Forty-five, balding and pudgy around the middle, Joe’s idea of daily exercise was getting out of his office chair and going to eat. He burped and rubbed his big belly as he bellowed, “Is it lunchtime yet?”
A 24-year-old MBA graduate walked past his office and just rolled her eyes. To her, Joe was old. Washed up. And a waste of a perfectly good office.
Joe had a good life. A stable life. A life exactly opposite of what he had planned. “I should have been a football star,” he told the stranger at the bar that night. Doing his best Brando impersonation, he said,” I could have been a contender.” He looked up at his office clock.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere!”
Later that evening Joe sat in his favorite bar. He loved to come down and people watch. His wife hated it, of course, but it was only one of many things his wife hated. And he was pretty sure he was close to the top of her list. He snuffed out his cigarette and looked at his phone. 10:00 p.m. Sure, it was time to go home. But he was glued to the bar stool. Thursday night football was on the bar’s flat-screen TV. “KILL HIM!” Joe released a primal scream as the Green Bay Packers chased Eli Manning out of the pocket.
Twenty-seven years ago, Joe had been in the pocket himself. He was the starting quarterback for his high school football team, the Spartenburg Yellow Jackets. But instead of pursuing his football dreams, Joe took an academic scholarship to the big state school. The rest, as they say, is history. Or misery. It just depended on the day.
Joe graduated with a degree in accounting and then earned his MBA. He rose high into the middle-management ranks. He and his wife Amber had 2.5 children (three, actually) and now Joe was stuck in a rut. Some would call it a midlife crisis. Joe called it life sucking. He took another sip of his third beer and thought of Chuck. He always thought of Chuck when he watched football. He missed his best friend so very much.
“You wanna know something? I wish I could play just one more time,” Joe blurted out.
The bartender, a wise man, nodded agreeably. “Don’t we all. Don’t we all.”
Joe didn’t see it, but the bartender waved his hand and said something that only an ancient Mayan would have understood.
The disgruntled insurance accountant dumped a few dollar bills onto the counter. “Keep the change.”
The bartender smiled. Change. That was one way to put what Joe was about to experience.
Joe walked out of the smoke-filled bar and into the cool, crisp night air. Fog damply hovered around the street lights, battling every ray of light to the death. A breeze blew, masking the sound of the footfalls behind him.
A shadow crossed his path like a particularly evil black cat. Joe never saw the mugger sneak up behind him but felt a flash of pain as the gun’s stock cracked his skull. All 230 lbs. of Joe immediately hit the ground. Hard.
“Wake up, Joey. Wake up!”
With the pungent smell of smelling salts wafting up his nose, Joe groggily opened his eyes. What he saw jolted him like he had jumper cables attached to his nipples.
“Joey. Can you hear me Joey?
His high school coach and trainer were standing above him. He felt around and felt damp Bermuda grass in between his fingers. Blurry lights came into focus and he realized where he was…
On his old high school football field 27 years ago.
He hopped instantly to his feet as the crowd roared. The coach and the trainer escorted him to the sideline, “That was one hell of a hit you took there, son. You really got your bell rung. But you’re gonna have to rub some dirt on it.”
Joe soaked in the sights and the sounds around him. He heard his high school fight song being mauled by the band. He looked around and saw the cheerleaders — young, thin and not as wrinkled as he last saw them — dancing happily on the track. He looked at the scoreboard and gasped for air. He was at THE game. The last game. He turned quickly and saw both his parents sitting in their reserved seats. They were alive!
Joe felt his eyes water immediately.
“Joey, get back in there!” the coach bellowed.
Joe grabbed his helmet and ran back out on the field. When he entered the huddle, he saw all his old teammates and began to address them one by one:
“Matt, you might want to avoid Sandy. You’re not going to like getting married at 18. Trust me.”
“Bill, there will be this new drug called Rogaine. Invest in it.”
“Jimmy, lay off the Ho Hos. Oh, that’s right, Ho Hos will go out of business. But not because you didn’t try to eat them all.”
Matt looked at his quarterback and said, “You OK, Joey? Did that hit screw with your head?”
Joe smiled. At least until he saw the last player run onto the field.
It was Chuck.
Chuck Patterson was his go-to wide receiver and best friend. In this game, on the very next play, Joe would throw Chuck a 54-yard pass and Chuck would make the most unbelievable catch in Yellow Jacket football history. A scout, who was in the stands to see Joe, would immediately offer Chuck a scholarship to the big State school. And while driving to the big State school, Chuck would die in a fiery car crash.
Joe’s eyes burned like Chuck’s Camaro.
“What’s the matter with you sissy boy?” Chuck taunted his friend. “It’s time to win this game. You and me, remember?”
Joe called the play and broke huddle. They lined up in formation and Chuck sprinted down the field.
Joe settled in the pocket and cocked his arm back. And just like he did the first time, he let it fly…
In the wrong direction.
The last thing Joe remembered was getting hit from behind by the other team’s Defensive end. He felt his head impact the hard turf and then the world went black.
“Wake up, sissy.”
Joe opened his eyes groggily. He looked around and was apparently in the hospital. His doctor’s voice said again, “You took a pretty hard lick. Haven’t seen anything quite like it since you got mauled in our last game.”
Joe’s eyes flew open wide and standing before him was Chuck, in a lab coat and holding an iPad.
“You’re a—alive….”
Chuck smiled, “Darn right I’m alive. And you’re lucky you’re alive, too. Your bride has been worried about you.”
“Amber?” Joe said weakly.
Yes, Amber. She sure does care about you, you know it? I don’t know why. She should have married me. ” Chuck laughed.
“You’re a doctor?”
“Yes, thanks to you. If not for that crazy-*ss bad pass you threw, I wouldn’t have gone to medical school. I owe you on that one, slick. Now, get some rest. Doctor’s orders. Your company needs its CEO back.”
Joe stared at this best friend for as long as his eyes would stay open. And as he faded off to sleep, he dreamed of the best worst pass he had ever thrown in his life.
