Chapter 46

As the days before the start of school and the opening of both the football and volleyball seasons dwindled, Cal worked hard on his mental discipline, determined not to let discouragement or anger get him down. Cheryl, of course, saw right through his carefully-constructed facade, but she was uncertain about what she could do to make him feel better.

Part of Cal's problem was that he really needed some hard contact to let out some of his frustration and pent-up adrenalin. Seeing the look in Cal's eyes, Jessy had been reluctant to find him a sparring partner, offering the heavy bag as a poor substitute.

"This is just your first game," Cheryl said, trying to be consoling. "Somehow, they'll find out that they need you on defense."

"My head knows you're right," he answered, "but it's just frustrating. Between the special teams and defensive backfield coaches, they'd both rather have me just kick."

"Well, I can think of one good way to release some of the pent-up energy," she said as she wrapped herself around him.

On the first day of practice, Cal had overheard some of the players calling another one 'Padre'. He did not think too much about it, but as practice went on, he observed that the player, Hector Cortillon, was the best of the linebackers. Barely six feet tall, Hector was barrel-chested and had heavy arms and legs. Nevertheless, he had cat-like reflexes and surprising speed. Even more impressive to Cal was that Hector hit with great force.

During the second week, Cal happened to be dressing near Hector in the locker room and introduced himself. Then in Spanish, Cal said "I've heard you called Padre," Cal said. "Are you planning to be a priest?"

After a hearty chuckle, Hector admitted, "I think I know what you said, but my Spanish is pretty lame. A priest? Not me!" At Cal's puzzled look, Hector went on. "My family is very Catholic. I don't do the girl chasing that a lot of the guys do. Calling me 'Padre' is a way to tease me about it."

"Do you have a girlfriend, then?" Cal asked.

"No time. And no right girl," Hector answered. "It seems like all the girls that hang around the team are, uh, loose."

"You mean sluts?"

"Didn't want to say that," Hector retorted. "How about you, Cal?"

For the first time ever, Cal was a little reluctant to mention his living arrangement, but he did not let that concern last for long. "Got a girlfriend - a lot more than a girlfriend, actually. We'll marry someday."

"She here at school?"

"Yeah. She plays volleyball."

"Volleyball? I hear they're pretty good," Hector observed.

"Why don't you come and see their first game? We're flying out together, you know," Cal told him.

"I forgot that. Sure. I'll need something to do that night. Probably won't be celebrating much," Hector complained.

"You're a sophomore, right?" Cal asked. "Were you sacrificial lambs the first game last year, too?"

Hector laughed, something Cal was to find that he did a lot of. "Guess that's one way to put it. Yeah, we got our butts kicked so the school could get a big payoff. We'll probably start every year that way. How come you know Spanish?"

Cal told his new friend about the photo business and Jean and Rosario and all of their Spanish-speaking clients. Then he mentioned that Maddy was Cheryl's good friend and volleyball teammate and that they all studied under Jessy.

"Guess I should keep it up," Hector mused, "but even my parents don't know much of it."

Cal learned that Hector was local, but had won a scholarship. They talked about what they were studying and other typical subjects for college students who had just met.

The last week before everything started, Maddy mentioned to Cheryl that her sister Rosalita, who was a high school junior, was discouraged because she could not find a part-time job. She had been fortunate enough to find a summer job, but that had just ended. Her parents were not able to supply much spending money to their children.

Without even thinking about it, Cheryl said "Well, it won't be much, but Cal and I really should have someone to do our cleaning and washing. It's not that we're lazy, but there just isn't any time. Until the seasons are over, it's going to be that way."

"I'm sure she'd be happy for anything," Maddy said. "Uh, she's quite a cook, too."

"That's even better," Cheryl enthused. "We, uh, pretty much just survive on what we can do. I could eat at the athletic cafeteria, and I do sometimes, but..."

"I'll try to eat there some during the season," said Maddy, who was now on full scholarship, "but Mama's cooking is just so much better."

They talked about probable hours and pay, and Maddy headed off to tell her sister. Cheryl had an idea and went next door to talk with Claire. Before Maddy even got home, Cheryl left a message that there were two customers.

There was one discordant note just before everything started. In one of their frequent phone conversations, Darlene lamented to Cheryl that her progress with Hal in bed had ground to a halt after distressingly little progress.

