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  About Twelve Men in the Huddle

  Peter Wagner is an orthopedic surgeon beginning a one-year Sports Medicine fellowship in Tulsa, Louisiana. There he meets Heather Jackson, the Sports Information Director for the number one ranked college football team in the nation—the Tulsa Valley Tarpons. Dr. Wagner is immediately captivated by the pre-season spectacle of a team predicted to win the national championship. He immerses himself into the team’s daily routine, including a stay at their remote summer camp on the bayou, under the watchful eye of head coach Buford B. Hayes. Coach Hayes played for the Tarpons fifty years ago and has never left Tulsa Valley since, rising to cult status amid a fan base thirsty for a national title. As the season begins all is well in the Tarpon Nation until a series of unusual health problems begin to afflict the team and Dr. Wagner, leading him to question the integrity of the school’s training program. Fueling the controversy is the arrival of a Los Angeles sports writer on a singular mission—to clarify how a team bogged down in mediocrity for decades, can suddenly catapult their way to the top of the college rankings. As the title game approaches, additional revelations draw the focus of a nation upon Tulsa, searching for answers.

  Twelve Men in the Huddle is a behind the scenes look into the role of sports medicine in college football—a balancing act between ethics, emotion and monetary gain.

  TWELVE MEN IN THE HUDDLE

  A NOVEL

  By

  Michael Banas

  TWELVE MEN IN THE HUDDLE

  Copyright © 2016 Michael Banas

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9890713-3-8

  Contents

  About Twelve Men in the Huddle

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One TULSA

  Chapter Two DOCTOR HARPER

  Chapter Three COACH HAYES

  Chapter Four THE JACKSON GIN HOLE

  Chapter Five THE STATE OF THE NATION

  Chapter Six EUGENE

  Chapter Seven THE BEAT REPORTER

  Chapter Eight BIG BUSINESS

  Chapter Nine A BUCKET HANDLE TEAR

  Chapter Ten MR. TUBBS’ NEIGHBORHOOD

  Chapter Eleven TAILGATING

  Chapter Twelve THE BACK DOOR

  Chapter Thirteen CLINT BENSON

  Chapter Fourteen LMNOP

  Chapter Fifteen A GOOD SAMARITAN

  Chapter Sixteen AN OPEN TIBIA

  Chapter Seventeen THE T:E RATIO

  Chapter Eighteen SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY

  Chapter Nineteen PHILADELPHIA

  Chapter Twenty THE FAMILY REUNION

  Chapter Twenty One A SURPRISE GUEST

  Chapter Twenty Two LOS ANGELES

  Chapter Twenty Three THE FIRESTORM

  Chapter Twenty Four WHERE’S CONNOR?

  Chapter Twenty Five SCRANTON

  Chapter Twenty Six THE CONSPIRACY THEORY

  Chapter Twenty Seven A PAINFUL RESIGNATION

  Chapter Twenty Eight CASH IS KING

  Chapter Twenty Nine KICKOFF

  Chapter Thirty A LOVE FEST

  Chapter Thirty One THE TWO MINUTE DRILL

  Chapter Thirty Two AND THE KICK IS …

  Chapter Thirty Three GAME OVER

  Chapter Thirty Four SERENDIPITY

  Chapter Thirty Five TWELVE MEN IN THE HUDDLE

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  TULSA

  Peter Wagner stared out the airplane window as it began a final descent into Louisiana. Beneath him shimmered a vast bayou littered with moss ridden cypress trees. The sun sparkled off a small boat, leaving behind a symmetric ripple in the waterway. He wondered who was on the craft. There were no homes in sight.

  “Sir, can you please put up your tray table?” asked the flight attendant.

  “Sure. I’m sorry,” said Pete as he quickly snapped the tray into its upright position. While doing so he smiled at the woman seated near the aisle. Between them was a vacant seat. Throughout the flight she was busy on a laptop computer, now stored away.

  “First time to Louisiana?” asked the woman.

