It wasn’t until the day of the rivalry game that I understood with complete clarity the depth of the crime I was about to commit. As my friends and teammates readied for the game around me, all I could think about was how I was about to betray them. I loathed myself. But I couldn’t even show it. My behavior had to be concordant with that of my friends. I had to act all psyched like we were about to put a beat-down on our number-one nemesis, while all the time I was plotting against my team.
“These losers are going down!” Curtis Springer cheered.
“Yeah!” I shouted emphatically, my voice blending with those of my teammates. A bunch of guys laughed and smiled confidently at me, the guy who was supposed to take them to the promised land. I felt like the biggest heel in the world.
“Hey, man. Coach wants to see you,” Daryl said, slapping my arm as he sat down next to me to tie his cleats. “He probably wants to make sure his golden boy hasn’t started to believe his own hype,” he joked.
I smiled, but I felt nauseated as I stood up. I could see the headlines now. “Star Quarterback Chokes!” “ Incompetent Riley Leads Cardinals to Defeat!” “Scouts Tell Riley ‘No Thanks!’ ” My future, which had seemed so bright a few days ago, was now ambiguous. All thanks to one stupid game of poker. Well, a few stupid games. I couldn’t remotely comprehend how I had ended up here.
I knocked quickly on the coach’s door, and he waved me in. I so wanted to expedite this whole day—to flash forward to the end of the game so I could just go home and crawl under the covers.
“Hey, Coach. Daryl said you wanted to see me,” I said.
He was practically glowing with pride and anticipation. “This is it, Mike. All your assiduousness is about to pay off.”
My throat was dry. I felt heavy with guilt and dread.
“Coach?” I said. I couldn’t trust myself to utter more than one word.
“Guess which schools sent scouts out to evaluate you today. Just guess,” he told me.
I didn’t want to guess. But I would have done anything to curtail this meeting and the misery it was bringing on.
“Uh . . . I don’t know,” I said.
“Everyone who’s anyone,” he said, clearly beside himself with glee. “Those bleachers are going to be hosting a convergence of some of the biggest reps in the country. USC. Michigan. Texas.”
With each school named I grew more and more depressed.
“And, of course, Penn State,” he said finally.
Now I was definitely going to throw up.
“Did you hear me, Mike?” Coach asked.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, Coach,” I said. “That’s great.”
“When you look back on this day you are going to realize that it was decisive in determining the course of your life,” Coach said, laying it on so thick I felt like I was suffocating. “I don’t think it would be presumptuous of me to say that if you go out there today and play the way I know you can play, you are going to be entertaining some immoderate offers tonight.”
I couldn’t believe he was saying these things to me. Even if I wasn’t planning on throwing the game, putting this much pressure on me would surely be debilitating. Who could hold up under such high expectations? Who could live up to such ideals?
You could have, a little voice in my mind chided me. You could have had it all.
I disregarded the voice. I couldn’t focus on some indeterminate moment in my potential future—some moment at which I would look back on today and realize how much it had meant. Right now all I could think about was living long enough to see tomorrow. And unfortunately that meant risking my entire future.
“Are you ready for this, Mike?” Coach asked. He had so many stars in his eyes that apparently he couldn’t see that his quarterback was turning green right in front of him.
“Yes, Coach,” I said.
There was a knock on the door, and his assistant, Coach Nimenen, stuck his head in. “Sorry to encroach, Coach, but it’s time.”
I stood up slowly, shakily. It was time, all right. Time to finish this once and for all.
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