Once the ice had been broken, Darlene was completely open with her daughter about the most intimate details. It was partly an acknowledgment that Cheryl was the experienced one and partly just a celebration of having another woman with whom to share at that level for the first time in Darlene's life.

As always, the news hit Cheryl pretty hard, and as always, Cal did his best to absorb as much as he could of her concern. In a way, it got his mind off of his own concerns about football.

It was only human for Cal to be nervous. All of his training and discipline were not quite enough to keep ice water in his veins in this situation. Here he was in his first college football game, and he would be kicking off to start the game.

To make matters worse, they were playing in one of the country's renowned college stadiums with a regional TV audience. They were warmup patsies for a national powerhouse that was favored to win their conference, and was ranked in the top ten in pre-season polls.

The fact that he would be playing against Vick and that Tessa would be in the stands added interest, but did nothing to quell the nerves. In addition, Martin had found a sports bar back home that could pick up the regional feed of the game. He had rented a room with two large screens so all of the friends and family of Cal and Vick could watch. Martin had considered a charter flight for everyone, but decided to save that for a home date when they could spend some time with Cal.

Martin had tried very hard not to be the all-too-typical overbearing sports dad since the kids were little. When it looked like golf and martial arts would be the extent of Cal's competitive interests, he supported his son with all the enthusiasm he could muster.

That Cal would be playing in a college football game as a freshman, even if just as a kicker, was more than Martin could ever have hoped for. Elaine and Laura and anyone else who knew him well saw the undisguisable pride on his face. None thought poorly of him because of it. Knowing what it meant to his father added a little more pressure on Cal.

To make matters worse yet for Cal, the opponents' kickoff return man, Rory Renton, was mentioned as a Heisman Trophy possibility. That was, of course, highly unlikely for a cornerback. However, last year, as a freshman, Renton had run back three punts and two kickoffs for touchdowns. That was in addition to his seven interceptions and several fumbles caused or recovered. He had the privilege of blitzing through holes created by Vick, just as Cal had done two years earlier. Occasionally, Renton lined up as an extra receiver on long third downs. He was a flamboyant favorite of the sports press, on top of all of his skills.

As far as the opposing team and their 90,000 fans were concerned, this was a party. Cal's team had zero chance of winning, and the fans were expecting a shutout, given the home team's heralded defense. It probably distressed the opposing coaches, but there were few serious game faces among their charges. This was just an extension of pre-season practice - less of a challenge than scrimmaging against their own second string.

"... Despite the fact that the game appears to be a mismatch, you viewers will have a chance to watch Rory Renton, on of the top collegiate players and pro prospects in the country," the lead TV announcer intoned before the game.

"That's right, Mel," the color man, Sammy Taylor, a former pro cornerback, interjected. "This kid has speed, quickness, and instincts that have the pro scouts just drooling."

"Kicking off to Renton for the visitor's will be freshman walk-on Cal Banner. Sammy, what must it be like for that youngster - his first college game, playing in this intimidating place, and kicking off to a guy that has a very good chance of running back any kick he gets his hands on?"

"That's a good question, Mel. He must be good, though, because they have a junior placekicker on the roster, a scholarship player, yet Banner won the job."

Well, all Cal could do was kick it far enough so there was no return. He had no doubt that he could kick it out of the end zone, as long as the wind did not interfere. As often happened in huge stadia, the wind direction was highly unpredictable. When the home team had won the toss and chosen to receive, Cal's team had chosen the published wind direction at their backs for the first and last quarters. Unfortunately, that direction was highly variable within the stadium.

Over on the opposing sideline, unbeknownst to Cal, Vick was cautioning Rory Renton, his defensive teammate. "Listen, Rory, don't mess around with the kicker. He never misses a tackle, and he can take you out."

"That skinny freshman? No way can he touch me. I'll leave him gasping on the field."

"Rory! I'm serious here. We've got a good thing going this year. Don't mess it up. I'm warning you! If you try any of your showboat shit, Cal could put you in the hospital! He hits like twice his size and he won't take any disrespect. Just play it straight, please!"

"Man, you worry too damn much."

After the usual hoopla of a new season, the ball was finally teed up and the referee's hand came down. Cal saw the streamers on the goal posts blowing away from him, so he kicked it high enough to carry well over the end line. If the wind had been against him, he would have had to use a low, driving kick.

