The Highest Stand (Touchdown Edition)

Chapter 1: Showing Up

As always, I arrived at the Olympic stadium early on race day. I didn't like to feel rushed. The officials checked my credentials at the entrance to the warm up area and let me in with a smile. The weather was perfect. The rain cleared and the day was starting to heat up. I found an area on the field to place my gear and set up my base camp for the next hour until I'd be taken into the stadium to race for the gold medal along with seven other competitors. I watched their nervous expressions and smiled fondly. As the oldest of the bunch, I felt their eyes on me, admiring my calm expression, and trying to match it.

Warm up laps helped me focus before a big race. Some athletes hate warming up, saying it only makes them more nervous. Not me. I could talk myself right out of being nervous. Two more laps, Dede. Watch those sprinkler holes. Don't want to sprain an ankle thirty minutes before the biggest race of your life.

The grass beneath my feet was the brightest green imaginable. The problem was, I couldn't take my eyes off of it. Concentrate on your technique, Dede, I told myself. And quit looking at the ground! Okay, go through the checklist. Arms? Good, ninety degrees at the elbow, wrist relaxed, thumbs up. Legs? Hamstring's kinda tight on the left leg, spend a little more time stretching, but don't overdo it. Head? Jaw's loose, neck straight. Technique? Good. Bouncy, feeling light, paw the ground with every step. I stared back down at my feet making sure that I wasn't thumping the ground, a habit that could end any chance at a medal.

That last warm up lap was way too quick. Now I'm feeling hot. I shouldn't have worn the sweat top under my jacket. Slow down, Dede. Remember that hamstring. Give it time to catch up to the rest of your body.

Colin Beckham, Great Britain's finest track-star, flew by and shot me a confident head nod. Don't look. Pretend you don't even see him. Too late, he saw you staring. Man, he looks good today. I guess he's all right after clipping that hurdle last round. Colin's body was designed for this race, not too tall, he was built like a sprinter and really flexible. Breaking that world record must have seemed easy for him.

I slowed down a bit. You're too hot, Dede. Walk the rest of the way. Stop here and stretch. Go slow. Follow your own routine. Today's your day.

I finished my last lap and went to get some water. Dehydration is a big problem for a runner, but I was careful not to drink too much and cramp up. Water discipline is key. I sipped from the tiny paper cup and heard a familiar voice from behind the fence that separated the athletes from everyone else. "How you feeling, Champ?" Coach Ken Matsu was watching me from the stands.

"Matsu," as all his athletes lovingly called him, had an untraditional style of coaching, mandating that his athletes get in touch with their inner self before a race. Since I met him, during my senior year in high school, he had been teaching me to find that inner self. But finding it before the biggest race of my life was a daunting task. I looked up from my stretching position. "Feeling good, Matsu," I said, hiding the fact that my left hamstring continued to scream.

"Good," he replied with a disbelieving look on his face.

The warm up field was a small grass area only about the size of a basketball court. Coaches, fans and friends had to stay behind the chain-link fence that separated the athletes from everyone else. The area hummed with excitement. Scrambling fans pushed bits of paper through the tiny square holes in the fencing, begging for autographs from just about anyone who passed. Matsu acted as a buffer against these occasionally aggressive autograph seekers.

The seven men who stood in the way of my ultimate dream ran and stretched all around me. Celebrity-like Colin Beckham warmed up on the other side of the field and attracted a crowd that even included some of his competitors. Fellow Brit, Nigel Thorton, a good athlete himself, but mostly thought of as a spy for Colin, and Canadian, Vander Parks, huddled around Colin like children, hoping some of his talent would rub off. If they were lucky, Colin would run fast enough and gather them in his "slip stream," pulling them into medal contention. As for me, I stood alone. Mike Stone, a fellow American and my close friend off the track, didn't qualify for the medal round. This left myself and the fiery Texan, Tommy Johnston, as the only Americans in the race.

I was last to the practice hurdles and since the race organizers only gave us a few to warm up with, everyone jockeyed for position. Some tried to impress the others, taking the hurdles faster than necessary, while others took their time, as if to say, "I'm cool and ready." I tried to be one of these athletes.

