Max

  Chapter 8

  Ham Gleason, still in the press box, finished typing his column for tomorrow’s edition of the Herald. Since he had already written off the game as a Rams loss, he had to revise the entire column. He called the game the most stirring he’d ever witnessed. “There aren’t enough superlatives to describe the play of Max Aries,” he wrote. “If the young man hasn’t won a job as a starter, the Rams staff of coaches and managers should be committed as raving lunatics.”

  After closing his laptop, he rushed down to the Rams’ dressing room to catch what he knew would be a victory celebration. He was right. If the team had just won the Super Bowl, the atmosphere couldn’t be more jubilant. At the center of it all was Max.

  Wearing only his underwear shorts, Max stood on a locker room bench surrounded by reporters, men and women, who were shoving microphones in his face, shouting questions at him. Unable to speak over the din even if he had wanted to, Max just shook his head.

  Coach Jones stepped in front of the mob and raised his hands for silence. “Listen everyone. Max has had a tough day; we all have. I can speak for him to tell you what should be obvious: it was a great win for the entire team. But it’s only one game. We still have more than half a season ahead of us and we’ll take it one game at a time, one play at a time. Now how about all of you shoving off and giving these guys a chance to shower and get dressed.”

  A reporter shouted. “Before we go, can we get a statement from Max?”

  Jones said, “All right.” He looked up at Max, who appeared bewildered. “Say something so we can get rid of them.”

  The room hushed, the silence was deafening. Max leaned into the forest of microphones and tape recorders. In a hoarse whisper he said, “Thanks.” Then he stepped down from his perch, pushed his way through the mob, strolled into the shower room and closed the door behind him.

  A reporter grumbled, “That’s it?”

  Jones shrugged. “Write whatever you want. His play speaks for itself.”

  The attitude of Max’s teammates toward him was a one-hundred-eighty degree turn from what it had been before the Colts game. His back was sore from the thumping he received during the week of practice sessions before the next game. The coaches revised the playbook making Max primary receiver for most pass plays. During practice, Todd Albright, the quarterback, kept throwing higher and higher to see if he could find Max’s limit in leaping to make a catch. So far, he hadn’t found it. Max seemed to be defying gravity. The only passes he missed were those when he timed his jump improperly.