As he was moving into his kickoff safety position at the opponent's forty-five yard line, Cal saw the ball pushed around in mid-flight a bit, but he thought it still had plenty to reach the end line. Even if it was just deep in the end zone, it would be downed. Because it was high and gave Cal's teammates plenty of time to get downfield to cover it, no one in their right mind would try to return it.

A kickoff is a live ball until it either leaves the field of play or is downed by the receiving team. Thus, Renton faded to the back of the end zone in case it descended in play and he had to down it.

The ball would have sailed well beyond the end line, save for a last-second reverse wind gust. It still would have landed just out of play, but Renton must have been thinking about building some early-season stats toward the Heisman voting. Standing barely inbounds, he leaped and made an admirable catch of the ball, keeping it in play. The enraged scream of his special teams coach could be heard, ordering him to down the ball. His first two blockers had fallen back into the end zone to protect him as he knelt with the ball.

But Renton did not kneel. Instead, he sprinted between his two protectors and headed upfield. Cal's team had relaxed, seeing the ball so deep, and a roar quickly built from the stands as Renton cleared most of the defenders by the time he reached the twenty yard line. Cal could not quell a sudden feeling of deja vu as he thought back to that game in his freshman high school year when he had to stop a certain touchdown runback.

Another feeling Cal had was the long-suppressed urge to hit someone - hard. The restraint he had shown in practice had left him more than a little frustrated. On top of that, Renton had shown arrogance and disrespect in the way he had caught the ball and ignored what Cal was certain were his firm instructions on handling kickoffs. Renton had basically taunted Cal's team, letting them know that they could not stop him.

Cal loved sports and he loved sportsmanship. He took any kind of disrespect personally. Rory Renton had ceased to be a Heisman candidate and became an arrogant punk who had besmirched the game and ridiculed Cal's team.

Everything unfolded in an eerily similar fashion to that long-ago high school game, as Renton veered to the sideline and started pounding his way toward a score. About ten yards from where Cal would intersect him at the sideline, though, Renton's flamboyance overcame him again. This was a warm-up lark, after all, and there was only a scrawny freshman kicker between him and the first of many touchdowns for the year.

In a disdainful taunt, Renton thrust the ball out at Cal in one hand and did an arrogant, incredibly fast little hip-swivel that was sure to leave Cal's jock lying on the field as Renton pranced in to score. The taunt with the ball was a surprise, but Cal ignored it as he mapped out his own attack. The fake toward the middle of the field was exactly what Cal wanted, and he provided his own pretense of being faked out. Renton, thinking he was doing the faking, assumed the sideline was now his, pulled the ball in, and resumed his stride.

Cal was able to coil himself and plant his feet perfectly for a hit that was sure to surprise the showoff. Later, he could not deny that anger at Renton's antics had added extra adrenalin to his attack. Moments before impact, he registered the opposing coaches and players jumping and running along the sideline, excited about the quick score.

Renton was not a high NFL draft prospect without reason. Realizing that he had not, in fact, faked out the kicker, he launched himself upward to vault over the tackle. Cal, from his years of combat competition, was adept at reading intended actions, and veered enough to smash into Renton just as he was pushing off the ground with his power foot. Because of the slight elevation, the tackle caught Renton around the knees, rather than up on the thighs as Cal had intended.

Knowing that he did not have to worry about Renton eluding his grasp, and wanting to remove any chance of a roughing penalty, Cal let the force of the impact stop his forward progress, and he came to a stop just a yard past the sideline.

Renton was violently knocked sideways through the air and upended. With his flailing legs mostly skyward, his shoulder slammed hard into the knees of a coach who was belatedly trying to retreat, and the sudden quiet of the stadium was pierced by two simultaneous screams - the kind of screams that only come from something important being sprained, torn, dislocated, or broken.

Knowing that he was on the enemy's sideline, Cal turned and started to move the few feet back to the field. A coach, who Cal later learned was the head coach, grabbed his arm and shouted at him "God dammit!! What were you doing?"

Swatting the hand away, Cal, in an uncharacteristically belligerent gesture, stuck his face right in the coach's and shot back "I was doing my job! What the hell was he doing?" Sensing a couple of players converging on him, Cal darted back onto the field, passing a line judge who had come over to prevent an altercation.

