A bell jingles furiously in the stands. Whistles from the crowd multiply upon each other, while the voices on the sideline cry out hoarsely beneath soiled face masks.
“One more play!”
Four seconds remain in Nazareth Academy’s upset bid against No. 1 Joliet Catholic. It is Nazareth’s final game of 2005–a theoretical mismatch against the most respected acronym in Illinois high school football, mighty JCA, winner of 27 in a row.
For a week, the Roadrunners have convinced themselves that the improbable is achievable.
Four seconds remain in that week. Nazareth has possession near midfield. Scratchy sideline chatter cuts through the bracing night air.
“One more play, `O’!”
The scoreboard reads Joliet Catholic 43, Nazareth 16.
There is one more snap left.
The week begins
A crisp Sunday morning finds Tim Racki waiting, appropriately, under a scaffold. The school is receiving a facelift, but Racki also is a foreman, only without the backhoes.
He is a 37-year-old live wire, Oakley sunglasses resting on a hat turned backward, in his first year reconstructing what once was a consistent contender. In the last four years, Nazareth and the Private School League parted ways, former coach Dennis Moran retired and Racki arrived from Driscoll Catholic, leaving four straight state titles for a school with two wins in two seasons.
At 8:15 a.m. he is back on site, a day after Nazareth thumped Benet 33-10 for its third victory.
“Boy,” Racki sighs, “did we need that one.”
What he needs now is a plan for the thunderstorm that is Joliet Catholic, a team ranked No. 1 by the Tribune and fourth nationally by USA Today.
Inside his office Racki’s assistants crowd a table littered with fast-food containers. Racki highlights names on a roster to clarify who’s injured and who’s not. The problem is not so much what to do against the Hilltoppers, it’s whom to do it with.
Reviewing two JCA game films over the next four hours leads to this strategy: Devise a simplified, run-resistant plan for the limited defensive personnel. Offensively, exploit a shaky secondary and add two-back run-game wrinkles.
And hope that Joliet Catholic, which has film on every Nazareth game, suffers from information overload.
“I’m telling you, they’re going to overprepare,” assistant Dan Paplaczyk cracks, flashing a double thumbs-up. “We got ’em.”
As is his Monday custom, Racki patrols the cafeteria to gauge the mood of his team. He likes what he hears.
Joliet Catholic barely edged St. Patrick on Saturday night. Nazareth nearly upended St. Pat’s–it gave up three scores in the last 6 minutes 10 seconds of a 47-42 loss–so the players conclude they have reason for hope.
“Not that we didn’t believe already,” defensive end Zach Karstens says, “but when something like that happens, that just reaffirms the fact that, any given Friday . . . “
The crutches bow out at 45-degree angles under Steve Gray’s arms.
“They’re not even mine,” he says, tossing them aside.
Ambling out to practice this Monday, he trails bad news. On Oct. 1, Gray suffered a partially torn medial collateral ligament. Today an orthopedist refused to clear him to play in his last career game.
Gray is the prototypical football player in the way that Barney Fife is the prototypical SWAT team captain. He is a 5-foot-8-inch, 165-pound linebacker, yet he is the pulse of Nazareth, a guy who talks about “the attitude” with which he arrives at the ball. For the first time since the 4th grade, he watches from the sideline.
So why is Steve Gray smiling?
“I want to try to get back and at least practice, and see if maybe I can play one more game,” Gray says. “The doctors said, `Probably not.’ But I want to try one more time, and we’re going to figure out if that’s possible.”
The doctors have not run tests for pathological determination. Normally a struggling speechwriter, Gray needed but an hour to pen a reflection for the previous week’s team prayer service. Now the kid who was always too small wants this chance against the biggest.
“I mean, what can you say about that school?” Gray says of Joliet Catholic. “That’s the one game I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Whatever happens, I can say I played Joliet Catholic. That’s exactly why I’m doing whatever it takes to get back on the field.”
