style. “Hawk talks about hockey a lot.”
She was once again emulating her dad, and again got her way.
With a crackle of static, Hawk’s booming vocals filled the Cherokee, “Welcome back for the last half hour of the Hawk on Sports show. Before I get back to the Yankee game from last night, I got a good story for you, Art.”
Art’s job description seemed to be to agree with Hawk at all times and laugh at his attempts at humor. He also sounded like he might’ve had one too many cocktails before the show.
“What’s that Hawk?”
“I’m at a birthday party Sunday afternoon at my neighbor’s house.”
“You were at a birthday party on the opening week of NFL?”
“Don’t even go there, Art,” Hawk said and boomed a laugh. “Thank God for TiVo. Anyway, I run into this guy who I recognize, but can’t place him. Finally it hits me like a ton of bricks. Who you think it is?”
“Not a real man. A real man would be home in his recliner with a beer and a remote, watching the NFL package.”
“You’re cruising for a bruising, Art,” Hawk said and laughed again, “It was Billy Harper. You know, the Amish Rifle.”
“Ohio State Billy Harper? The guy who led the comeback against Michigan like a hundred years ago?”
Billy tried to change the station, but Dana grabbed his hand, suddenly interested.
“The one and only,” Hawk continued. Billy could feel him smirking right through the radio.
“Remember when he quit the next year because he was so interested in his education and that evil university—you know, the one paying for his fifty-thousand-dollar a year education with his football scholarship—was keeping little Billy from doing his biology homework?”
“I do.”
“You would guess such an educated man would be running a major corporation or curing a disease, right? What do you think Billy Harper is doing with himself these days?”
Art laughed. “This must be good.”
“Billy Harper, the one-time Rose Bowl MVP, was dressed in an Elmo costume working the party.”
“Ouch,” Art said like it physically pained him.
Billy felt Dana’s grip loosen on his hand. Probably to allow him to turn the station and maintain the little dignity he had left. But that’s when Art said it.
“Wow, the last I heard that name was when we used to do that feature called Arrested Athlete of the Day . If I recall correctly, he beat his wife up real good. Pretty ugly stuff.”
“I forgot about that,” Hawk recalled, his tone glazed with epiphany. “If half these athletes could hit the ball as good as they hit their wives, they’d be in the Hall of Fame.”
“And then when we tried to get his mug shot to put up on the website for our Hall of Shame the next day, the police acted like I was crazy. No mug shot, no police report, nothing. It was if it never happened,” Art said.
“Typical pampered athlete using his fame and privilege to cover things up. If that was you or I, Art, we’d be auditioning to be somebody’s girlfriend up at Rikers Island.”
Art continued with his inebriated laughter. “Maybe it wasn’t an Elmo suit. Maybe it was a prison jumpsuit and the party was his community service.”
They both had a good laugh at Billy’s expense, before moving on to yelling about the Yankees. Billy flipped off the radio so hard he thought he broke the knob.
Carolyn didn’t even know his last name was Harper, so she didn’t associate the two. But Dana was another story. She pulled away from Billy so sharply he thought she might leap right out the door.
Billy wasn’t going to defend himself, even though Dana’s silence wasn’t of the innocent until proven guilty variety. He was determined to leave the past where he felt it belonged.
Carolyn was anything but silent when they arrived at the marina. She barricaded herself in the backseat and loudly announced that she didn’t want to go. Her mood had done a complete nosedive.
“C’mon, Carolyn, we have to say goodbye to Great
She was once again emulating her dad, and again got her way.
With a crackle of static, Hawk’s booming vocals filled the Cherokee, “Welcome back for the last half hour of the Hawk on Sports show. Before I get back to the Yankee game from last night, I got a good story for you, Art.”
Art’s job description seemed to be to agree with Hawk at all times and laugh at his attempts at humor. He also sounded like he might’ve had one too many cocktails before the show.
“What’s that Hawk?”
“I’m at a birthday party Sunday afternoon at my neighbor’s house.”
“You were at a birthday party on the opening week of NFL?”
“Don’t even go there, Art,” Hawk said and boomed a laugh. “Thank God for TiVo. Anyway, I run into this guy who I recognize, but can’t place him. Finally it hits me like a ton of bricks. Who you think it is?”
“Not a real man. A real man would be home in his recliner with a beer and a remote, watching the NFL package.”
“You’re cruising for a bruising, Art,” Hawk said and laughed again, “It was Billy Harper. You know, the Amish Rifle.”
“Ohio State Billy Harper? The guy who led the comeback against Michigan like a hundred years ago?”
Billy tried to change the station, but Dana grabbed his hand, suddenly interested.
“The one and only,” Hawk continued. Billy could feel him smirking right through the radio.
“Remember when he quit the next year because he was so interested in his education and that evil university—you know, the one paying for his fifty-thousand-dollar a year education with his football scholarship—was keeping little Billy from doing his biology homework?”
“I do.”
“You would guess such an educated man would be running a major corporation or curing a disease, right? What do you think Billy Harper is doing with himself these days?”
Art laughed. “This must be good.”
“Billy Harper, the one-time Rose Bowl MVP, was dressed in an Elmo costume working the party.”
“Ouch,” Art said like it physically pained him.
Billy felt Dana’s grip loosen on his hand. Probably to allow him to turn the station and maintain the little dignity he had left. But that’s when Art said it.
“Wow, the last I heard that name was when we used to do that feature called Arrested Athlete of the Day . If I recall correctly, he beat his wife up real good. Pretty ugly stuff.”
“I forgot about that,” Hawk recalled, his tone glazed with epiphany. “If half these athletes could hit the ball as good as they hit their wives, they’d be in the Hall of Fame.”
“And then when we tried to get his mug shot to put up on the website for our Hall of Shame the next day, the police acted like I was crazy. No mug shot, no police report, nothing. It was if it never happened,” Art said.
“Typical pampered athlete using his fame and privilege to cover things up. If that was you or I, Art, we’d be auditioning to be somebody’s girlfriend up at Rikers Island.”
Art continued with his inebriated laughter. “Maybe it wasn’t an Elmo suit. Maybe it was a prison jumpsuit and the party was his community service.”
They both had a good laugh at Billy’s expense, before moving on to yelling about the Yankees. Billy flipped off the radio so hard he thought he broke the knob.
Carolyn didn’t even know his last name was Harper, so she didn’t associate the two. But Dana was another story. She pulled away from Billy so sharply he thought she might leap right out the door.
Billy wasn’t going to defend himself, even though Dana’s silence wasn’t of the innocent until proven guilty variety. He was determined to leave the past where he felt it belonged.
Carolyn was anything but silent when they arrived at the marina. She barricaded herself in the backseat and loudly announced that she didn’t want to go. Her mood had done a complete nosedive.
“C’mon, Carolyn, we have to say goodbye to Great
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