Thunderous boos resounded through the stadium, demanding a flag, as Cal trotted across to his sideline. The referee was standing near his route, and said very clearly "Nice tackle!"

A flag was indeed thrown by the line judge, somewhat belatedly, and the crowd's angry roar became cheers. When the referee signaled unsportsmanlike conduct and it was announced against the bench, it seemed like the boos would never stop. The rules were clear: the coach had touched an opposing player, and that meant a flag.

"Well, fans," the announcer lamented, "This is not the way anyone wanted the season to start. On the first play, one of the best players in the country is out. Sammy, how could the kicker, who isn't very big, have hit Renton so hard? And why is the penalty not on him?"

"First of all Mel, there was no reason to penalize Banner. It was a perfectly clean hit. An extremely hard hit, but nothing dirty. The penalty was automatic when the coach grabbed Banner."

"How did he knock Renton end-over-end like that?"

"Renton made a stupid move when he tried to vault over the tackle. If he had stayed on his feet, he would have been driven hard out of bounds, but he would not have been hurt. Of course, he would still have been thrown against the coach, who should not have been that close to the field."

The opponents did drive in for a touchdown on that opening drive, but the fans' joy was wiped out by the sight of Renton being led off the field with his jersey and pads removed, his arm being supported by a trainer, and a noticeable limp. At about the same time, the coach involved in the collision was taken off on the cart.

When Cal's team got possession, they had a decent runback, but could not produce a first down. As Cal stepped on the field to punt, the boos built up in force. Noticing shouting and angry gestures from the opposing sideline, Cal called time out, and approached the referee. "Sir, would you please take a message to the special teams coach?"

With a barely suppressed grin, the ref drawled "Can't. He's the one that went out on the cart."

A little surprised at the man's joviality, Cal said, "Then please tell whoever is in charge, that if they plan anything but a legal punt block, they had better send the scrubs."

"Oh?"

"Somebody will be lost for the season," Cal said, staring right into the ref's eyes.

"I somehow think you could do that, Son," the ref replied. He headed for the other sideline while Cal hurried off to explain the time out to his coaches, who were not terribly happy about it. During the timeout, Cal arranged for the snapper to go without a signal, assuming the boos would make a snap count inaudible.

The snap was good and Cal caught the ball cleanly. His blockers were doing a good job, and there would have been no problem getting the ball off. When one defender broke through, though, Cal just knew that he intended mayhem, regardless of the outcome of the punt. The almost two counts that he had to prepare seemed like an eternity compared to the sideline play, and he planned his moves quickly.

Waiting until he knew there was barely time to get the ball away, Cal kicked it and held his pose with his leg in the air. As expected, the defender ignored the ball and headed straight for Cal. Just before contact, Cal pulled his extended leg down and purposely fell backwards with his spikes extended toward the attacker. He used the guy's momentum to fling the attacker several yards away with his legs, where he landed awkwardly and did not get up.

"Sammy, I've been doing college football for fifteen years, and I never saw anything like that?"

"Mel, I just have the feeling that the kicker set that up. I think he knew they were going to retaliate for Renton. I'll bet that's what the time out was all about. Remember how he said something to the ref?"

"But is what he did legal?"

"Apparently. The refs couldn't find any reason to throw a flag at him."

There was a roar of approval from the crowd when multiple flags came down. It changed to even more thunderous boos when the signal for roughing the kicker was displayed after a brief discussion between the officials. Once again, Cal had to pass near the referee. "Can't say as I approve, Son, but I've never seen anything like that."

"Think their coach is ready to just play football, now?" Cal asked.

Spurred by the gift first down, Cal's team picked up two more and he was able to drill a forty-seven yarder. It was an entirely new experience, but he found the loudly expressed anger of the crowd exhilarating, and the kick sailed well over the tops of the uprights.

Two punts later, Cal got another chance as the returner broke free. The earlier conflict, the boos of the fans, and standing helplessly on the sideline had him really pumped. This time, he charged right for the runner, who had chosen to head for midfield, rather than taking the sideline. Using his subtle fakes, Cal suckered the runner into veering just enough so he did not have to hit him head-on. It was clean and violent, and the runner staggered off the field. This time, the fans were intelligent enough to realize that it was just a perfect tackle.