Hal Johnston thought there might be steam coming out of his ears by the time he got through talking to the reporters.
Jason Crist had pointed out to him that all the stories done about the Carillo controversy earlier in the week had made a point of saying he had “ducked” the media, or in the case of one guy on a radio talk show, had “cowered” rather than speak his mind. And the comments on social media were no better—every time a link went live, for every commenter that took his side, there were five more ripping his decision to shreds.
“Tell your side of it,” Crist had told him.
“You don’t even agree with my side of it,” Johnston had shot back.
“Not the point,” Crist had said. “I’m just telling you that the less you talk, the worse you look.”
Hal knew he was right. That was why he’d agreed to talk after the game, even though the fact that Carillo had been responsible for the team’s only goal was going to make things worse. Then he’d made the mistake of saying she’d played ten minutes, and that kid with the NBC Sports–Philly microphone had jumped on him.
He had turned his thoughts to getting into the car and listening to some music when he realized that someone was walking next to him. He looked to his left and saw a kid with a notebook and a tape recorder tagging along next to him.
“I’m done talking,” he said, picking up his pace.
“That’s fine,” the kid responded. “But I’m Stevie Thomas, here for the Washington Herald. Up to you if you don’t want to explain yourself.”
Hal stopped for a second.
“Are you in high school or something?” the teacher said.
Thomas smiled at him. “Actually, I’m a freshman at Penn,” he said.
“So why aren’t you in class or the library?”
Thomas smiled again, the sort of condescending smile that made Hal want to say something he shouldn’t. He decided to start walking again—he wasn’t that far from the teacher parking lot.
“It’s a Friday afternoon,” the reporter said. “I do freelance work for the Herald when I have spare time. I pitched this to them after the initial stories came out earlier this week. They see you as a Last of the Mohicans.”
“Excuse me?” Hal said. He got the reference, but he didn’t like it.
“Girls playing with boys at this level has become a given,” Thomas said. “From what I saw today, this kid is as good as anyone you have on your team. Yet you’re still tilting at the girls-shouldn’t-play-with-boys windmill.”
Now he was mixing up the classics. “You wanna talk to me about a Spanish knight or a Mohican chief?” Hal asked, realizing he was smiling in spite of himself.
“Both,” Thomas answered.
“Look, kid,” Hal said. “I’ve made my position clear on this. I have nothing against the girl, and, you’re right, she’s a decent player—though not close to the best player on my team. It wasn’t that long ago that you were eleven. How would you like it if you had to play a sport with a girl who was better than you? That’d be kind of tough, wouldn’t it?”
Thomas shrugged. “My girlfriend was an Olympic swimmer,” he said. “I was fine with it.”
Now Hal was exasperated. “Did she swim against boys in the Olympics?”
“No, but she did when she was eleven at the local level and beat just about all of them. I suspect they were fine with it, too.”
“Well, I’m not fine with it for the sake of these boys. My job is to do what’s best for them—not what’s best for the school principal because he doesn’t want bad publicity.”
Whoops, I’ve gone too far.
“That’s off the record,” he added.
Thomas laughed. “You want to go off the record, you say it before you make a comment.”
Hal knew enough about the way journalism worked to know the kid was telling the truth. He’d made a mistake.
“Look, you’re right,” he said. “I apologize. If you could leave out what I said about my boss, I’d be grateful. I’m kind of in a tough position here.”
Thomas nodded. “I’m willing to do that,” he said. “But in return, would you mind explaining to me the Don Quixote thing?”
Hal smiled. The kid was pretty sharp. Don Quixote was the hero of a hefty seventeenth-century novel that nobody read anymore. Quixote saw imaginary enemies as windmills and vowed to slay them all.
“It’s not a sexist thing,” he said. “I know it looks that way, but it’s not.” He had a sudden thought. “You a Star Trek fan?” he asked.
The kid gave him a look, then smiled. “‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’?”
Hal nodded. “‘Or the one.’”
“But are you sure that’s what you’re doing? If you had put Andi’s being on the team to a vote of the boys, what do you think the outcome would have been?”
Hal thought about that for a moment.
“I think it would be close,” he said. “There are boys who are adamant on both sides.”
“Do you think if their coach was more positive about having a girl on the team, the boys who are against it would be so negative about her?”
“Are you interviewing me or lecturing me?” Hal said.
Thomas seemed thrown—just a little—by that comment.
“Sorry,” he said. “You’re right. Bad habit of mine.”
Hal had now reached his car. He chirped open the locks with his remote key. “Anything else?” he asked.
Thomas thought a minute. “Given the way Andi played today, will you think about giving her more playing time next week?”
“Sure,” Hal said. “I’ll think about it.”
He got in his car and shut the door. He’d had enough questions for one day. He was glad he had the weekend to come up with some answers.