John Grisham - 2007 - Playing for Pizza.pdf - fuyuhoshikim

By halftime, he had two more touchdowns, and the Panthers were up 28-14. In the locker room, Sam bitched
about the penalties--the offense had jumped four times--and he bitched about the zone coverage that had
allowed 180 yards passing. Alex Olivetto carped at the defensive line because there was no pass rush, not a
single sack. There was a lot of yelling and finger pointing, and Rick just wanted everyone to relax. A loss to
Naples would ruin the season. With only eight games on the schedule, and with Bergamo poised to again run
the table, there was no room for a bad day. After twenty minutes of impressive abuse, the Panthers hustled
back to the field. Rick felt like he'd suffered through another NFL halftime. The Bandits tied the game with
four minutes left in the third quarter, and the Parma sideline took on an intensity Rick had not seen in years.
He was telling everyone, "Relax, just relax," but he wasn't sure he was understood. The players were looking
to him, their great new quarterback. After three quarters, it was obvious to both Sam and Rick that they needed
more plays. The defense keyed on Sly every snap and double-covered Fabrizio. Sam was getting outfoxed by
the very young Naples coach, a former assistant at Ball State. However, the offense was soon to discover a
new weapon. On a third and four, Rick dropped back to pass but saw the left corner coming on a blitz. There
was no one to block, so he faked a pass and watched the corner go sailing by. Then he dropped the ball, and for
the next three seconds, an eternity, worked feverishly to pick it up. When it was retrieved, he had no choice but
to run. And run he did, just like in the old days at Davenport South. He scooted around the pile, where the
linebackers were preoccupied, and was immediately in the secondary. The crowd erupted, and Rick Dockery
was off to the races. He faked out a corner, cut across to the center, just like Gale Sayers in the old footage, a
real broken-field ace. The last person he expected help from was Fabrizio, but the kid came through. He
managed to roll under the weak-side safety just long enough to allow Rick to sprint past, all the way to the
promised land. When he crossed the goal line, he flipped the ball to the official, and couldn't help but laugh at
himself. He had just galloped seventy-two yards for a touchdown, the longest of his career. Not even in high
school had he scored from so far away.
At the bench, he was grabbed by his teammates and offered all manner of congratulations, little of which he
understood. Sly, through a wide smile, said, "That took forever." Five minutes later, the running quarterback
struck again. Suddenly anxious to show off his moves, he scrambled out of the pocket and seemed ready for
another jaunt downfield. The entire secondary broke coverage, and at the last second, two feet from the line of
scrimmage, Rick zipped a bullet thirty yards across the middle to Fabrizio, who galloped untouched into the
end zone.
Game over. Trey Colby picked off two passes late in the fourth quarter, and the Panthers won 48--28.
They gathered at Polipo's for all the beer and pizza they wanted, at Signor Bruncardo's expense. The night
went long, with bawdy drinking songs and dirty jokes. The Americans--Rick, Sly, Trey, and Sam--sat together
at one end of a long table, and laughed at the Italians until the laughter was painful. At 1:00 a.m., Rick emailed
his parents:
Mom and Dad: Had our first game today, beat Naples (Bandits) by 3 touchdowns. 18 for 22, 310 yards, 4 td's,
one pick; also rushed for 98 yards, one td; kinda reminded me of the old high school days. Having fun. Love,
Rick
And to Arnie:
Undefeated here in Parma; first game, 5 td's, 4 by air, one by ground. A real stud. No, I will not, under any
circumstances, play arena football. Have you talked to Tfcmpa Bay?