Tim Green - The Big Time

"I found Troy," Seth said, nodding to himself. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have him here. We wouldn't be making this run at the playoffs. The whole staff would probably have been fired by now, including you, so don't tell me about Troy working for you."

Coach McFadden, the head coach, pushed his way through the forest of players and into the opening where the action was. Mora explained the situation, and McFadden turned to Troy.

"Well, Troy?" McFadden asked. "Is that true? Are you and Seth a package deal?"

TROY FELT A MIXTUREof anxiety, frustration, and regret.

With everyone now aware of his gift, people expected the Falcons' defense to dominate. He recalled the cameraman's attention before the kickoff and the cheers people in the stands had given him as he walked through the tunnel at halftime. If they lost this important game, he had to believe the enthusiasm all the fans, TV announcers, and agents had shown him would diminish. All the talk about big contracts and other teams bidding for his services would fizzle.

Worst of all, the thrilling little fantasy that had taken hold in his mind-having his dad represent him, the two of them working side by side to come up with some momentous deal-would melt into a soup of confusion.

"Troy," Seth said, breaking through his thoughts, "come on. Tell them."

Troy felt his eyes moisten, but he bit the inside of his lip to pin down his emotions. He knew how much Seth had gone through to get ready to play. Aside from the extensive treatment of ice and heat and the drainage and cortisone shots, Troy remembered the scandal of steroid accusations. Seth had been forced to undergo testing to prove he didn't use the drugs.

Now, after all that, it appeared Seth just couldn't get the job done anyway.

Miserable, Troy looked at the star linebacker and said, "Seth, I can't. They're paying me. My mom says a couple more weeks and I'll have college taken care of."

Troy didn't know which felt worse: the sound of his own simpering excuses or the wounded look on Seth's face before he dropped his head and shuffled over to the bench. Two trainers came forward, got under each of his arms, one on each side, and led him, hobbling now, toward the locker room.

"Thatta boy," Mora said, patting him on the back. "It's football. A team sport. You can't worry about one guy, no matter how much you like him. Come on, Troy, don't look like that. You've got an agreement with the team. When Seth cools down, he'll tell you himself you're doing the right thing. Trust me."

GRIFFIN LENGYEL WAS BIGGER,faster, and stronger than Seth.

Using Troy's knowledge of the plays, Lengyel looked unstoppable. The defense crushed the Packers. The offense did its part by scoring a pair of touchdowns on passes to Michael Jenkins and Joe Horn. The Falcons ended up winning, 35-31. As the team celebrated, waving their arms to the roaring crowd on their way into the tunnel, Troy's mom put an arm around his shoulder and hugged him tight.

"Mom, I-"

"I know," she said, leaning over and speaking into his ear to cut through the noise, "I heard. Don't worry. You did what you had to. Seth will be okay. I promise. Now listen, I didn't tell you before, but I think you should talk to the press. It'll keep them from hounding us. We can make a decision in a day or two if we want to do any of the shows like Good Morning America or The Tonight Show , but this will let us knock off all the sports reporters in one shot. I didn't want to say before the game because I know you have to concentrate. You okay with it?"

"Sure."

"It's going to be a little crazy in there," his mom said, "but it'll be better than them following you around and chasing you through the hallways at school."

"They can do that?" Troy asked, his eyes widening.

"Not really," his mom said, "but they will be a pain unless we manage them properly. It starts with you talking at the press conference. There'll be a lot of questions. I'll be there to make sure they don't start asking the same things over and over, and I'll cut it short if you get too uncomfortable. You just tug your ear if you want me to end it. You got that?"

"Sure," Troy said, tugging his ear to show her. "Like this."

"Right," she said, "okay, otherwise, just be honest, and don't be afraid to say you don't know something. They're going to want you to tell them exactly how you do it, but you and I know that's not so easy, so you just do your best. Give them that weather analogy you tell people about how when a cold front and rain head for each other, you can predict snow, and don't worry if they don't get it. That's their problem. And, if anyone says anything that makes you feel bad, just say to them 'That's not very nice.' Trust me, coming from a kid, they'll leave you alone."

"That's not very nice," Troy said to himself, practicing.

Inside the concrete tunnel, they passed by the locker room and in through another metal door, where reporters already stood packed in front of a small raised stage with a podium and a Falcons banner behind it. The spotlights suspended from a track along the ceiling blinded Troy temporarily. He shaded his eyes until they adjusted. His mom spoke into the microphone on top of the podium, introducing him as the Falcons' "game management consultant" that was the official title the team had come up with, but Troy didn't like it. When he stepped to the podium and the first question from a FOX reporter addressed the new title, he remembered his mom told him just to be honest.

"Game management consultant?" the reporter said. "Is that what you call yourself?"

"No," Troy said, frowning. "I guess I call myself what my gramps and my friends call me."

"What's that?"

"Football genius."

The entire place erupted with laughter and clapping. Troy blushed and dipped his head but enjoyed the response all the same. As his mom predicted, the reporters couldn't stop asking him how he did it. Finally she stepped in and told them they only had a few more minutes before Coach McFadden would address them.

"What about Seth Halloway?" a reporter from ESPN asked. "You must have been frustrated, giving him the plays and him not being able to make a tackle."

Troy looked at the reporter, then at his mom, who nodded her head. He leaned into the microphone and said, "That's not very nice."

Everyone laughed, and the reporter's face turned cherry.

"Troy," an ABC reporter said, "is it true you're a free agent after this season?"

Troy furrowed his brow.

"Out on the open market," the reporter said. "I heard your agreement with the Falcons is only for this season. Do you have plans afterward to test the open market? And, if so, how much do you think you can get?"

Troy said he wasn't sure and he didn't know.

"You got an agent yet?" another reporter asked.

"No," Troy said, "not yet."

"But you'll get one?"

"Or maybe just a lawyer," Troy said, avoiding his mom's eyes. "Whatever's best."

"Does your deal take the Falcons through the playoffs?" a reporter asked. "Do you have a bonus if you help them win the Super Bowl?"

Troy looked at his mom and tugged his ear. She stepped back to the podium, leaning over his shoulder, and said, "Troy is set through the season with the Falcons, however far it takes them. Okay, thank you all; we've got Coach McFadden coming in now."

The concrete room exploded with questions from all sides. Troy's mom took Troy by the arm and led him down the small flight of steps and out the side door, leaving the storm of shouting and confusion behind. Coach McFadden brushed past with Troy's mom's boss, Cecilia Fetters, and gave Troy a pat on the shoulder.