Cover-up by John Feinstein Page A

fanned out in both directions from the doorway. There were at least a dozen men wearing Ravens purple working in different parts of the massive room.
    â€œBiggest locker rooms in the world,” Kerns said, seeing the look on Stevie’s face. “You could comfortably get a hundred lockers in here with lots of open space. We only need forty-five. There’s a separate room in the back for the coaches that’s almost as big as our
player
locker room back in Baltimore.”
    He led Stevie to an office that was clearly his headquarters for the week. “We’ll practice over at IUPUI this week, but I’ll be back and forth setting things up here,” he said, plopping down and offering Stevie a seat.
    â€œWhat’s IUPUI?”
    Kerns laughed. “Sorry. It’s Indiana University/Purdue University–Indianapolis. It’s a huge commuter school run by Indiana and Purdue together and it has fantastic athletic facilities. We got lucky they put us there because it’s right downtown. The Dreams have to schlep to some high school in the suburbs and they’re not happy. Meeker is already screaming to the commissioner’s office that the league wants us to win.”
    Stevie smiled. Don Meeker—better known in NFL circles as Little Donny—was the Dreams’ owner. He had a reputation for being short, insecure, and a bully—but he was very rich. He was the first owner in history to pay a billion dollars for a sports team—that had been the Dreams’ expansion fee when they joined the league. But even that was a small percentage of the wealth Don Meeker had amassed by buying and selling telemarketing firms. Stevie remembered Tamara had once written: “Don Meeker is the most successful cold caller in history.”
    â€œSo why
did
you guys get IUPUI?” Stevie said, slowing down to make sure he got all the letters right.
    â€œThat’s what’s so funny about it,” Kerns said. “It was a blind draw they held last summer at the owners meetings. Li’l Donny himself pulled ‘Watsonville’—that’s the name of the high school—out of a hat for the NFC long before anyone thought the Dreams had a chance of being here. Actually, I know the Dreams’ equipment guy, and he says it’s a great facility. It’s just a little out of the way. The players and coaches don’t really care, but Li’l Donny does like to be angry about things.”
    Stevie was soaking in all the background information but figured it was time to get started on Kerns’s relationship with Eddie Brennan. Kerns reached behind him into a refrigerator and offered Stevie a bottle of water, which he accepted. Then, for most of thirty minutes, he talked about Brennan—giving Stevie anecdotes that would easily have filled three stories.
    â€œHe’s smart, he’s a great athlete, and most women get weak-kneed when he walks into a room. You want to hate him but you can’t. He’s been the captain of every team he’s ever played on, and he’s a real team player. Plus, he’s got a great sense of humor.”
    Stevie asked Kerns about his playing days with Brennan. Kerns leaned back in his chair and smiled.
    â€œWhat you have to understand is that Eddie really was the star,” Kerns said. “I was okay, a decent enough receiver, but I was never fast enough that anyone in Division One was going to recruit me seriously.”
    â€œNot even Harvard?”
    Kerns laughed. “Harvard? You need grades to get into Harvard even if you’re a football player. I got lucky and got a scholarship to Fordham—which plays okay football and is a good school but a far cry from Harvard. But when I was with Eddie, I was a star—he was so good at finding receivers and putting the ball right on the money that all you had to do was be okay and people thought you were Terrell Owens.” He paused. “That’s on the