Split Decision (13 page)
C
ody fought to hold his fourth-place position, a runner from Mill Creek nearly stepping on his heels.
I never thought that running in a state final could be somewhat anticlimactic,
he marveled,
but after that narrow escape, this race, all of the sudden, doesn’t seem as scary as it did a while ago. Still, I gotta focus. It was cool that Drew ran first—gave me a chance to collect myself, and find my racing flats. And, man, did he fly! Got me the stick in third place. One guy passed me, but that’s the only time that’s gonna happen!
“Sixty-four! That’s perfect, dawg!” Cody heard Coach Clayton shout as he completed one lap.
As he leaned into the near turn, he felt the Mill Creek runner brush his right shoulder.
Oh, no you don’t, Creek
, he vowed.
You’re not getting by me. Not without a motorcycle or something. Brendan Clark took on three dudes; I think I can handle one
.
Cody exploded onto the backstretch. He had seen Drew make this kind of move all track season. Throw in a sudden surge. Surprise the competition. Demoralize the competition.
That musta worked
, Cody assured himself, as he entered the final turn.
I don’t feel that Creek dude breathing down my neck anymore. But I’m not taking any chances. As Chop says, it’s time to step on the gas!
“Yeah, yeah, Yeahhhhh!” Cody heard Drew yell from the middle of the final turn. “You got ’em— they’re hurtin’. Now bust it!”
Cody felt his quad muscles constricting, burning, as he burst into the home stretch. He thought he heard his dad yelling from the stands. Through all his years of sports, Cody couldn’t remember his dad ever being excited enough to yell.
He thrashed his arms and legs against the fatigue and pain. Craig Ward was waiting for him in lane four, right arm extended to him. “Just a few more strides, Code,” he called, nodding approvingly. “Lookin’ strong!”
Cody fought to keep his left arm steady as he smacked the baton into Ward’s waiting palm. “Go, Ward!” he rasped. But he wasn’t sure the junior had heard him. He took off like a greyhound, bearing down fast on the third-place runner.
Phelps put his arm around Cody’s shoulder, supporting him as they watched Ward churn around the track, passing one runner, then another.
“By the way,” Drew said offhandedly. “Unofficially, two-oh-eight. That’s smokin’!”
Coming into his homestretch run, Ward had only Faust, Clayton Hill’s second-best runner, ahead of him. And Ward was closing the gap. What had begun as a forty-yard cushion was now only ten.
Faust stumbled as he handed the baton to Hayden Owens-Tharpe, the Lancers’ all-state wide receiver and sub-two-minute half-miler.
The Ward-to-Gerber handoff wasn’t a thing of beauty either. In his zeal to run down Owens-Tharpe, the Grant senior took off too quickly, then had to wait on the straining Ward.
After completing one lap, Gerber had cut the Clayton anchor’s lead in half. Gerber ran the near turn conservatively, then reeled Owens-Tharpe in down the back stretch.
“Check it out,” Ward said, gulping for air after each word. “Gerber’s right on Hyphen-Boy’s afterburners. This is gonna be good!”
Gerber stayed tucked in behind Owens-Tharpe through the final turn, then swung wide as they entered the homestretch. The six foot four inch Lancers’ runner, almost a head taller than the more slightly built Eagle, opened a three-yard gap when Gerber made his outside move. But with forty yards to go, Gerber found another gear and made a final charge.
Face etched in panic and pain, Owens-Tharpe looked to his right, then began pumping his arms furiously. Cody stood near the finish line, clustered together with Drew and Ward. He wasn’t sure if any sound was coming from his dry, burning throat, but he screamed encouragement to his teammate anyway.
The two anchors were stride for stride as they dashed toward the finish line. The Lancer leaned. The Eagle lunged.
“Oh, baby!” Drew screeched, grabbing Cody by both shoulders. “Photo finish!”
During the twenty minutes it took officials to determine a relay winner, Cody found Clark and eyed him from feet to forehead.
“If you’re looking for marks,” Clark smiled, “you’re looking on the wrong guy.”
