Darryl shook his head and glanced at Cameron. “Hold on a minute,” he said and walked down the hallway the boy had come through. Cameron exhaled, glad for the distraction.
He faced the boy, who was looking him up and down like a talent scout. “Are you the reporter?” he asked.
I am,” Cameron said. “I am the reporter.”
“I thought you were supposed to be a girl.”
“I’m filling in for her,” Cameron said.
“Dad looked pretty mad. What did you do?”
Cameron cleared his throat. “Brought up something sensitive, I guess.”
The boy nodded his head. “He gets mad something, but don’t worry. He gets over it pretty quick.”
“Marcus,” came Darryl’s voice from the hallway, and his son turned just in time to catch the white bottle of sun block his father threw him. “Next time look for more than two seconds, buddy.” Marcus smiled and, with a last glance at Cameron, started to run towards the sliding glass doors visible at the back of the house until Darryl’s reprimand of “And don’t run in the house” slowed his pace.
Darryl looked at Cameron. “You want something to drink?” he asked. Before Cameron could respond, Darryl was already walking away. Cameron followed him down the hall and took a right into the kitchen. It was what he would have expected: white tile, stainless steel appliances and spotless countertops. The one outlier was a large wooden table that looked like a family heirloom. Darryl gestured towards it, and Cameron took a seat. Darryl took out two bottles of water from the silver refrigerator and handed one to Cameron as he took out two bottles of water from the silver refrigerator and handed one to Cameron as he took a seat across from him.
“Sorry about that,” Darryl said. “Going off on you. And the third degree before that. Before we moved here, we had people snooping around, trying to get pictures and that sort of thing. Can’t be too careful.”
Cameron took a sip of his water. “I understand,” he said. “Do you want to get this interview started?”
Darryl nodded, and Cameron began, opting not to stray from the pre-written questions his editor had approved. What was it like to come back to Mississippi after all of these years? Was he excited about the offensive coordinator job at Ole Miss? Darryl responded with prepared answers. It was good to come back home now that he had a family. Yes, everyone at the school was great, and this team looked like winners. Cameron was making notes while Darryl distractedly drummed his fingers on the table.
“This’ll be off the record, but go ahead, kid,” he said. “Let’s talk about what you really want to hear.”
“What?” Cameron asked. He was getting ready to wrap up, disappointed by how mundane meeting one of his idols was and still angry at himself for slipping up earlier.
“Super Bowl XXXVIII,” Darryl said. “The last game I ever played. The one I lost.”
Cameron found his mouth drying again, this time out of excitement instead of fear. Darryl Carter had never given an interview about that game before; he refused to answer questions about it. Cameron started to stumble for words, until Darryl shook his head and cut him off.
“Slow down, son,” he said, “before I change my mind. How about we start by you telling me everything you know about it.”
Cameron exhaled. “Well,” said, “it was 2004. Your last game and the first Super Bowl appearance in Lions history. You were down by six, it was the fourth quarter with thirty seconds left, and you had first and goal right at the one yard line. Delarouse handed the ball off to you and…”
Darryl nodded. “Right so far. Go ahead and finish.”
Cameron shook his head. “The Broncos had a killer offense but a weak d-line. Everyone in that stadium knew you were going to power through and win that thing.”
Darryl had emptied his bottle of water and laid it horizontally, idly spinning it in circles. “It would have been like in a movie,” he said. “One of the greatest running backs of all time uses the last play he runs in his professional career to win his and his team’s first Super Bowl.”
“You didn’t try to go through the tackles, though,” Cameron said. “Instead, you cut left, and a safety knocked the ball out of your hand. Another one recovered it, and they kneeled for a win.”
“Yeah,” Darryl said. “Sounds like you’ve done your homework.”
“I remember seeing it happen,” Cameron said.
About John Hendren
