After we had our doughnuts, we were whisked off to the stadium. Chip had a list of tailgate parties he was supposed to take us to, which turned out to be hosted by alumni boosters. The first one we stopped at was sponsored by a real estate company. Chip introduced me to the man throwing the party. When I shook the man’s hand, he palmed a hundred-dollar bill into mine.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said, pretending to pick up the bill. “I think this is yours.”
I wanted it to be clear that I wasn’t willing to take money to come to Michigan State. I was also a little annoyed that he thought a hundred dollars would get the job done. I had read where this was a common practice at a lot of universities. Of course, Michigan State and all the other universities had no idea that this was going on. The article I’d read said that many of the players appreciated the ‘hundred-dollar handshake.’ If you were poor and only received a scholarship, you didn’t have any pocket money. That was one reason the Northwestern football team had tried to unionize. College football was a big business, and everybody but the players made money on it.
“Consider it found money,” he told me.
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t. I care too much about my eligibility.”
“Then give it to your girlfriend,” the man suggested.
Cassidy had no such qualms and snatched the hundred-dollar bill out of my hand. It was probably a good thing her dad wasn’t paying attention. I think Chip was listening because there were no more offers of money made the rest of the day. Cassidy, on the other hand, admitted she made over $500. I wondered if the other guys had been offered money.
◊◊◊
We finally met up with the rest of the guys. I could tell my teammates liked Michigan State so far. When we walked into the stadium, it was almost twice as big as Northwestern’s. Spartan Stadium held 75,000 people and was sold out because this was a clash of two top-ten teams. Last year, Oregon had won their game and established themselves as the legitimate number 1 team in the land. Of course, their star quarterback had departed as the second one taken in the NFL Draft. This year, with home-field advantage, Michigan State was a four-and-a-half point favorite. They featured what many thought was the number 1 quarterback prospect in college football. I expected a good game.
While the teams were warming up, Brandon got a text.
“Come on, we need to take a walk,” he told me.
I was curious because I had no idea what Brandon was up to. I followed him through the stadium, and we were met by a guy in an Oregon polo shirt who must have been one of their student support staff. He got us on the field and, we wandered over to the Oregon side and ‘bumped’ into Coach Malinowski, their quarterback coach.
“I heard a rumor that you were here. I saw you had a heck of a game last night,” he said in greeting.
Brandon had told me Oregon had sent a coach to watch the game last night.
“Thanks. We did okay, but we have a bunch of stuff we need to work on,” I said.
“While you’re here, would you like to meet a few people?”
“I really shouldn’t. I don’t want to mess up my visit with Michigan State. Good luck today,” I offered, and we started back to our seats.
“Why’d we do that?” I asked Brandon.
“Because they need to know you’re serious about possibly going there. There are also only a few schools that have turned out first-round quarterback prospects in the last few years. I’m just keeping your options open.”
I wasn’t sure if deliberately bumping into them was a sound plan. Brandon and I would need to talk about that when we got home.
◊◊◊
The Oregon/Michigan State game was everything it had been built up to be. Oregon’s new quarterback stepped into his first game and performed well. He threw two early interceptions, but then seemed to settle into the job. Michigan State’s quarterback could have been better, in my opinion. His footwork was lousy on a few plays, especially when he was flushed from the pocket, but he led them to a 31–28 victory.
After the game, we received a tour of the athletic facilities and met with our potential position coaches. Then we took a tour of the campus. Alan, the Wesleyan girls, and I met with representatives of their Honors College. You had to be in the top five percent of your high school class and receive at least a 30 on your ACT or a 1360 on your SAT critical reading and math sections to even qualify. I wasn’t really interested until they explained the benefits: you didn’t have to take the standard curricular requirements, and you had smaller-sized classes that went into more depth. The courses were also all taught by professors so I wouldn’t get stuck with a grad student teaching my classes. I would receive comprehensive advisor services from both faculty in my major and Honors College staff. I would also get priority registration. There were other perks, but I would at least consider the Honors College.
Chip wanted to take me to a party at his fraternity, but I begged off. I ended up spending the evening with all the parents and Cassidy. We went to a nice dinner and then to a concert the Michigan State Jazz Band put on.
◊◊◊
When we got back to the hotel, I saw my cell phone had received several calls over the last half hour. I’d left it on the charger. I listened to the first message from Harper and went searching for Cassidy and Coach Hope. I found them in their hotel room.
“I need your help,” I started when they let me in. “One of my friends from Wesleyan went to a fraternity party and is missing. They think she’s been taken to a room by one of the fraternity members and they can’t get upstairs to look.”
We ran downstairs and to the parking garage. Coach Hope opened the trunk of his car and pulled out two metal batons which were about two feet long with leather grips. He handed one to Cassidy.
“Don’t I get one?” I asked.
“No. You can really hurt someone without proper training. Cassidy will only use the appropriate amount of force,” Coach Hope explained.
Cassidy reached into their bag, pulled out some industrial-strength-looking zip-ties, and handed them to me.
“In case we have to tie them up,” she said, as if this was something she and her dad did all the time.
I decided to just put them in my pocket. I would have to reevaluate little Cassidy some other time.
We got into the car and drove to the fraternity house. It looked like a run-down version of the frat in Animal House. Waiting for us out front were the Wesleyan girls and all my teammates. When I got out of the car, Lisa ran up to me.
“They have Missy! You have to help me get her back,” she said, worried for her twin.
“The three of us are going in. You stay here, is that understood?” Coach told the guys. “If the situation gets out of hand, call the police.”
I followed Cassidy and her dad into the house. There was a serious party going on. Everyone seemed like they were having a good time. We saw the stairs across the party.
“Make a hole!” Coach barked.
When a Marine, even one that’s retired, tells you to move, you move, no matter how drunk you are. There are just some things that you don’t mess with. When we got to the foot of the stairs, one of the fraternity brothers stepped in front of Coach Hope.
“Fraternity members only allowed upstairs,” he said.
I thought Cassidy was dangerous. It happened so fast I wasn’t sure what I witnessed. All of a sudden the kid was on his knees with his arms behind him. Coach Hope looked at me, and I pulled out a zip-tie and tied it around his wrists. I got down in his face so he could hear me as I pulled out my iPhone and found a picture of Missy.
“Do you know where this girl is?” I asked.
“Screw you! You don’t know who you’re messing with,” he blustered.
Cassidy made one of her martial-arts moves where she finds a pressure point. Believe me, it hurts. After he had stopped twitching, the frat brother looked more cooperative.