Cody felt himself smile sheepishly. “I know, Bren; it’s just that when that stocky guy came after me, I—”
Clark shrugged. “Just a strategic error on my part,” he explained. “I threw one guy into a toilet stall, and he never came out, so that was that. But that tall, Ichabod Crane-looking dude—he tried to kick me! Not like a karate kick or anything, but a sissy kick at my shin. That got me perturbed, so I decided to, sort of, flush his head in a toilet. And while I was occupied, I guess the other guy escaped.”
“But,” Cody said, crinkling his forehead, “what about that other guy? One second, he was, like, on my tail, and the next, he’s gone. What was up with that?”
Clark smiled. “You need to ask the Chop about that.”
Cody and Pork Chop sat in the top row of the stands, watching a tiny freshman girl from Lost Valley destroy her competition in a 3200-meter race.
“I’m proud of you, Co,” Chop said. “Second place at state—as a freshman. That is fierce!”
Cody struggled to rein in a smile. “I wish we could have taken first. Dude, if Gerber had a big ol’ Cro-Magnon head like Owens-Tharpe, we
would
have won that photo finish! But, we all ran as hard as we could. Ward and Gerber—both under two minutes. Drew in two-oh-four. And Coach says our time, eight minutes, nine seconds, isn’t gonna be broken for a long, long time. Of course, we wouldn’t have set the record if not for Brendan … and you!”
Chop looked lovingly at his left fist. “One punch. And that dude never saw it comin’,” he chuckled. “I’m surprised he’s still not sleeping. And to think Clayton says I have no left hand!”
Cody leaned back. “You think Gerber is right— that those guys who jumped me were Clayton Hills alums—trying to bushwhack their school’s only competition?”
“Well, if we could find ’em, we could check that out. But I have a feeling they’re long gone. They hafta know they’d be easy to identify—’cuz of all the bruises, welts, and abrasions Clark and I put on ’em.”
Cody nodded and took a long pull from his bottle of Gatorade, then offered it to Chop.
“Thanks, Co,” he said. “You’re my boy. This stuff hits the spot.”
“And it’s perfectly legal—”
Chop laughed. “And that’s what I’m gonna be, from now on. I mean, I’m happy my tests all came back clean, but I know I was playing with fire. Thanks for helping me put that fire out.”
“Anytime.”
“Anytime, huh?”
Cody frowned. “Of course. You know I’m always gonna be there for you.”
Chop arched his eyebrows. “Even if my ‘there’ is clear down in Tennessee?”
“Even then, Chop. You know, the Bible talks about the kind of friend that sticks closer than a brother. Well, I don’t have a brother—at least not yet. But I can’t imagine even my own brother and I being closer than you and I are. Dude, you’re my best friend. Always will be.”
Pork Chop nodded thoughtfully. “Always,” he whispered. “And you know, dawg, I remember your pastor saying something, from the last time I got my church on. He said that when God closes one door, he tends to open another. I’ve been thinkin’ on those words ever since I heard I might be moving away. And for a while, I thought it meant that I was gonna find a new best friend in Tennessee. I just couldn’t see that happening, so I started to wonder if ol’ Pastor Taylor wasn’t keeping it real. But, lately, I see it different. See, I think what it means for you and me is that the door is closing on the teammates/ classmates/dudes-who-hang-at-each-other’s-houses era of our friendship. But it’s opening on the email, snail mail, phone calls, and visits era of Chop-n-Cody. We’re still gonna be best friends; we’re just gonna find new ways to be best friends. All the distance—it’s nuthin’ but geography.”
“That’s cool, Chop. I remember that sermon too. I wasn’t sure you were paying attention.”
“Dawg, I always pay attention in church—well, mostly always. So, do you think I’m right about the doors?”
Cody downed the rest of the Gatorade. “I think so,” he nodded. “But I gotta tell you, I’m not looking forward to that one door closing.”
