Chapter 17

OUR NEW SECRET WEAPON

What a difference fifteen minutes can make. At the end of the first half I was on top of the world. I had scored a touchdown and Bart and Bruno were acting like a couple of teddy bears. Now I was about to take the field pretty certain that they had just found out Rishi was bluffing about his video.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Mrs. Lutzkraut wanted me to know she was the one who had spied on Jessica and me that day. Yes, she was doing everything possible to rattle me—and it was working! If she had overheard me in the park, it meant she knew all about the Boss. It meant she knew that tonight’s dinner with the Chicago gang had to go smoothly. And it meant she knew I had promised the Boss a good restaurant review from my mother.

“Rodney, Coach wants to see you!” Joe shouted.

Suddenly hearing my name brought me back to reality and the fact that we had a game to win. I ran over to the porta-potty. “How’re you doing in there?” I asked.

“Maybe a little better but not good enough to come out. Listen, I’m really depending on you, Rodney. Every coach in Ohio will be laughing at me if we lose today’s game. Someone told me they’re already calling it #TheToiletBowl on Twitter. Please, Rodney, keep the team focused and pumped—and win one for Garrettsville!”

I promised I would try, but despite Coach Laimbardi’s rousing pep talk the second half was nothing like the first. The twins were reinvigorated and eager to chase and crush me at every turn. It was clear why Notre Dame was interested in them. Only Josh was able to match their strength and ferocity. Why couldn’t he have a nice big twin? Better yet, triplets! Three monstrous Joshes working for me! I had little time to dream. I spent every second running with one thought in mind. Survival!

The game wore on and while Bart and Bruno had yet to rip my head off, the outlook grew bleaker. We fell behind ten-seven and I sat out the end of the third quarter feeling pretty gloomy. It was beginning to look like all of Garrettsville would be at Mama’s tonight demanding free food from the Boss. Just what I needed.

Someone else was also feeling down. Even from the bench I could hear the porta-potty whine to Coach Manuel, “Those two sons of his are wrecking balls and I can’t think of anything else to do. Belicheat really is a much better coach than me. I’m never leaving this stinky john. I’ll be buried in it in shame!”

“Interesting game so far, Rodney.” Wendy Whizowitz had come over and was squirting a concoction into Josh’s mouth. “Want some?” she asked. “I made it myself. It’s much better than Gatorade and far more nutritional.”

“Uh, okay.” I figured at this point I had nothing to lose. She squirted some through my facemask into my mouth. “Aaarraah!” My mouth was on fire.

“Oh, that’s the Tabasco sauce I added,” Wendy explained. “It really gets Josh going.”

“ArrrHHHOOOOOO!” he howled, kicking over the water jug.

“Great stuff,” I croaked. “You should patent it.”

“I might one day. I call it Wolf Juice because of Joshy’s howl. What’s going on with your coach?”

“Some sort of stomach issue.”

She seemed to think for a minute. “I might have something for that.”

“Another special formula? You’re brilliant!” I shouted. “You’re like the best scientist.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

“Hey, that’ll work.” Not wanting to waste another minute, I ran over and knocked on old Doodie Calls. “Coach, I have something for you.”

The door cracked open and I slid the bottle in. I heard a couple of gulps and moments later the door banged wide open. From the Garrettsville stands a cheer erupted as the coach emerged into the sunshine, whacked himself in the stomach, and shouted, “I feel like a new man! Perfectly regular. Take that, Belicheat! Good work, Rodney.”

My lips cracked into a smile. I don’t know if my happiness was from having our coach back or from his pink Pepto-Bismol mustache. “Actually,” I told him, “you have Wendy to thank for your, er, regularity. She had the bottle in her bag.”

“Excellent work.” He smiled at her and then paused. “I’m sorry, we can’t have friends on the team bench.”

Wendy ignored him. “Have you considered running a reverse? I’ve noticed they’re over-pursuing. It’s actually rather interesting. On average, they’re 3.2 meters out of containment position. As I noted on my tablet, this happens on 83 percent of the plays run to the left. Now, running to the right is interesting on a whole other level. If you use the distributive property . . .”

Coach Laimbardi rubbed his head. “Got any aspirin in that bag of yours?”

Again Wendy ignored him, instead going into tremendous detail about how the distributive property could be used to our advantage.

“Who are you again?” Coach asked.

“I’m Wendy Whizowitz.”

“The reverse is a good idea. You got any more clever schemes?”

“Well, I’ve written a whole book of plays.” She held up a binder.

“May I?” Coach Laimbardi asked. Wendy handed over the book. Coach began to read. His eyes grew wider and wider. He licked away the pink mustache as he read and eventually bit down on his bottom lip. “You wrote all these?”

“Yes. Last night during the PBS NewsHour.”

“I love this single-wing counter-sweep on page sixty-three.”

“Oh, that one. Yes, I conceived it from Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle.”

“Heisenberg?” Coach asked. “I’ve heard of Heisman . . .”

Wendy smiled. “Besides Plato, there’s nothing I’d rather read.”

“I like Play-Doh,” Josh said.

