Post Northwestern

            I was sitting in my office, contemplating the nature of 'Hafgufa', or kraken, or octopuses. The sky was clear and the leaves, performing their annual death-march, were a riot of reds and browns , gradually giving up their holds and yielding to gravity's inevitable embrace.

            Hafgufa intruded into my thoughts as I gradually pieced together memories from my last couple of encounters with Mrs. DuMont. In addition to the 'morale, welfare, and recreation' division of the group, she had explained how their highly capable team of legal gunslingers was on call, at a moment's notice, to aid a player in legal trouble.

            "Some things are inevitably going to make it into the papers," he explained to me. "With as much scrutiny as the athletes are under, we can't contain 100% of the issues that arise, but we can mitigate, or even erase some of them."

            "Really?" I asked, incredulously. "The stuff like the Peters brothers, the gun in the coach's desk, and Lawrence Phillips happen and your group 'handles it'. Sorry if I'm not buying in on that one, your Ladyship."

            "Lawrence Phillips was the reason our legal branch came into being. The series of unfortunate incidents that led to players getting into trouble, giving the team and the University a black eye, is why we now have a legal branch. When was the last time you heard about a player getting into serious trouble?"

            "What was it? Last year, the two that got busted stealing bikes?"

            "That's right. Penny-ante misdemeanor theft. Spin a nice, 'good deed goes punished' story for the media and the public quickly moves on. You have to give them something, to distract them from the real efforts to keep the kids out of trouble."

            "I don't get it," I said. "just how did you keep those two out of trouble?"

            Mrs. DuMont smiled a genuine, though slightly disturbing, smile. "We didn't. If you want a clearer example of our work, look at the beginning of this season. Five players suspended, one player for two games, for 'violation of team rules'. Without completely unraveling the work of our excellent men and women in suits, a couple of those guys would be facing time in courts and jail, had we not intervened."

            "Are you telling me, that you've got the juice to make criminal acts fade into the woodwork as team discipline issues?"

            "That's exactly what I'm telling you. We even have the juice, as you put it, to make issues disappear completely."

            I must have looked confused and at a loss for words, which doesn't happen too often, since Mrs. Dumont laughed at me and said, "Don't strain yourself, Deary. It's true, and it can boggle the mind, but it is just one of the services we provide for the student-athlete. One last thing, please note how rarely, if ever, any of the girls get into trouble. They commit acts of villainy, too, but you never, ever, hear about them."

            I was forcible evicted from my memory stroll by Lloyd crashing into my office. I had to feel for the poor guy, the season was really wearing on him. He was starting to doubt himself and his loyalty to the team.

            "Hey man," I said to him. "Grab a seat, take a load off. I've got coffee, or the desk bottle is here if you need it."

            He slumped into ratty-assed old couch I have along one wall. It doesn't look like much, but it's great for comforting distraught clients, grabbing a nap when time permits, and every once in a while, building a fort.

            "I'm so close to being done," he said, quietly. "Losing in the last minute? Fine. You had them, and you let them get away. This one, you never really had them. Sure, you had the lead, even in the fourth quarter, but you never really had them."

            I opened the desk drawer and got the bottle out. I needed it more than Lloyd. "Break it down for me. Did they get their asses just handed to them?"

            "No. Northwestern was not clearly superior."

            "Did they get out-coached?"

            "No. Not really. The offense did enough to win, and the defense, except for a few break-down type big plays, did well enough."

            "Then it comes down to making the plays. Did they make more of the plays that counted?"

            "Yes, or rather we didn't make the plays we needed to. Too many dropped passes. Too many missed assignments. Too many injuries to overcome the horrible lack of depth, we have."

            "And don't forget", I said, "How that pick-6 by Tommy just sucked the life out of the stadium."

            "Arrrgh. Don't I know it," Lloyd fumed. "You're down by 2, driving pretty well. It's third down, the play breaks down, and Tommy forces a bad pass. A lot of people say Tommy had bad mechanics. I say the worst of his mechanics start between his ears."

            "Ouch," I mock winced. "The juice just stopped. After that pick, the crowd just kind of sat there, the rest of the game. Every time the crowd got an opportunity to get back in it, Northwestern would get a big play that sucked the air out, again."

            "Exactly. Score a touchdown cut it to 14-12, right before the half, and you get the ball the start the second half. 20 seconds left, back on their own 40, what happens? Big run by the Q-B, all the way to inside the five. Should have scored a touchdown, we got lucky and they had to settle for a field goal, 17-12, the damage was done, though."

            "Yep," I agreed. Even after taking the lead, late in the game, the crowd was dead, anxious, apprehensive."

            "As well they should be!" Lloyd exclaimed. "There is zero confidence in this team, right now. Even last week, against Minnesota, up by 20 in the fourth quarter, the mumblers were mumbling about how they were going to 'piss another one away'. A one-possession game in the fourth quarter? No way is this team winning that."

            I wanted to still urge patience to Lloyd, but I knew he wouldn't listen. I keep waiting for the team to find the string to the basement light bulb, but they keep flailing away, none of the parts meshing as they should. About the only positive is that they are still flailing for the string, not curled up in a ball, sobbing, waiting for daylight to make it all end.