Free Game Changers by Mike Lupica Page A

not that bad,” Ben said.
    â€œYou say,” Coop said.
    â€œYou’re really not gonna do this?” Ben said.
    Feeling himself starting to get hot.
    â€œI’d do almost anything for you and you know I would, because I have,” Coop said. “But I don’t feel like playing today. And I really don’t feel like playing with him .”
    â€œI’d do it for you guys,” Ben said, “if you asked.”
    Sam said, “I wouldn’t ask.”
    Ben knew he had to drop it. They never fought. And he didn’t want to fight over Shawn O’Brien. And could feel them getting close.
    Or maybe they were already there.
    â€œThe guy’s a teammate, that’s all I’m saying,” Ben said.
    Like he was back to talking himself into something, convincing himself he was doing the right thing, as hard as it was.
    Sam and Coop were at the bottom of the stairs now, on their way out. Sam looked at Ben and said, “He’s our teammate? Maybe you could tell him to start acting like one.”
    Ben waited a few minutes and then went upstairs himself. He still needed one more player to give Shawn the kind of workout he planned, and he knew where to find one.
    Â 
    Ben was throwing the ball around with his dad when Shawn showed up on his bike. When Ben had told Jeff McBain what he had planned for Shawn, his dad had said, “Love it.”
    â€œYou don’t mind?”
    â€œI tell you all the time,” his dad said. “I can still run straight ahead. I just can’t go backward anymore.”
    Without telling his dad more than he should, without breaking his promise, Ben said, “I think he could use a little break from his dad, but he didn’t say anything about mine.”
    Ben told Shawn it was a simple drill. His dad would rush him as hard as he could. Shawn had to get his pass off to Ben before getting touched. But instead of the three count or five count you usually gave the quarterback in touch football, Ben said Shawn wasn’t getting any count.
    â€œInstead of one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi,” Ben said, “I’m sort of giving you no -Mississippi.”
    â€œI’m not feelin’ you on this,” Shawn said.
    â€œMy dad’s bigger than anybody who’s going to rush you,” Ben said. “And he’s gonna give you less time than you’d get in a game even if there was this almost perfect-o blitz. And you’re gonna find out if you can still stand in there and complete passes.”
    â€œI tell Ben all the time,” Ben’s dad said, “that part of thefun of sports is finding out you can do things you didn’t know you could.”
    Ben said, “It’ll be fun.”
    â€œMaybe for you.”
    Ben said, “Nah. For both of us. You don’t need to make perfect throws every time. But I’ll bet you make more than you thought you would.”
    Ben’s dad didn’t rush Shawn as hard as he could, but did come at him pretty hard, even yelling his head off sometimes as he did. At first Shawn tried to get rid of the ball too quickly, missing Ben on short patterns, the ball flying all over the place almost like he was throwing it away on purpose.
    â€œSee what I mean,” Shawn said to Ben. “I even stink here.”
    Ben could see him working as hard as he could to control his temper. Not for Ben’s benefit. For Ben’s dad.
    Ben said, “Relax, dude. You’ll get better at it.”
    Ben wasn’t sure he believed that. But thought it sounded good.
    Slowly, though, Shawn did get better over the hour the three of them were out there. He wasn’t Ben Roethlisberger standing in against the rush until the last possible moment. Or Rodgers or Mike Vick throwing accurately on the run. But he started connecting on his passes. Ben’s dad would end the play by getting a hand on him once in a while. Just not as often the longer they stayed at it.
    Ben had