  “Yes,” said Pete. “Well, actually no. I did come down here about eight months ago for an interview. But it was only for an overnight stay.” He was impressed by the woman’s appearance. She was dressed in jeans and a button down shirt, yet exuded a professional manner.

  “A visit to the University, I’m assuming?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Everyone on this plane is headed to Tulsa Valley,” said the woman with a smile. “Nothing else exists in this portion of the state. Absolutely nothing.”

  “I get that feeling by looking out the window,” said Pete. “There’s not a home in sight.”

  “What brings you to the school?”

  “I’m actually going to be spending one year with the athletic department,” said Pete. He immediately sensed a heightened level of interest from the woman. “A Sports Medicine Fellowship with one of the surgeons there.”

  “Oh, really?” said the woman, now leaning closer to Pete. “Are you an athletic trainer?”

  “No. I’m an orthopedic surgeon. I just completed my training in Philadelphia and signed up for a one-year fellowship with a Dr. Harper. He is the team physician for the Tulsa Valley football team.”

  “Very nice,” said the woman with a broad smile. Her teeth were blazing white and framed by full red lips. Brown eyes offset her jet-black hair, set in a fashionable bob. “Well then let me introduce myself. My name in Heather Jackson, I’m the Sports Information Director for Tulsa Valley. I know Dr. Harper very well.”

  “Oh wow, what a coincidence. I’m Peter Wagner.”

  “Dr. Wagner. Correct?” said Heather Jackson now leaning even closer. A single heart pendant dangled from her necklace.

  “Yes, of course. Dr. Wagner,” said Peter now appreciating a subtle whiff of perfume. “But you can just call me Pete.”

  “Where are you from doctor?”

  “Originally from Scranton Pennsylvania, but I went to med school and did my orthopedic training in Philadelphia.”

  “Very nice,” said Heather as she summed up the young surgeon. He was articulate and handsome with boyish looks. Thick brown hair sat above a set of blue eyes, yet it was his cute celestial nose that captivated her. His frame was thin and firm, with toned biceps suggestive of athleticism. A quick glance at his left hand failed to identify any hardware. His shirt read SCRANTON across the front.

  “My orthopedic residency was at the Philadelphia General Hospital.”

  “Wait a minute!” said Heather while placing her hand on Pete’s forearm. “You’re from Scranton?”

  “Yes.”

  “Our star running back is from Scranton!”

  “Yes, I know,” said Pete. “Connor Kelly. I know his family well.”

  “Oh my goodness! You know Connor Kelly? What a small world!” She pressed her hand more firmly upon his forearm.

  “Well, actually his parents know mine,” said Pete. “I’m about ten or twelve years older than him. But everybody in Scranton knows Connor Kelly. He was the greatest high school football player to ever come out of the area.”

  “We all love Connor,” said Heather. “What a wonderful young man. He’s a front runner for the Heisman Trophy.”

  “I know. I know,” said Pete now leaning in towards the woman. “He’s big news
back home. Comes from a great family.”

  “Oh my heavens,” said Heather as the plane’s wheels deployed in preparation for landing. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other on campus. Where are you staying?”

  “I rented an apartment with another Sports Fellow coming in from Los Angeles. Somewhere on Tarpon Way. I believe it’s near the stadium.”

  “Sure is,” said Heather. “The athletic department must have gotten you that apartment. That’s prime real estate.”

  “It looked kind of small over the internet, but who cares,” said Pete. “It’s only for a year. You should have seen the rat hole I lived in for five years in Philly.”

  As the plane made contact with the runway neither party seemed to notice, their attention focused upon each other. The flight attendant welcomed them over the intercom to Tulsa, Louisiana—the local time one o’clock in the afternoon.

  “How are you getting to the campus?” asked Heather.

  “A cab. It’s about a thirty-minute fare. Correct?”

  “Yes, but I’ll take you there. A ride is picking me up.”

  The newly acquainted couple gathered their overhead bags and stepped outside the plane onto a set of mobile steel stairs, leading them down to the runway itself. The first thing Pete Wagner appreciated was the afternoon heat. It was the last day of July.