Wendy smiled at him. “See? We have so much in common.”

“Well isn’t that just darling!” The unmistakably sarcastic voice came from several feet away on the track. My heart began to race. With her usual fake smile, Mrs. Lutzkraut asked Coach Laimbardi, “May I approach the bench?”

“Uh, sure,” he answered, “as long as you’re not packing any cookies.”

The second she joined us she dropped the nice act. “This girl,” she hissed, pointing at Wendy, “is NOT allowed to be here during the game. You should know better.” Somehow Lutzkraut had noticed that the school’s smartest student was coaching the coach.

Laimbardi tried to be reasonable. “I really don’t see the harm in—”

“Don’t see the harm?” Lutzkraut exploded. “What if a football should strike her? She’s not covered by the school’s insurance policy like members of the team. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen!”

Coach Laimbardi stared at her long and hard. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he finally answered. “Wendy Whizowitz is a member of the team. She’s our new offensive coordinator.”

I snuck a peak at Wendy, who was smiling proudly. “Congratulations,” I whispered.

Coach Laimbardi wasn’t through with Mrs. Lutzkraut. “In fact,” he continued, “the only one standing here who doesn’t belong on the team is you! Now please return to the bleachers at once or I’ll be forced to call over Dr. Stone.”

“Well!” Mrs. Lutzkraut snapped, shooting him a nasty look before marching back to her seat.

“Now, where were we?” Coach resumed. “Oh, yes. Is there any way we can turn this game around, Whizowitz?”

“Sure,” she said, smiling and adjusting her glasses. “I think the first thing is to keep those two gigantic defensive ends away from Rodney.”

“She’s a genius!” I shouted to no one in particular.

And she was. Wendy immediately gave us a crash course on her wild yet brilliant plays. She was amazing. While her designs were light-years beyond even the NFL, she made it easy for us to grasp. Armed with her schemes, we stormed back on the field and started to gain ground. After each advance I looked over at Coach Belicheat. His face was getting redder by the second. I didn’t need to glance at Lutzkraut to know how she felt about our new secret weapon.

For the first time all second half I began to believe we had a chance to turn the game around. You could feel the home crowd’s excitement as I made my way down the field on runs. I tried to stay focused but this was a once-in-a-lifetime moment and I wanted to savor it. From the corner of my helmet I watched proudly as Mr. Feebletop and my dad high-fived each other. My mom was standing and shouting my name. It seemed everyone was shouting my name, including Jessica and all my friends and hundreds of people I didn’t even know.

The funny thing is that Josh, not me, was actually carrying the team. Wendy had put him in a position to take on the twins one at a time, and I was able to slide through without getting creamed. While the importance of Josh’s blocks may have been lost on the casual fan, Belicheat eventually recognized the problem. “Take him on together!” he barked at his boys, jerking his head in Josh’s direction. “Before they score!”

They took their father’s order to heart. Completely ignoring the game, and me, the two brothers launched themselves full force at Josh. I watched them charge and collide with my big friend. The impact sounded like two freight trains ramming an aircraft carrier. A tremendous amount of dust from the dry field burst into the air. I couldn’t see and tripped over Hector’s ankle but I was more worried about Josh than the run. I waded into the cloud and found the three of them on the ground. “Josh!” I called, “are you all right?”

“That tickled,” he said.

Staggering to his feet, Bart whined, “Hitting him is like running into a brick wall.”

Unlike his brother, Bruno was no complainer. Instead he turned to his father. “Mommy!”

“Football’s fun.” Josh giggled. “I don’t want the game to end. How many more innings, Rodney?”

I knew this wasn’t the time to educate him on the game’s finer points. “Uh, this is it, Josh. The last inning. Now, give them everything you’ve got!”

I pointed him in the right direction and we continued to move the ball down the field, picking up one first down after another. While our progress looked good, I couldn’t help but notice the clock. It was clicking down—quickly! I even tried to run out of bounds to stop it.

“Nice try, Rathbone,” Belicheat shouted, “but there’s no time left for you to win. Your team and your lousy coach will never beat me.”

I was afraid he was right. With under a minute on the clock we were still over thirty yards from the end zone—and stuck with a quarterback who refused to throw the ball.

“Time out!” Coach Laimbardi hollered. We went to the sideline and gathered around. I never saw him look so serious. “We only have time for one play,” he explained. “Hector, I know you haven’t thrown a pass all season, but we can’t win by running the ball. You’re going to have to throw it into the end zone.”

“No thanks, man. Not with those two monsters running around!”

In a somber tone Laimbardi announced, “Well, then that’s that. I might as well walk over to Belicheat and congratulate him on—”

“Actually, sir, we can still win.”

Everyone turned to face the girl in our midst.

“How?” Laimbardi asked.

“I might have just the play,” Wendy explained.

We all leaned in. “Well, let’s hear it,” Coach Laimbardi whispered nervously, a drop of sweat rolling down his forehead.

Wendy took a deep breath. “You see, we have a lot of ground to cover and no time. I think there’s only one logical choice. We need to run the Triple Reverse Statue of Liberty Fumblerooski.”

