Page 80 of Dirty Filthy Boy
Chapter 24
Ty
"READ ALL ABOUT IT, LADIES!" Ryan Taylor struts into the Outlaws' locker room, carrying an armful of newspapers. There must be thirty of them in his hand.
"What you talking about, man?" one of the linebackers asks.
"My article inThe Chicago Chronicle. It came out this morning. Grabbed a bunch of copies so you could read all about me."
"Did that rookie reporter write the piece? The one who wrote about Ron and Mad Dog?" someone asks. After the articles of Todd and Mad Dog had given the Outlaws such great publicity and shed such positive light on the players, some of the Outlaws had clamored to be interviewed by MacKenna. But she'd only signed up to interview the four of us—Ron, Mad Dog, Ryan and me. Until next season. Maybe then she would interview more players.
"The very same one."
A defensive back grabs a copy. "Wish she'd write about me."
Ryan pounds him on the back. "If you ever do anything anybody wanted to read about, she will."
The back who outweighs Ryan by at least a hundred pounds shoves him. "Buzz off."
"Ah, the price of glory. Jealous, are you?"
"Jealous? Of you?" He snorts. "I crap bigger than you."
Ignoring the insult, Ryan continues passing out the newspapers, whether the players want them or not. The article must have been positive if he's crowing about it.
"So who's the next player to be interviewed?" a player asks.
"Ty, isn't it?" someone else says.
"Listen to this." One of the special teams players, holds up the newspaper and reads. 'Ryan Taylor has the best record of any kicker in the league this season. With thirty six goals to his credit, this future Hall of Famer is an outstanding asset to the Chicago Outlaws and one of the reasons for the team's winning games.'
Can't fault MacKenna for that statement. As far as Ryan's professional career is concerned, he almost never misses. He definitely has the knack for kicking field goals.
"That's right. That's right." Ryan struts up to me. "Of course, I'm sure my magic tongue had something to do with it. That rookie reporter's hot for me."
"You son of a bitch." I swing at him, clipping him on the jaw. I fall on him and we roll on the floor trading punches. The locker room erupts with players trying to pry me off him. I get one more last punch to his gut, before I'm stopped cold.
"Mathews," Coach Gronowski yells. "My office."
"Man, you're in trouble now," one of the second string safeties says.
"Shut it." I bark at him.
I follow Coach to his office. As soon as I walk in, he slams shut the door. "Park your butt in that chair."
He takes his time circling the desk, picking up a paper. Signatures moves that tell me he's trying to calm down. I expect more yelling, but he surprises me. "How's the shoulder?"
I roll it and bite back a wince. "Fine."
"You sure about that?" Eagle-eye Gronowski hasn't missed a thing in fifteen years of coaching. He's not about to start now.
Still, I lie. "Yeah, I'm sure."
"Sure you are. If you got hurt, you'd be out just as we're about to make the playoffs. So why did you take a swing at him?"
I jam my arms across my chest. "He said something I didn't like."
"It's that rookie reporter, isn't it?"
