she and Michelle were on the field, playing catch. Michelle didn’t drop many balls, and Jesse didn’t miss once. It really was delightful watching her play.
At the end of one of our little practices, after I had gathered all the balls and bagged them, and we’d all drained a bottle of water or two,as we were walking off the field, Jesse said to me, “You remind me of my father a little bit.”
Even back then I was a little portly in the middle, though at six feet four, I suppose I had the height to carry it. I said, “I feel sorry for your father.”
“No. I mean the way you coach me.”
“Really.” I was moved by that, if also a little disappointed. I didn’t feel old enough, yet, to be completely eliminated from the romantic arena. Jesse was beautiful. I had been admiring her beauty in just the way a potential suitor admires that sort of thing. But I was just being an old fool, I see now. At twenty-four to my fifty-one, she was almost thirty years younger than me. I guess I was just coming to terms then with the notion that I was too old for a lot of the women I saw and admired. At any rate, it was a high compliment she’d given me, and I was moved when she expressed it. I reached over and tapped her on the shoulder. “He would be very proud of you.”
I saw Andy’s pace shorten a bit ahead of us, as though he had to avoid stepping on something in front of him.
“You’ve coached them up well, Andy,” I said.
“Thank you. They’re a great bunch of gals.”
Jesse shot him a look.
“A great bunch,” he said again. “Terrific women.”
I laughed a little, and Jesse said, “I hate being called a ‘gal.’”
“Come on! It’s just the opposite of ‘guy,’” Andy said.
The truth was Andy had done a good job getting them all to play together, taking advantage of the talent he had on the team. The Divas finished the season at 7 and 1, first place in their division. (They beat the Cleveland Bombers 34-0.) And so they did indeed get a chance to play the Fillies one more time—this time for the championship. I was as excited about that game, I have to say, as any in my own professional career. I couldn’t wait to see it.
Six
I shouldn’t mention my own professional career as if it meant anything. What I mean is, I was not ever a first stringer on any pro team. I played well at the University of Illinois and got enough recognition to be drafted in the fourth round by the Atlanta Falcons. I even got a bit of attention my rookie year because I showed so much “promise,” as the sportswriters like to say. In one exhibition game—teams only played two in Jesse’s day, but back when I was playing, they played four—I threw three touchdown passes to rally our third stringers to a victory over the Bears’ third stringers. That won me a spot as the third-string quarterback that year. I carried a clipboard and studied the playbook and watched a lot of football. In practice I sometimes got to run the “scout” team. Those are the second and third stringers who pretend to be the opposing team of the week and run that team’s plays against the first-string defense so they can recognize them in the game. When you are running the plays of the team you’re about to play, against the first stringers of yourown defense, you don’t learn a hell of a lot about how to run your own offense. I was always pretending to be the opposing team’s quarterback and sometimes that was fun. I would never admit this to anyone back then, but I got a kick out of beating the defense in practice. You could tell sometimes that it pissed them off, too. They’d make a little more noise when they rushed at me. I used to hear the word “kill” a lot.
Anyway, I ended up playing for half a dozen teams—or, I should say, ended up on the roster of half a dozen teams—and then one year nobody wanted me. In my entire NFL career I threw only twenty-two passes that counted and completed twelve. I never threw a touchdown pass
At the end of one of our little practices, after I had gathered all the balls and bagged them, and we’d all drained a bottle of water or two,as we were walking off the field, Jesse said to me, “You remind me of my father a little bit.”
Even back then I was a little portly in the middle, though at six feet four, I suppose I had the height to carry it. I said, “I feel sorry for your father.”
“No. I mean the way you coach me.”
“Really.” I was moved by that, if also a little disappointed. I didn’t feel old enough, yet, to be completely eliminated from the romantic arena. Jesse was beautiful. I had been admiring her beauty in just the way a potential suitor admires that sort of thing. But I was just being an old fool, I see now. At twenty-four to my fifty-one, she was almost thirty years younger than me. I guess I was just coming to terms then with the notion that I was too old for a lot of the women I saw and admired. At any rate, it was a high compliment she’d given me, and I was moved when she expressed it. I reached over and tapped her on the shoulder. “He would be very proud of you.”
I saw Andy’s pace shorten a bit ahead of us, as though he had to avoid stepping on something in front of him.
“You’ve coached them up well, Andy,” I said.
“Thank you. They’re a great bunch of gals.”
Jesse shot him a look.
“A great bunch,” he said again. “Terrific women.”
I laughed a little, and Jesse said, “I hate being called a ‘gal.’”
“Come on! It’s just the opposite of ‘guy,’” Andy said.
The truth was Andy had done a good job getting them all to play together, taking advantage of the talent he had on the team. The Divas finished the season at 7 and 1, first place in their division. (They beat the Cleveland Bombers 34-0.) And so they did indeed get a chance to play the Fillies one more time—this time for the championship. I was as excited about that game, I have to say, as any in my own professional career. I couldn’t wait to see it.
Six
I shouldn’t mention my own professional career as if it meant anything. What I mean is, I was not ever a first stringer on any pro team. I played well at the University of Illinois and got enough recognition to be drafted in the fourth round by the Atlanta Falcons. I even got a bit of attention my rookie year because I showed so much “promise,” as the sportswriters like to say. In one exhibition game—teams only played two in Jesse’s day, but back when I was playing, they played four—I threw three touchdown passes to rally our third stringers to a victory over the Bears’ third stringers. That won me a spot as the third-string quarterback that year. I carried a clipboard and studied the playbook and watched a lot of football. In practice I sometimes got to run the “scout” team. Those are the second and third stringers who pretend to be the opposing team of the week and run that team’s plays against the first-string defense so they can recognize them in the game. When you are running the plays of the team you’re about to play, against the first stringers of yourown defense, you don’t learn a hell of a lot about how to run your own offense. I was always pretending to be the opposing team’s quarterback and sometimes that was fun. I would never admit this to anyone back then, but I got a kick out of beating the defense in practice. You could tell sometimes that it pissed them off, too. They’d make a little more noise when they rushed at me. I used to hear the word “kill” a lot.
Anyway, I ended up playing for half a dozen teams—or, I should say, ended up on the roster of half a dozen teams—and then one year nobody wanted me. In my entire NFL career I threw only twenty-two passes that counted and completed twelve. I never threw a touchdown pass
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