Coach’s face lit up. “Of course! The old Triple Reverse Statue of Liberty Fumblerooski.”

“You’ve heard of it?” Wendy asked excitedly.

“No.”

“Well, it’s bound to work. Everyone, watch what to do. Now Joe, you’re going to get things started by . . .”

In record time, Wendy explained the craziest, most complicated play I’d ever heard in my life. The second she was done we ran onto the field and took our positions. I wish I could fully describe it but I never fully understood it. And I didn’t even see the whole thing. What I did see was Joe snap the ball and Hector fumble it. But that was on purpose. JJ picked it up and ran right. He flipped it to Trevor, who flipped it to me. I flipped it to Hector, who wound up his arm to throw but at the last second let Josh take the ball. While they were doing that, I pretended I was hurt and limped to the sideline.

“Good!” Mrs. Lutzkraut called down to me. “Serves you right!” By now she was unable to control herself and didn’t seem to care.

I had a fake, pained look on my face, but just before I stepped out of bounds I gave her a big thumbs-up and started sprinting.

“Stop him!” she screeched.

I reached the ten-yard line as Josh threw the ball. He was the only one strong enough to throw it that far. In all the confusion created by the play, I was wide open and now stepping into the end zone. The ball hung in the air for what seemed like a long time. In a weird slow-motion voice I heard Belicheat howl, “Nooooo!”

Which was followed by Lutzkraut shrieking, “Drop it!” The voice sounded awfully close and I spun around to see her charging out of the stands, her crazy red hair as wild as the look in her eyes.

“The ball, Rodney!” people were shouting.

Huh? Every G-Men player and fan was pointing. I turned back just in time to snatch the ball before it hit the ground.

“Touchdown!” the ref yelled as the clock ran out.

“We win!” Coach Laimbardi roared. Trevor dumped an enormous jug of Gatorade over his head but I don’t think Laimbardi even felt it. He was too busy jumping up and down with Coach Manuel shouting, “We beat Windham! We beat Windham!”

The home crowd went bananas and the next few minutes were pure chaos. I was swept up on shoulders and praised, cheered, thanked, and applauded from every direction. I finally broke away to run over and congratulate Coach Laimbardi. Before I could say anything he started shaking my hand.

“Rodney, you’ve made me a very happy man.” His voice choked up. “I knew from that first day of school that you’ve got what it takes. You’re a great athlete and a real team player. I’ll never forget what you did for me here today.” The look he gave me was one of pure joy. He was savoring the greatest victory of his life.

Before I could say, “You’re welcome,” someone shouted, “The float’s out of control!”

I looked up in time to see it go in reverse right under the goalpost, the giant football on top crunching flat and flopping over the driver’s windshield. Brown crepe paper flew everywhere. Next it lurched forward and started going in circles. I couldn’t see who was driving but they sure were bad. When the float turned and headed straight for Coach Laimbardi and me, I had an idea who was behind the wheel. Mrs. Lutzkraut had tried to run me over with a bulldozer at summer camp! Was she up to her old tricks? I watched as the huge “G-Men” football veered wildly from side to side. It circled past us one last time and swooped back in our direction.

“Take cover, Rodney!” Coach Laimbardi shouted. “It’s heading straight for the . . .”

BOOM!!!

Like a massive blue missile, Doodie Calls soared into the air and flew halfway across the field before landing near the Windham bench. Unfortunately for Belicheat and most of the Bomber players, including Bart and Bruno, it exploded on impact.

“EEEeeewwWW!” hundreds of people screamed in unison. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Coach Laimbardi put his hand on my shoulder. “Glad we’re not on the Windham bus later.”

I turned my attention from the opposite sideline back to the float. It sat silent and empty where it had collided with the porta-potty . . . its driver’s door wide open.

“Where’d she go?” I wondered out loud. People were swarming everywhere. Once or twice I thought I saw her but there was too much confusion. If it had been Mrs. Lutzkraut behind the wheel, she had managed to escape.

“What a show!” Rishi ran up to me grinning from ear to ear holding his phone in the air. “I caught the whole thing on video, especially your awesome touchdowns.” Then, as though reading my mind, he added, “Don’t worry, I pushed ‘record’ this time.”

My other friends soon joined us along with my parents and Penny and even the Windbaggers. They all congratulated me and spoke at once about the great Garrettsville win over Windham. My dad went on and on about how the game was destined for football legend. He began stopping strangers. “My son scored both G-Men touchdowns!”

“Okay, I’ve got to go now.” I laughed. “Time to celebrate with my teammates.” I was getting more embarrassed by the second.

We all said good-bye and as I headed back to the school building I realized that the battle was only half won. I still had to survive tonight at Mama’s Restaurant—a night that might be all the more difficult thanks to a certain former teacher. But that was later. For now, the unthinkable had happened. I, Rodney Rathbone, had helped Garrettsville Middle School win the biggest game in its history.

As I pulled open the gym door and was greeted by shouts of “Rod-ney!” I realized it was even more than my school team winning. My home team had won. For the first time since leaving New York, I was finally home.