As I took a few more hurdles, everything started to feel right and it showed. I felt the others begin watching me, taking mental notes. That's right, they couldn't count the old man out of the race just yet. Sure, I was thirty-one years old (ancient in track and field terms), but I didn't come here just to prove that my old legs could compete against their young ones, I came to soar past them and take home gold.

This was the third time I had been an Olympian. Some of these kids were still in grade school when I raced in Tokyo, others were college athletes when I fell short in Paris, and four years ago when I missed the Games with an ankle injury, I watched many of these boys chase down their Olympic dreams in Montreal. They knew me too and probably never expected to see me here warming up. But what they didn't know was that I'd been chasing down gold for most of my life. Yes, I'm thirty-one years old, and yes, my body has aged. But so has my mind. I've been running this race for fifteen long years and although the youthful glow in my cheeks has faded, my desire has grown stronger.

"Go for it Savage!" an excited fan yelled out.

I looked up to where the shout came from and waved. But instead of finding the face behind the voice, I noticed a group of four young boys sprinting back into the stadium after tracking down their objective, ice cream. Cones in hand, they scrambled for their seats. What caught my eye was the fifth boy trailing a few yards behind, calling out with ice cream dripping down his hand. The four leading boys hurried into the stadium as though he wasn't even there. I watched, feeling sorry for him in a way that only someone who had been through it could. Pictures of myself, a smallish, nerdy, twelve-year-old, quickly came to mind. "I got Tim." Isaac Gwynn rumbled in a gruff voice. "Ike," as he was better known, or "Spike" to those he wanted to scare, stood a full four inches over the rest of the neighborhood kids waiting to hear their names called for a game of touch football.

Tim, a good athlete who was always on Ike's team, took position behind his ill-tempered captain. Tony, the other captain, knew the drill. They'd picked these teams a million times. And even though he and Ike were always captains, Tony never got first pick.

"Paul," Tony pointed with some degree of pleasure.

"Rudy," said Ike, glaring back at Tony. Paul and Rudy went to their assigned spots and Tony pretended to struggle with his next decision. He only paused trying to outthink Ike, but the end result was the same. "I'll take Joe," he finally said.

I was small, even for a twelve-year old, so when I stood tip-toed in the back of the group, I still wasn't noticeable. Even if they had noticed me though, with my thick glasses duct-taped together, and my ribs sticking out like I hadn't eaten in years, there was no chance they were going to pick me.

"Drew," Ike sighed.

"George," Tony snapped quickly.

I fidgeted in the back, as the crowd shrunk down to the final three: Edward, the new kid, and myself. The new kid hadn't been tested yet, so I felt like I'd be a pretty safe bet. In the captains' minds, however, the smelly old socks we set up as out-of-bounds markers were more welcome in the huddle than I was.

Usually, my friends Howard and Jerry attended these games with me. This made things a little easier because the three of us got picked on together. But the other day, Jerry tripped Ike by accident when he was going out for a pass. Ike got so angry that he ran over to Jerry and punched him in the stomach as hard as he could. You don't know Jerry, but he's even skinnier than I am. So when Ike's fist landed in his stomach with a smack, Jerry leaned over and puked on Ike's foot. And that's when things got even worse. Howard tried to help Jerry to his feet and Ike punched him in the head. I wished I could have stood up for my friends, but Ike was so big and strong, there was really nothing I could do.

When I saw Howard and Jerry in school the next day they said they were officially retired from backyard football. So, with my best friends (and fellow nerds), staying home, whatever abuse I was facing today, I'd be facing it alone.

I decided to show up to the game anyway, even though Howard and Jerry thought I was crazy. To tell you the truth, I was pretty scared. After all, Ike's shoes were still stained with Jerry's lunch, reminding me of how quickly the bully could snap. Plus, I knew he wasn't finished with Jerry and was frustrated that he didn't show up today. Now there was only one nerd left to pick on, me - Dede Savage. Even though I knew this, I thought that if I could just prove to everyone that I was a good football player, maybe they would leave me alone.