  “Oh my god!” said Pete. “I feel like I’m in a furnace! Wow!”

  “What? The heat?” said Heather with a smile.

  “My face is one fire,” said Pete while running a hand across his forehead. “It takes your breath away.”

  “The summer has been brutal this year,” said Heather as she led the doctor to the terminal door. Her stride was confident and athletic. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.”

  She led the doctor through a set of doors with the words “Go Tarps!” emblazoned in large letters above. Their route took them through a small airport lobby with a single airline representative behind a desk. Within a minute they were on the other side of the terminal searching for her ride.

  “There he is,” said Heather with a wave of her hand. She let out a high-pitched whistle, suggestive to Pete of some inner tomboy.

  A red Porsche suddenly peeled away from the opposite curb with a blast of the horn. It fishtailed into a slot directly before them. A tall, muscular male hopped out of the driver’s seat and quickly made his way across the front of the car. He wore dark sunglasses, a white t-shirt and blue shorts. The Tulsa Valley logo was tattooed on his massive right arm.

  “Hey babe, welcome back,” said the man while engulfing Heather Jackson in a bear hug. He then kissed her. “Missed you a ton.”

  “Billy, I’d like you to meet our new Sports Medicine Fellow for the year,” said Heather after emerging from her beau’s embrace. “His name is Dr. Peter Wagner.”

  “Yo Pete, welcome to the bayou,” said Billy Morris. He shook Pete’s hand and pulled his body forward into a man hug. “Call me Billy Mo. Go Tarps!”

  “Pleased to meet you Billy Mo,” said Pete, wondering how they were all going to fit into the sportster.

  “Dr. Wagner is going to be working with Dr. Harper,” said Heather, as she shimmied her torso into the rear of the vehicle. Pete dropped in the front seat and barely closed the door before the car roared away.

  “Dr. Harper is the best,” said Billy. “He operated on my knee four times.”

  “How’s it doing?”

  “It hurts like hell, but Doc got me through my career. I love the man.”

  “You played for the Tarpons?”

  “Yea, yea,” said Morris as he accelerated onto a two-lane highway, heading north. “2007 to 2013.”

  “They were third in the nation his senior year,” said Heather proudly from the backseat. The windows in the car were wide open and her hair flew in the breeze. The vehicle began traversing a never-ending series of bridges, occasionally occupied by a crab fisherman.

  “Should have been in the championship game but we were screwed by the selection committee,” said Billy Mo. “We got hosed.” He aggressively shifted into fifth gear and floored the gas pedal.

  “Dr. Wagner, did you play sports?” shouted Heather from the rear seat.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you play sports? Billy, please slow down! You can’t afford another ticket.”

  “Well, a bit in high school,” said Pete. “Basketball and baseball, but never football. I didn’t like the idea of getting hit from all directions at once. I kind of cherish my knees.”

  “I feasted on guys like you,” chuckled Billy. “I led the conference in solo tackles my senior year.”

  “Wow, look at all the swamps,” said Pete. “Are there crocodiles out there?”

  “No,” laughed Heather. “A lot of alligators, but no crocs.”

  “They make darn good boots and handbags,” said the driver.

  “Rrrrrr,” went the sudden sound of a police siren from behind. “Rrrrrr!”

  “I told you Billy!”

  Billy pulled the car over to the side of the road, which ran flat to the horizon in both directions. Steam rose from the macadam only to vanish in mirage like fashion. No other vehicles were in sight as the highwayman approached the roadster, his boots crunching the gravel. Billy Mo checked the officer’s approach in the rear view mirror while nervously tapping his right hand on the stick shift.

  “Vehicle registration and driver’s license,” said the State Trooper. He was wearing sunglasses and an old style cowboy hat. A shiny star on his shirt rested above an I.D. tag. His name was Officer L. Bailey.

  “Was I speeding officer?”

