"Right."
"I don't get it."
"Bragging rights.What else can they brag about?"
"No wonder they worship Rake. He put the town on the map."
"Take a bite," Paul said. A man with a dirty apron approached holding a manila file. He introduced himself as Maggie Renfrow's brother, now the chef, and he opened the file. Inside was a framed eight by ten color photo ofNeely at Tech. "Maggie always wanted you to sign this," he said.
It was splendid picture ofNeely in action, crouching behind the center, calling a play, ready for the snap, sizing up the defense. A purple helmet was visible in the right lower corner, andNeely realized the opponent was A&M. The photo, one he'd never seen before, was taken minutes before he was injured. "Sure," he said, taking a black marker from the chef.
He signed his name across the top, and for a long moment looked into the eyes of a young, fearless quarterback, a star biding his time in college while the NFL waited. He could hear the Tech crowd that day, seventy-five thousand strong and desperate for victory, proud of their undefeated team, thrilled that they, for the first time in many years, had a bona-fide ail-American at quarterback.
Suddenly, he longed for those days.
"Nice photo," he managed to say, handing it back to the chef, who took it and immediately hung it on a nail under the larger photo ofNeely .
"Let's get outta here," Neely said, wiping his mouth. He placed some cash on the table, and they began a quick exit. He nodded, smiled politely at the regulars, and managed to make an escape without being stopped.
"Why are you so nervous around these folks?" Paul asked when they were outside.
"I don't want to talk about football, okay? I don't want to hear how great I was."
They drove the quiet streets around the square, passing the church whereNeely was baptized, and the church where Paul was married, and the handsome split-level on Tenth Street where Neely lived from the age of eight until he left for Tech. His parents had sold it to a certified Yankee who'd been brought down to manage the paper mill west of town. They passed Rake's house, slowly, as if they might hear the latest just by driving down the street. The driveway was crowded with cars, most with out-of-state license plates, Rake's family and close friends, they figured. They passed the park where they'd played Little League baseball and Pop Warner football.
And they remembered stories. One that was now a legend in Messina was, of course, about Rake. Neely, Paul, and a handful of their buddies were playing a rowdy game of sandlot football when they noticed a man standing in the distance, near the backstop of the baseball field, watching them closely. When they finished, he ventured over and introduced himself as Coach Eddie Rake. The boys were speechless. "You have a nice arm, son," he said toNeely , who could say nothing in response. "I like your feet too."
All the boys looked atNeely's feet.
"Is your mother as tall as your father?" Coach Rake asked.