It was Ike's turn to pick now and with only three of us to choose from I smiled at him in a gesture of peace. "Not a chance Deidra. I'll take the new kid, and Edward, you're with them."

Great, picked last again. I kicked at a pile of dirt and took my place behind Tony.

"Our ball," Tony barked. "Huddle up," he called out and the five of us grouped together out of earshot of the other team. As always, Tony quarterbacked and called all the plays. He was a pro. "Paulie, down and out," he said, drawing the route on the palm of his hand. "I'll hit you at Mrs. Jackson's mail box." Paul nodded. "Joe, you do the same thing on the other side. Just past Mr. Washington's car." Joe nodded, clapping his hands. "George, hang back and block. If nobody's open I'll dump it to you over the middle." Tony was all business.

"I'll be there," George answered.

Tony continued, "Okay, on three. Ready..."

"Wait! What about me?" They did know I was on their team, didn't they?

George, Paul and Joe looked at me and then turned to Tony. "What about you?" Tony barked, eyeing me down.

"What do I do? Where do you want me to go?" I asked. Tony glared at me, upset that I reminded him he'd gotten stuck with me on his team. "Should I go long?" I begged Tony, envisioning myself spiking the ball in the end zone.

"No chance. Just hike me the ball and stay out of the way, Deidra."

I dutifully stood hunched over the ball as Tony surveyed the defense. With Ike right on top of me, snorting like an animal, Joe, Paul and George waited for my snap. "I'm gonna tear your head off, Deidra." I swallowed hard and braced myself. Ike then pointed at Tony over my shoulder, "You're mine and that's a fact of life, T." He taunted.

"That's your man Deidra!" Tony pointed at Ike nervously.

"Spike" stood about three inches from my face and I looked up into his reddish eyes. He was a full head taller than me and must have outweighed me by fifty pounds. Being picked last no longer bothered me; I just wanted to make it through that play with my head still attached to my body.

"No problem," I shrugged, faking confidence. Ike scoffed as Tony began the count, "down, set, hut one, hut two, hike!" I hiked the ball and before I looked up, it was over. Ike put a mean hit on me and sent me reeling backward into Tony, where the three of us collapsed in a heap on the chewed up field for a loss of six yards. When I hit the ground, Ike made sure to step on my fingers and throw his elbow into my nose. Although it was only a game of touch football, when "Spike Gwynn" was playing, touch and tackle were the same thing.

Spike jumped up and broke into a clumsy celebration dance. When I finally regained my feet, Tony was standing. He spiked the ball sharply into the ground just inches in front of me, yelling, "you're worthless Deidra!" There was nothing I could say. Blocking Ike was an impossible assignment, but Tony didn't care. With my fingers throbbing and my newly taped glasses broken again, all I could do was take it. I started to realize that the only place I was going to catch the winning touchdown pass, or make the game saving interception, was in my sleep, because out here on the field I'd never get the chance.

The rest of that afternoon was no different. I'd get in Spike's way and he'd put me on my back. When the game finally ended, I walked home, beaten up and muddied.

On the way back to my house I closed my eyes and dreamed that I was running for a touchdown. I was flying past Joe, spinning around Tony, and barreling over Ike into the end zone. I came back to reality when I heard the honking of a bicycle horn behind me. I knew that sound anywhere, it was Ike!

Frantically, I turned around. Ike and Tony were racing toward me on their bikes. The moment I saw them, I started sprinting. I knew this routine. They would probably give me another wedgie, or worse, a black eye. "Slow, down Deidra, we just want to talk to you." Tony laughed.

"Yeah, we won't hurt you this time, we promise," Ike snarled, heaving a .

The houses in our neighborhood were right next to one another, so rather than staying on the street, where Ike and Tony could chase me on their bikes, I jumped over some bushes and started running through my neighbor's backyards. Tony and Ike hopped off their bikes and gave chase. I could hear their heavy breathing behind me as I climbed over short fences, ran through pricker-bushes and climbed up and over trees to escape them. After running through five or six yards, I couldn't hear them anymore. I was sure I'd outrun them.