About 10 p.m. Monday, Racki receives a phone call.
Bob Gray, Steve’s father, says his son can play against doctor’s orders. In a noisy cafeteria Tuesday, Racki grabs Steve Gray’s shoulder and breaks into a 50-kilowatt grin.
“Why are you smiling?” Gray asks.
“I didn’t think you had a chance,” Racki replies.
“Neither did I,” Gray says, laughing.
In an otherwise silent film session, one name rings out.
“Charlie Haaaaaayyyyyes!”
There is a pause.
“Did Chuck just call out his own name?” assistant Casey Moran asks.
So it goes for Nazareth’s top receiver, the guy who wears a tank top that reads “Divine Infamy” under his game jersey. Guilty until proven innocent.
“That was Chris Beedie, the guy next to me,” Hayes explains. “He goes, `Every time you catch a ball, I’m yelling [your name].’ I’m like, `OK.’ Then all the coaches turn and look at me. I felt so stupid. I’m not going to call my own name out.”
A chair momentarily imprisons him in Nazareth’s main hall. Back and forth he rocks, legs bouncing.
Hayes is a 6-5, 190-pound raw nerve, but he has accounted for 34 catches, 589 yards and five touchdowns this season. He is one Roadrunner who can claim legitimately to match up physically with Joliet Catholic, and he is, according to Racki, the team’s “inspiration.”
“Some people get really depressed, thinking, `Oh, I’ve got to go to practice for three hours,'” Hayes says. “I actually like it. I get to let out more energy I store up sitting here all day. I get to go crazy if I want.”
Talk about crazy: Two years ago, in his varsity debut, Hayes was terrified against Joliet Catholic. Now he says things like: “I don’t see them as anything special. I know they have an awesome record, but we’re all the same. We’re just guys playing football.”
He is asked if maybe he’s one of the few who think that way.
“Probably,” he says, smiling.
The sun sets Tuesday, and Steve Gray finishes his first practice back without the leg falling off. And short of that, it doesn’t look like he will miss Friday.
“Stevie Gray–how does it feel?” asks Rob Wassilak, Nazareth’s trainer.
“Good,” Gray replies. “Gonna ice it tonight. We’ll see what happens.”
Then linebacker Wally Strzekpa asks the pressing question of the day.
“Would it help,” he interjects, “if I kicked him in the leg?”
Quarterback Dario Sierra? Replaced the 2004 conference co-offensive player of the year.
Rodney Payton? Forced to play receiver, tailback, safety, returner . . . while telling everyone he’s not sure if he’s related to You Know Who.
Karstens? The National Honor Society president, as concerned with college accounting programs as he is with a game.
They and some 40 others practice on uneven grass that Racki hopes to exchange someday for artificial turf. They practice in the shadow of a press box that Racki sees replaced someday by a multitiered brick structure.
They are the ones who think they have a shot. Not someday.
“You go through it the last two years playing them, you don’t come out very successful,” Sierra says. “But I think a lot more people have faith in us to do something against them this year.”
Aiming to avoid another lackluster Wednesday practice, Racki embarks on a three-hour roar:
“We gotta get off the ball! Everybody!”
“It’s gotta be faster! Put yourself in Friday night!
“Speed, speed and more speed!”
Afterward, the Roadrunners gather for a surprise: a season highlight video, spliced with clips from movies like “Braveheart” and “Rocky” and music from AC/DC and, to the amusement of all, Queen.
The most resonant moment is the first: Herb Brooks’ speech from the movie “Miracle” to the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team before its legendary semifinal game against the unparalleled Russian team.
“Great moments . . . are born from great opportunity,” Brooks tells his wide-eyed underdogs. “And that’s what you have here tonight, boys. That’s what you’ve earned here tonight. One game. If we played ’em 10 times, they might win nine. But not this game. Not tonight.”
