Chapter 57: King of Nickoll Field

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As the final seconds died, every Norman on the sideline rushed the field.

Thomas jumped and shouted near the boundary, as happy as a kid who had forgotten he was supposed to be an adult.

Nolan dropped into a slide on the grass, leaving three marks in the turf before his teammates swallowed him.

"That was a great game," the host said, voice almost cracking. "I do not use that word lightly. The crowd prayed in the final seconds, and Beverly Hills answered with a successful Hail Mary. More than seventy yards. Nolan Callahan found his man from an impossible distance."

"The camera crews better have that shot," Feldman said. "I refuse to accept a weekly highlight package without that play."

A Hail Mary was a quarterback’s last desperate throw at the end of a game. The success rate was so low that the name fit. You threw it, and then you prayed.

The camera issue mattered because the three crews on-site had limited setups. CIF’s lower-level broadcast agreements let regional stations decide which games were worth airing and pay by the game. BHHS had benefited from Santa Ana’s reputation and from a quiet window in the bigger football calendar.

But the Normans had won.

The stronger the opponent, the brighter the glory.

Every camera now pointed at Nolan.

He was lifted onto a teammate’s shoulders and carried around the field with one arm raised, receiving the roar of several thousand people. A few players even dropped into exaggerated kneeling poses, making him look less like a quarterback and more like the king of Nickoll Field.

Nobody could question his performance.

In the first half, he had almost single-handedly kept BHHS alive. He had made throw after throw under pressure. In the fourth quarter, he had very unfortunately knocked Santa Ana’s key player out of the game. Then, at the final moment, he had thrown a Hail Mary that would chase him for years.

"I am seeing a star rise," the host said on the broadcast. "Jim Brown, Joe Montana, Lawrence Taylor, Jerry Rice. I am not saying he belongs beside those names yet, but Nolan Callahan has the kind of flash that makes you start thinking of legends."

"He has won me over," Feldman said. "He stepped onto a football field near the end of the school year, and in less than two months, he has helped knock off a Southern California powerhouse. I am already thinking about what he can do on a bigger California stage."

"He is Beverly Hills’ pride tonight. Los Angeles will know him next. One day, maybe California."

The home announcer was the home announcer.

He was going to sell the moment as hard as he could.

In front of her television, Jennifer Love Hewitt reached into the chip bag and found nothing.

At some point, she had eaten the entire family-size bag.

She still did not truly understand football, but the game had been addictive. She had started in her chair, shifted to the bed, slid down to the floor, and now sat close to the screen, watching the close-up of the strong, handsome boy in the wet uniform.

She did not know much about the clubs at school beyond the music program, and even that was only because school had forced her into at least one activity.

Nolan Callahan.

She remembered the name.

The landline rang.

Jennifer answered. It was one of her school friends.

"How did the volleyball match go?" she asked, still watching Nolan on the screen.

"You lost? Oh. Well, get them next time."

She gave an awkward little laugh.

"The Aerosmith concert? What day? Your mom wants you to go? I think I have time. I should have time. Call me before then."

She listened.

"By the way, do you know where to find a tutor? Fine, never mind."

Another pause.

"What has been happening at school lately? Nolan Callahan? I know him. You are not going to believe this, but I am watching his game right now."

Jennifer smiled despite herself.

"Yes, he is handsome. I admit it."

The conversation drifted the way teenage conversations always drifted, from school to gossip to boys.

On television, Nolan finished his victory lap and got pulled into an interview by a reporter from ESPN’s high-school desk. The broadcast then cut to Thomas being interviewed by a pretty Prime Ticket field reporter.

"Third question," the male reporter said, adjusting his glasses. He had practically dragged Nolan out of the crowd. "Have you received any college offers yet?"

People packed around the camera.

Nolan had been surrounded after the last home game too. Tonight was worse.

"College offers?" Nolan said. "I am still a junior. Technically, after this summer I will be a senior."

"A rising senior. Incredible. I suspect several colleges will contact you before the summer ends and try to build a relationship early. Anything you want to say to viewers or magazine readers?"

The reporter held the microphone out again.

ESPN’s high-school desk had started from a magazine operation built around teenage sports coverage. Beyond that, several sports magazines covered high-school athletes, rankings, and recruiting, some with circulations in the hundreds of thousands.

ESPN itself had become one of the world’s most famous sports networks in only fifteen years. Nine years earlier, weekend NFL broadcasts had helped transform it from a smaller cable operation into the foundation of a sports-media empire. It was now tied to ABC and, in the future Nolan remembered, would be swallowed into Disney with it.

"I will keep working," Nolan said. "Keep grinding. See you at the top."

He meant it as a joke, but his eyes drifted to the right.

The Prime Ticket reporter interviewing Thomas had a very good profile from behind.

"Before the playoff draw, you told the Los Angeles Times you would beat Santa Ana," the reporter continued. "Tonight, you did it. What drove you to say that?"

"My school. My teammates. My coach. Every fan who supports us." Nolan sounded polished enough to be dangerous. "And, of course, my confidence in myself."

"Future goals? Are you aiming for the CIF Southern Section title?"

"Of course. We are not afraid of any challenge. Not just CIF. Any national invitational circuit that wants us, we will show up."

Several high-school football events existed in parallel or in invitation form, and the stronger BHHS looked, the more doors Thomas could try to open. Elite bowls, classic games, invitationals, showcases, regional matchups. The calendar could stretch from late summer deep into winter if a school had enough talent, ambition, and willingness to travel.

Nolan’s goal was simple.

Take everything.

"Last question," the reporter said. "The National High School Football All-Star Game hosted by High School Sports Magazine begins next week. Santa Ana’s Eric Barrera is now confirmed unable to participate."

"Confirmed?" Nolan asked.

"Yes. One of our crews checked with the medical center near the school. Eric has a wedge fracture in the lumbar spine and internal bleeding. He is done for the next season."

"I will pray for him," Nolan said with perfect fake sympathy.

In truth, not cursing him already felt generous.

"If you receive an invitation to next week’s All-Star Game, will you attend?"

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