Out of breath and out of gas I peeked around the corner - no sign of them. All I had to do now was make it across the street and I would be in my house, safe and sound. But just as I made my way around the curving sidewalk I saw them, waiting for me in front of my house. There was no place to run.

Fifteen minutes later, I was hanging from my underpants on Mr. Sloan's fence. Ike said that it was my punishment for running away from them. As the sun set behind me and my boxers slowly ripped, I wondered when I would be able to stop running and face Ike and Tony.

An hour later when Dad came home, he saw me hanging from the fence. I was a little embarrassed, but I also felt relieved. Now that Mom and Dad knew about this, those bullies would have to stop bugging me. Right?

After dinner that night Mom, Dad and I sat down for a long talk. Talks with my parents were always tough because I'm an only child. This meant that it was always two against one. Anyway, when Mom saw that my underpants had been torn into shreds she was ready to call the national guard or at the very least, Principal Juarez. I thought about this and realized that those bullies would probably torture me twice as much if she notified the school. So I asked her not to, "I can handle these guys, Mom." Just as these words came out of my mouth I wished I could have them back. How the heck could I handle these guys?

Before I could take my stupid comment back, Dad, an ex-marine who fought in the Vietnam War, concurred with me, "he's right Nancy, if you call the school, those bullies will always pick on him. Let Dede handle it himself." Dad was always an advocate of facing fears. He patted me on the back before turning on the television and ending the conversation, "you head back there tomorrow. Once they see you're not afraid of them, they'll stop picking on you."

"Who said I'm not afraid?" I forced a smile as I re-wrapped my glasses in another layer of duct-tape.

Sometimes showing up is the hardest thing to do in life. The next day I put on some new shorts and went back to the football field even though Tony had told me not to. They were choosing sides again and as I took my place in the back on my tiptoes, I watched the same teams picked in front of me one by one.

After Ike had run over me for the tenth time in a row that day, I finally gathered the courage to confront Tony in the huddle. We were losing badly and everyone was ready for some kind of change. What better opportunity for me to go out for a pass? Tony was drawing the routes on his hand and tried to assign me to block Ike again.

My heart pounded and my hands shook as I planned what I'd say to him. "Tony," I called out.

He looked at me and I went blank, "What, Deidra?"

I swallowed hard, "Tony, you've got to give me a chance. I'm going downfield on this play, so if you want score a touchdown you know where to find me." Tony was only half listening when I started to speak, but my request grabbed his attention.

Everyone stared at him and waited for a response. Looking at me sternly, he said, "Okay, you've got one chance, but I'm only throwing you the ball if you're wide open." I couldn't believe he actually listened to me.

When I scurried to the line of scrimmage and lined up across from Tim, the fastest guy on Ike's team, I was excited. I never got to go out for a pass. Right when Tony called "hike," I bolted toward the end zone as fast as I could, shocking everyone on the field, including myself. Tim was late following me and when I looked up, I had at least fifteen yards on him. Wide open, I locked eyes with Tony, who didn't want to throw me the ball. But with Ike bearing down on him hard, and no other options, he finally heaved a prayer downfield at the last second. Ike bowled him over as he let it go, but he was too late and the ball was already spiraling toward me perfectly.

If I keep my speed I'll get it right in stride, I thought. I 'd seen a hundred football games on television and knew exactly how to catch a pass. Let it drop over your shoulder and into your hands, then pull it into your chest. Here she comes, just squeeze it and score. Tony, still lying on the field beneath Ike, watched closely as I started to haul it in...only to see me come up empty-handed. The ball slipped right through my fingers, then bounced off the ground and came back up to hit me square in the mouth. I thought for sure today was my day, but before I knew what happened I was face down in the dirt with a bloody lip, staring at the dropped ball a few yards in front of me.

An instant later, Tony was screaming and pushing me, "Come on Deidra, you were wide open. Don't ever try convincing me to throw you the ball again."

I ran to the huddle, fighting back tears. I'd missed my chance.