“Again, I understand.” Bowen hadn’t been in the hot seat since last season when he told a reporter to ‘bite him and stop riding his ass.’
“We need to present a united front. We’ve lost the last two games, and we NEED to win this one.”
“Once again, I apologize. I will control my temper.” Bowen didn’t like where this was going.
“From your apartment.”
“I can’t be on the sideline?” He restrained the expletives he wanted to use.
“No, you can’t.”
“Why not? I’m one of the team captains. Everyone who’s walking wounded is on the sideline. We’re a team,” Bowen protested.
“This isn’t what I wanted, and I don’t doubt your commitment to the team. But we both have to accept the reality of the situation. Today will be incredibly challenging with our highly publicized quarterback situation. Winning or losing will depend on the defense. The cameras will be focused on you. Again.”
“I wasn’t playing last time,” Bowen said, jaw clenched.
“Exactly. Every possible missed tackle opportunity during the last game zoomed in on your pissed off face. They talked more about you after the loss than the fact that our third quarterback got injured and we recruited our latest one from the couch where he’d been semi-retired. So, unless you’ve gained the ability to hide your emotions in the past three minutes, it’s another viral distraction we don’t need.”
“It’s my same old face.” Bowen wasn’t going to tell his coach that on Halloween he’d been ticked off more than usual due to the combination of not playing, losing and the idea of faceless men touching Roy at the notorious party.
“I have every confidence in your ability to return. I just can’t afford more noise and people questioning our game plan right now.”
“I’m not questioning a game plan. I never have.”
This wasn’t fair.
“Perception is extremely powerful, right or wrong.” Coach S sighed, “I hope like hell you’re back soon. Today, count yourself lucky. It’s supposed to be snowing during the game and lead to a banger of a winter-storm after that. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
It was a nail-biter to the end.
The offense played solidly, not brilliantly. The quarterback situation remained a wild card. The fourth stringer remembered how to play football after all, and managed just enough first downs to keep the Browns in the game. If anyone deserved an MVP for the game, it was the kicker.
Few games are won with two defensive touchdowns and six field goals. Yet they pulled it off, now 6-3 for the season.
The win was good news; the fact that Lorenzo was pulled at the end of the fourth quarter and left on crutches was not. The commentators were discussing where this put the Browns for next week’s game. The impending storm spared Coach S from giving any interviews, but Bowen could see from Glazier’s body language (recognizable under his layers of clothing by his large size) on the sideline his displeasure.
This decided Bowen’s course of action.
The stadium would be virtually deserted tomorrow. He could go to the weight room and push his shoulder. It was better to have a defensive end with a bum shoulder than one who couldn’t walk.Missing three games and a bye week would put him at week five for the next game.
Close enough to six weeks, and he was sure Coach would be desperate enough to change his mind.
CHAPTER10
Someone shook her roughly awake. “Roy. Roy.”
“I called off. Go away,” she mumbled. She’d been cocooned in warmth,having a very nice dream about Bowen.
“Roy, what are you doing here?” The voice was more urgent.
She sat up, confused about where she was. This wasn’t the hospital.
Oh, since Bowen had been exiled from the stadium, Glazier had let her rejoin the medics for the Browns game. Behind the layers of clothes and ski masks, her identity was safe.