Chop stood. “I’m not either, Co. It can be hard when doors close. Your mom dies. Mine up and moves away. But we both survived it somehow. We’re still here, standing strong. I’m just glad there’s more than one door when it comes to you and me. When it comes to life. New doors, dawg, it’s all about new doors.”
Chop paused a moment, looking longingly toward the shot put area south of the track. “Look,” he said after a while, “I’m starvin’. I gotta find some food.”
Chop bounded down the bleachers, taking the steps two at a time. Cody looked at the hot dog and candy wrappers around them. He wondered how Chop could still be hungry after the mega-snack they had just consumed. He wondered if Chop had left for another reason—for the tears he was sure he saw glistening in his friend’s brown eyes.
Cody closed his eyes.
Dear God
, he prayed,
thanks for a friend like Chop. Thanks for a dad who actually screams at track meets now. Thanks for Beth, and for my new sibling, whom she’s toting around. It would probably be spiritually immature of me to ask for a boy, so I guess I won’t. But … well, you know … And, God, this door that’s about to close on Chop and me—it scares me. But thanks for Pastor Taylor’s assurance that you’ll open another door for me. And I promise to walk through that door with hope and faith in my heart—
Cody’s eyes popped open as he heard a roar well up from the crowd. The tiny Lost Valley distance runner, the one he’d seen win earlier in the day, had just broken the tape again, this time as the anchor for a relay team. Her teammates crowded around her, hugging her and hopping up and down ecstatically.
Cody closed his eyes again.
As I was saying, may I go through this new door with hope and faith in my heart—and if it is in your will—a football, a basketball, a baseball, or a relay baton in my hand. Amen.
B
ig shiny MVP awards to the following people:
Bruce, Robin, Kristen, and everyone at Zonderkidz for believing in this series.
The Mill Valley High School basketball, baseball, and track teams for reminding this has-been ex-jock how the games are played in the twenty-first century.
My YMCA league teams—the Super Saiyans, the Legends, the Vikings, and the Dragons—for the privilege of coaching you and for the many lessons you have taught me about sportsmanship and courage.
Barbara Scott for your strong early support of Cody and his story. There wouldn’t be a book, and certainly not a whole series, if not for you.
Toby Mac for penning the foreword to this series. You captured “The Spirit of the Game” perfectly.
Dave Dravecky for the athletic expertise and the spiritual wisdom you have shared with me, through conversation and the fine books you have written.
Tim Hanson for being my teammate and, more important, my friend through so many seasons of sports and of life. Even though we weren’t able to coauthor this series, as I had hoped, your mark is on every book. And every life that this series touches, every accomplishment it inspires, I share with you.
A Word to Athletes and Parents
about Steroids and Performance-Enhancing Supplements
A
recent study indicates that more than 300,000 eighth through twelfth graders use steroids—one-third of them are girls. The quest for athletic success—and the desire for a well-muscled body—is leading many young people down a dangerous road. Negative effects from steroid use include headaches, severe acne on the face and back, urinary and bowel problems, an enlarged prostate gland, testicular shrinkage, strokes and blood clots, nausea, high blood pressure and heart disease, liver damage, joint pain, aggressive behavior, and the risk of tendon and ligament injuries.
And, while steroids are illegal, there is evidence that technically legal nutritional supplements could be just as dangerous. For example, supplements containing androstenedione (andro), have virtually the same effects—and side effects—as steroids, according to Dr. Gary Wadler of the New York University School of Medicine. You should also be wary of supplements containing DHEA, which is sometimes sold over the counter as an anti-aging drug. In the human body, DHEA is converted into androstenedione.
To put it simply, steroids, and supplements that have similar effects, are dangerous physically and psychologically. A young athlete should never take any kind of illegal substance to enhance performance or body image. And teens and their parents should also be aware of “nutritional supplements.” These should never be taken without a doctor’s supervision, so the potential benefits can be weighed against the risks related to an athlete’s age, physiology, and the potentially dangerous interactions between supplements and prescription drugs—or even other supplements.
Coming November 2005
Author Todd Hafer brings you more sports action with Spirit of the Game sports fiction!