  The trooper took the cards from Billy’s hand and carefully inspected them. He let out a spit of tobacco juice that audibly splashed on the pavement. Without speaking he slowly returned to his vehicle. A stifling heat penetrated the Porsche’s interior.

  “You’re going to lose your license Billy,” said Heather in a low tone. “Then what? How are you going to get to work?”

  “You were flying,” said Pete. “I didn’t see the policeman. Where did he come from?”

  Silence, until the patrolman returned.

  “Do you know how fast you were going boy?” asked the lawman. He peered into the back seat and upon seeing Heather tipped his hat while saying, “Howdy ma’am.”

  “A bit above the speed limit,” mumbled Billy Mo. “Officer I…”

  “A hundred and seventeen goddamn miles per hour,” said the trooper. “Holy Moses. Where in God’s name were ya headed so fast?”

  “Tulsa Valley campus,” said Billy, now nervously running his hand through his hair. “Taking one of the new team surgeons there. He’s gonna be taking care of the football team. Dr. Harper’s new assistant.”

  “Oh really?” said the trooper as he leaned down lower to make eye contact with Pete. “What’s your name boy?”

  “Peter Wagner. Dr. Peter Wagner.”

  “Where you from Dr. Wagner?”

  “Pennsylvania. A town called Scranton.”

  “Pennsylvania. Hah! Do they play ball up there?” laughed the lawman. He spit another load of tobacco juice onto the ground. “I mean the whole state hasn’t had a football team worth a lick in the past twenty years. Always leave Louisiana with their tails between their legs.”

  “Doc Harper’s expecting him on campus,” said Billy. “That’s kind of why I was hurrying. His flight was in late.”

  “Doc Harper’s a good man,” said Officer Baily. “He took a spur out of my shoulder.”

  “He’s the best. That’s one of the reasons we’re ranked number one this year in the pre-season polls.”

  “Do you play on the team?” asked Officer Bailey to Billy Mo.

  “No, but I did,” said Billy. “The 2013 team. Number three in the nation. Go Tarps!”

  The officer seemed stunned by the statement. He again stared down at the driver’s license, his memory banks churning
. A smile started to emerge across his sun-worn face.

  “Wait a minute. Wait just one minute,” said the policeman with a nervous spit of chew onto the ground. “William A. Morris! Holy mackerel! Would that happen to be the same person as Billy “Mo” Morris, the team captain?”

  “Yes sir officer,” said Billy. “That’s me.”

  “Sweet Jesus!” yelled the officer, extending his hand towards Billy. “Why didn’t you say so young man? I enjoyed watching you play!”

  “Well I didn’t want to affect your decision making process officer.”

  “I loved your game boy,” said the policeman. “Offense and defense, a hundred and ten percent. Both ways Billy! You were like an animal out there.”

  “Both ways Billy,” laughed Billy Morris. “Guilty as charged.”

  “But I have to ask you Billy Mo,” said the officer, his voice now serious. “You do know what I’m going to ask you?”

  “Yea. I’ve answered it a hundred times.”

  “How? How did the ball come out of your hands against Southern State? I mean we had the game wrapped up? It was our ticket to the national championship game. Oh, I still tremble even thinking about it.”

  “The quarterback! It was our third string quarterback out there! Don’t you remember? Derrick went out with a concussion on the prior play and George Strange, from somewhere in Hicksville Oklahoma, had to come in for one play. He was so nervous he vomited in the huddle. I’d never taken a hand off from him in my life. He handed the ball into my thigh. Don’t you remember? It was his only contribution to the program. He fled the state the next day.”

  “Nah, I don’t recall the quarterback. I just remember that ball squirting out of your arms and number twenty-six from the other team scooping it up and running sixty-seven yards for the score. Oh my whole family cried for a week. The entire state was devastated.”

  “We still should have been in the big game,” snarled Billy Mo. “We were the best team in the country. We got hosed by the selection committee.”

  “Oh well,” said Officer Bailey. “Hopefully this year’s team will make up for that debacle. I go to all the games.”