Page 123 of Faking the Pass
Walt Maddox had been known as “The Wall” in his playing days, not only because of his massive size but also his unshakable demeanor. He never lost his cool, though the man never quite looked happy either.
He stood on the sidelines today, frowning against the sun but also clapping his huge hands together as Dylan completed yet another long pass while running the opposing team’s plays.
“That’s the way you do it,” he yelled. “Looking good, Dylan.”
After the drills, my brother ran over to join me and Austin talking on the sideline.
“You hear that?” he asked me.
“I heard it, and Coach is right,” I said.
“I just can’t believe he actually said it. Dude hates me,” Dylan said.
“Nah, that’s just how he is. He likes you, I can tell. Keep throwing it like that and he’ll like you even more,” I said. “You just need to work on relaxing.”
“What about you Pres?” Austin asked. “You must be prettyrelaxedthese days.”
I ignored my backup’s obvious reference to my sex life, but he kept going.
“Unless you’re on the IR at home too.” He laughed. “If it were me, I’d have to be in a full-body cast to keep from climbing onto Rosie James every night.”
He wore a dirty grin I wassorelytempted to wipe off his face, broken clavicle or not.
Of course I couldn’t because if I were to put him on the injured reserve list, people would accuse me of playing dirty tomove my brother up the roster and get him on the field this Sunday.
I simply said, “Don’t talk about my wife.”
Apparently my forbidding tone was dark enough to convince him, because Austin’s smile dropped immediately, and he got back to business.
Several of my other teammates teased me about the surprise marriage and about Rosie’s hotness, though it was all good-natured. I’d missed these guys.
All of them but Kannon Calahane.
Apparently, he wasn’t all that delighted at my return either because he scowled when he saw me in the locker room.
“Move, rich boy—unless you want your new wife sitting on a busted up face.”
Several of the guys chuckled as he pushed past us and continued down the hall to the showers, practically shaking the walls with his heavy footfalls.
And yes,allof us moved out of his way.
Words from Kannon were pretty rare, but when he spoke, people listened.
If a hurricane and a rabid grizzly bear could somehow procreate, the result would be Kannon Calahane. He was one of the largest humans I’d ever seen, and after twelve seasons in the NFL, I’d encountered some big ones.
Six-foot-seven and 320 pounds, he could have been a great offensive tackle but chose instead to assassinate quarterbacks for a living as a defensive end.
Watching him in the weight room was awe-inspiring—a little scary even.
It wasn’t just his massive size and strength. Kannon had a reputation as one of the dirtiest players in the NFL and had received numerous penalties for roughing the other teams’ QBs, thus his nickname, “Kannon the Crusher.”
He seemed to have a particular dislike for me and Dylan, glowering whenever we were around. I guessed it was the position we both played?
I pictured the guy being groomed from birth to hate quarterbacks like those poor pit bulls who were trained by their abusive owners to be vicious and fight one another to the death in a ring.
I was just glad he was on our team, and I didn’t have to play against him.
On Friday evening, a large box arrived at the house. I retrieved it from the driver and carried it inside.
