Once Andi let Jeff know about the meeting with Mr. Block, there wasn’t any doubt in his mind that his dad and his friends would be at the game on Friday.
In fact, his father decided to let everyone he knew in the media know about the story. “The more the merrier in a case like this,” he said. “If the King of Prussia coach sees the place overrun by media, he’ll have to tell his players to back off and play clean.”
“We hope,” Jeff said.
His dad nodded. “We hope,” he repeated.
While his father was contacting others in the media, Jeff texted Andi and suggested she let Stevie Thomas know what was going on. His dad had told him Mike Vaccaro had said he was going to come down from New York. Bringing media from New York and Washington into the picture in addition to the locals couldn’t hurt.
Andi told Jeff that Coach J wasn’t going to say anything to the team because he was still hoping that Mr. Block’s phone call to the King of Prussia principal and the sight of a bevy of media might force the coach to back off.
When she called him on Thursday night to tell her that Stevie Thomas was coming and to find out what local media might be there, he asked her if Mr. Block had reported back on his talk with the KP–North principal.
“He spoke to my mom,” she said. “He wasn’t very encouraging. He said the guy claimed this was the first he had heard about his coach or any of his players going after any girl on an opposing team.”
“What happened when Mr. Block told him about the phone call?” Jeff asked.
“He said he would check into it and get back to him if he thought there was any reason to worry or for him to take action.”
“Doesn’t sound like he was too upset, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” she said. “I’m not worried, though. I can take care of myself out there.”
If she was trying to sound brave—it was working. Jeff could hear steel in her voice.
Friday was a glorious fall day. By the time school let out, the temperature was in the low sixties with just a hint of a breeze. The leaves on the trees surrounding the soccer field were turning fall colors, and there was a large crowd on hand for a sixth-grade soccer game. It looked as if most of Merion Middle had turned out. The seventh-and-eighth-grade team didn’t play until Saturday morning, so the team was there in force to lead cheers. There were also a lot of people who had come down from King of Prussia.
Not to mention the media turnout. Jeff counted at least four camera crews, plus a number of reporters he remembered from September.
Andi had told him that Mr. Block—who was also on hand—had told her parents he’d never heard back from the principal at KP–North. So be it, Jeff thought. He just wanted the game to start.
It was impossible not to notice the size of the KP–North players. It wasn’t so much their height as their bulk. Their style of play was simple—go straight at the opponent with the ball and dare the other team to stop them.
What they lacked was speed; that was where Merion had an advantage. On a number of occasions when it appeared KP–North had a numbers advantage, Merion players were able to peel back into the play and deflect passes or knock the ball away.
It was speed that gave Merion its first real scoring chance of the afternoon about twenty minutes into the first half.
Zack Roth made a sweet move on a KP–North midfielder and burst into the offensive zone with the ball. The KP defense was forced to come up to meet him, and he quickly shoveled a pretty pass to Andi on the left. She had room to maneuver.
Surprisingly, the defense was slow to get someone to her, and she dribbled into the penalty box with the ball on her foot and space to shoot. Jeff, trailing the play, thought for sure Merion was about to go ahead.
But instead of shooting, Andi tried to pass the ball to Arlow—who was well covered. KP’s defense broke the play up and one of the defenders kicked it back upfield to safety.
Jeff was baffled. Why hadn’t Andi taken an open shot?
“Guess the girl’s afraid to shoot, huh?” one of the KP defenders said as the ball headed upfield.
Andi was in earshot and reddened at the comment—but said nothing.
Late in the half, KP’s striker, a kid named Ted Pratt, knocked down a corner kick, pushed Danny Diskin away from him, and fired the ball past Bobby Woodward to make it 1–0. Danny screamed for a foul, but the referee simply pointed at the net to indicate the goal was good.
In the final minute, Merion had another chance. This time it was Mike Craig who started the play. He made a stutter-step move on a KP midfielder and had open space. He blew into the offensive zone, and after looking at both Andi and Arlow, dropped a pass to Jeff, who was trailing him.
Then he set what was essentially a basketball screen on a KP defender, getting in between him and Jeff to allow Jeff to go by—which he did. As Jeff reached the penalty area, a defender moved to stop him, which left Andi open on the left.
Jeff dished the ball to her, and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, having been taken down hard by the defender right as he passed the ball. He rolled over, feeling pain in his ribs just in time to see one of KP’s midfielders take down Andi from behind as she was about to shoot. She fell, too, and the ball rolled harmlessly to the goalie.
Jeff waited to hear a whistle. None was forthcoming. He heard Arlow screaming, “Are you blind, ref? They took down two of our guys in the penalty box.”
Andi was on her feet, also pleading for a foul.
The referee walked over to Arlow and showed him a yellow card. “Clean tackles,” he said. “Not another word if you want to stay in this game.”
Jeff slowly got up, holding his ribs. He desperately wanted to say something but knew that was a bad idea. Andi came over.
“You okay?” she said.
“Got kicked in the ribs,” he said. “I’ll live. You?”
“Fine,” she said. Then she smiled. “I took a little bit of a dive. I thought two of us down would force him to make a call. Guess I was wrong.”
Seconds later, the halftime whistle blew. They walked slowly to the bench, Arlow still shaking his head about the no-calls.
Coach J had his hands on his hips standing in front of them. Jeff expected a tongue-lashing.
It never came.
“Look,” Coach J said in a voice soft enough that Jeff had to lean forward to hear him. “I know they’re big, and I know they play rough.” He looked at Diskin. “Danny, most games that was a foul on their goal. Not in this game. Jeff, you should have been given a penalty kick, and Andi, you should have gotten an Oscar for your acting on that dive. We can’t expect any help from the referee. But we can’t back off. Make them hit you, and eventually we’ll get the calls.”
He looked directly at Jeff. “Are you okay, Jeff?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” Jeff said. “I’m not hurt, Coach, I’m just angry.”
“Good,” Coach J said. “Stay that way. Andi, you’re out the first five minutes. Take a deep breath. We’ve got thirty minutes left to win this thing.”
As the teams took the field for the second half, Andi sat on the bench alone. Jeff was in the game, and the other guys not playing were all standing near the sideline. Someone sat down next to her just as play began.
It was Coach J. She turned to look at him.
“At least now I know you’re human.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You were a little gun-shy when you had that open shot early,” he said. “The defender who was trying to get at you probably outweighs you by fifty pounds—and he’s mean. They’re all mean. It’s part of the reason why they’re good.”
“Coach…”
He put up a hand. “Look, I don’t blame you even a little bit,” he said. “I’d be gun-shy, too, and so would all your teammates. They’re all playing a little bit scared and no one has specifically threatened them.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “If you don’t want to go back in, just say so—I won’t think even a little bit less of you if you do. But if you want to play, I need you to play. The other guys on this team take most of their cues on the field from you. If they see you playing timid, they’ll play timid and we have no chance. If they see you playing like … you … they’ll follow your lead.”
He was looking her right in the eye as he spoke. She looked right back at him.
“I’m ready, Coach,” she said.
He smiled. “Soon as the clock gets down to twenty-five minutes, go in for Arlow. We’ll get his five minutes out of the way and then we’ll go after them. Sound okay to you?”
“Sounds great,” she said, jumping to her feet. She remembered what Herb Brooks, the coach of the famous US Olympic hockey team that had stunned the Soviet Union in the 1980 Olympics, had said to his players: “You were born to be a player. You were meant to be here. This moment is yours.”