"I mean, the last time I saw you, you were on a stretcher and--" "I'm fine, Trey. Let's talk about something else." Sly was enjoying the moment. "He'd rather not talk about it. I've already tried," he said. For an hour they played catch and talked about players they knew back home.
CHAPTER 9 The Italians were in a festive mood. For the first practice they arrived early and loud. They bickered over who got which locker, complained about the wall decor, yelled at the equipment boy <strong>for</strong> a multitude of offenses, and vowed all manner of revenge against Bergamo. They continually insulted and ridiculed one another as they slowly changed into their practice shorts and jerseys. The locker room was cramped and rowdy and felt more like a fraternity house. Rick absorbed it all. There were about <strong>for</strong>ty of them, ranging from kids who looked like teenagers to a few aging warriors pushing <strong>for</strong>ty. There were some solid bodies; in fact most seemed to be in excellent shape. Sly said they lifted in the off-season and pushed each other in the weight room. But the contrasts were startling, and Rick, as much as he tried not to, couldn't avoid a few silent comparisons. First, with the exception of Sly and Trey, all faces were white. Every NFL team he'd "visited" along the way had been at least 70 percent black. Even at Iowa, hell, even in Canada, the teams were 50-50. And though there were some big boys in the room, there were no 300-pounders. The Browns had eight players at 310 or more, and only two under 200. A few of the Panthers would stretch to hit 175. Trey said they were excited about their new quarterback, but cautious about approaching him. To help matters, Judge Franco assumed a position on Rick's right, and Nino took charge of the left. They made lengthy, even rambling introductions as the players took turns greeting Rick. Each little intro required at least two insults, often with Franco and Nino tag-teaming against their fellow Italian. Rick was embraced and gripped and fawned over until he was almost embarrassed. He was surprised by the amount of English used. Every Panther was learning the language at some level. Sly and Trey were close by, laughing at him but also reuniting with their old teammates. Both had already vowed that this would be their last year in Italy. Few Americans returned <strong>for</strong> a third season. Coach Russo called things to order and welcomed everyone back. His Italian was slow and thoughtful. The players were sprawled on the floor, on benches, in chairs, even in lockers. Though he kept trying not to, Rick couldn't help but flash back. He remembered the locker room at Davenport South High School. It was at least four times larger than the one he was now in. "You understand this?" he whispered to Sly. "Sure," he said with a grin. "Then what's he saying?" "Says the team was unable to find a decent quarterback in the off-season so we're screwed again." "Quiet!" Sam yelled at the Americans, and the Italians were amused. If you only knew, thought Rick. He'd once seen a semi famous NFL coach cut a rookie <strong>for</strong> chatting in a team meeting during camp. Cut him on the spot, almost made him cry. Some of the most memorable tongue-lashings, dog-cussings, verbal bloodlettings Rick had seen in football had happened not in the heat of battle but in the seemingly safe confines of the locker room. "Mi displace" Sly said loudly, causing even more chuckles. Sam continued. "What was that?" Rick whispered. "Means I'm sorry," Sly hissed with his jaws clenched. "Now will you shut up." Rick had mentioned to Sam earlier that he needed just a few words with the team. When Sam finished his welcoming remarks, he introduced Rick and handled the translation. Rick stood, nodded to his new teammates, and said, "I'm very happy to be here, and looking <strong>for</strong>ward to the season." Sam threw up a hand--halt-- translation. The Italians smiled. "I'd like to clear up one thing." Halt, more Italian. "I've played in the NFL, but not very much, and I have never played in the Super Bowl." Sam frowned and rendered. He would explain later that the Italians take a dim view of modesty and self deprecation. "In fact, I've never started a game as a professional." Another frown, slower Italian, and Rick wondered if Sam wasn't doctoring his little speech. There were no smiles among the Italians. Rick looked at Nino and continued, "Just wanted to clear that up. It is my goal to win my first Super Bowl here in Italy." Sam's voice grew much stronger, and when he finished, the room erupted into applause. Rick sat down and got a bruising bear hug from Franco, who had slightly outmaneuvered Nino as the bodyguard. Sam outlined the practice plan, and the speeches were over. With a rousing cheer, they husded from the locker room and over to the practice field, where they fanned out into a somewhat organized pattern and began stretching. At this point, a thick-necked gentleman with a shaved head and bulging biceps took over. He was Alex Olivetto, a <strong>for</strong>mer player, now an assistant coach, and a real Italian.
- Page 2 and 3: c Century London Published by Centu
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two. Tell him to sue me and I'll fi
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with each vault. His runs were beco
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CHAPTER 24 Such less beer was consu
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dinner." "Why not?" "I'm doing a ro
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CHAPTER 25 Dergamo traveled well. T
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The Panthers scored late in the fir
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CHAPTER 26 They slept till noon in
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CHAPTER 27 The oldest Panther was T
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In their first meeting, Trey Colby
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CHAPTER 28 In the early hours of Mo
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curiosity inspired him to use his b
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CHAPTER 29 The sound was vaguely fa
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CHAPTER 30 Last-minute wrangling wi
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as Maschi hit him low. A perfect op
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CHAPTER 31 They gathered triumphant
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