Four hours before Friday’s kickoff, the Roadrunners enter chapel for their pregame prayer service. They sit in a circle, stoically, light bleeding through stained-glass windows. Racki brought the tradition from Driscoll. It’s a group reflection prepared by players, four of whom meet weekly with campus minister Rosemary Caragher.
This week’s theme? A Vince Lombardi article titled “What It Takes To Be No. 1.”
“This team seems to be motivated through their heart,” Caragher says.
The players abandon a one-man reflection and instead thank Racki en masse with a signed bronze football. One by one they stand, lay a hand on the gift and affirm their commitment.
Says Pat Moore, a senior, his voice barely audible above the whir of the chapel’s air system: “You’ve shown me we can be more successful than I ever thought we could be.”
Campers for tailgating, a dance team that outnumbers the visitors, Limp Bizkit blaring from a locker room . . . Joliet Catholic awaits.
Yet Nazareth is loose, smiling, laughing. In the locker room, defensive lineman and zaftig 5-11, 265-pound Stephen Falakos jokes with assistant Bob Lamantia about white uniforms being slimming.
Racki gathers his troops in the back of a room of ripe air. He uses none of his notes. If he wants them to play from the heart, he says, he must speak from the heart.
“Forty-eight minutes,” he says, his voice and face strained with emotion. “If you didn’t have it in you, I wouldn’t be asking you.”
Nazareth receives the opening kickoff. Offensive coordinator Brendan Curtin decides to test Joliet Catholic and go downfield on the first play. It is as good a strategy as any as twilight turns the sky a rich indigo.
On the snap, Sierra drops back, pumps once, heaves the pass.
It lands in Hayes’ hands. Thirty-five yards. First down, Nazareth.
The sideline explodes.
“They’re not ready!” come the cries. “They’re not ready!”
But the drive stalls at the 21-yard line. The teams exchange turnovers on downs. On its second possession, Nazareth comes up worse than empty.
On the first play of the series, Hayes’ left ankle rolls under him on a short catch. He hears a pop.
He knows instantly his night is over.
It does not get better. Nazareth fails on a fourth-and-12. On the next snap, Joe Benson runs 70 yards for a Joliet Catholic touchdown. The sideline goes mute. The floodgates open.
At halftime: Joliet Catholic 30, Nazareth 8.
“We are giving them the opportunities,” Racki says calmly during the break. “They’re not beating us. We’re giving it to them.”
The Hilltoppers’ speed was impossible to simulate. Suturing the defense won’t erase the touchdowns on the board. Besides the first drive, the offense has struggled without Hayes.
On crutches, the senior trails his team back to the field. A fellow injured teammate says, well, he doesn’t know what to say.
“Yeah, me neither,” Hayes replies.
Nazareth slows the hosts, but Joliet Catholic builds a 35-point lead in the second half. There will be no miracle this night.
Yet four seconds remain in Racki’s 48 minutes. Four reasons to continue, the crowd buffeting the Roadrunners, the sideline exhorting them.
Sierra drops back and lofts the ball high toward the end zone.
It falls into the arms of a Joliet Catholic defender. The four seconds vanish.
Later in the south end zone, Racki reminds the players of how far they’ve come from losing to JCA 103-0 combined the last two seasons. After a prayer, the team lingers in hugs and handshakes. Gray, a thick brace on his left knee, made it through the entire game, his uniform a patchwork of grass stains.
“It would’ve been awesome to win, right?” he says. “But we wanted to come in here and show who we are. We might not have won, but hopefully there will be many wins in the future.”
Later in the locker room, Hayes has crutches under his arms and a grin on his face. His chance to impress the scouts, his last opportunity to suit up for Nazareth–all imploded with an errant turn of his ankle.
So why is Chuck Hayes smiling?
“The rest of these guys . . . when I see their faces, it makes me happy,” he says. “I’m upset that I didn’t play, don’t get me wrong. I thought it was going to be a big game.
“But seeing them now, happy–I’m just glad I’m on the team.”
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bchamilton@tribune.com
