no wrong. You win and win and you're the king of your own little world, then poof, it's gone. You play your last game and everybody cries. You can't believe it's over. Then another team comes right behind you and you're forgotten.'
'It was so long ago.'
'Fifteen years, pal. When I was in college, I would come home for the holidays and stay away from this place. I wouldn't even drive by the school. Never saw Rake, didn't want to. Then one night in the summertime, right before I went back to college, just a month or so before they fired him, I bought a six-pack and climbed up here and replayed all the games.Stayed for hours. I could see us out there scoring at will, kicking ass every game. It was wonderful. Then it hurt like hell because it was over, our glory days gone in a flash.'
'Did you hate Rake that night?'
'No, I loved him then.'
'It changed every day.'
'For most of us.'
'Does it hurt now?'
'Not anymore. After I got married, we bought season tickets, joined the booster club, the usual stuff that everybody else does. Over time, I forgot about being a hero and became just another fan.'
'You come to all the games?'
Paul pointed down to the left. 'Sure. The bank owns a whole block of seats.'
'You need a whole block with your family.'
'Mona is very fertile.'
'Evidently.How does she look?'
'She looks pregnant.'
'I mean, you know, is she in shape?'
'Other words, is she fat?'
'That's it.'
'No, she exercises two hours a day and eats only lettuce. She looks great and she'll want you over for dinner tonight.'
'For lettuce?'
'For whatever you want. Can I call her?'
'No, not yet.Let's just talk.'
There was no talk for a long time. They watched a pickup truck roll to a stop near the gate. The driver was a heavyset man with faded jeans, a denim cap, a thick beard, and a limp. He walked around the end zone and down the track and as he stepped up to the bleachers he noticedNeely and Curry sitting higher, watching every move he made. He nodded at them, climbed a few rows, then sat and gazed at the field, very still and very alone.
