Last Shot by John Feinstein Read Free Book Online Page B

the same direction. That gave Stevie an idea.
    “Let’s walk down here,” he said. “I want to end up in the Minnesota State locker room, but we can explore down this way first.”
    Susan Carol shrugged. “What exactly are you looking for?”
    “Don’t know,” Stevie said. “Just trying to find something no one else is going to have. I don’t think I’m going to find anything like that around here.”
    She nodded in agreement and they started down the hall. There was no one around the Minnesota State locker room except for—of course—the usual gaggle of security people and a man wearing a suit sitting in a golf cart. He was carrying a walkie-talkie.
    “Team not here yet?” Stevie asked the guy in the golf cart.
    “Any minute,” he answered pleasantly. “We just got word their bus is pulling into the parking lot.”
    Stevie noticed the credential dangling around his neck. It had a big “AA” on it, and “All Access” under that in case there was any doubt about what it meant.
    “Do you work for the NCAA?” Stevie asked.
    The man laughed. “Hardly. My name’s Roger Valdiserri. I used to be the SID at Notre Dame. I’m just helping out with the media this weekend.”
    He had a friendly smile and he put out his hand as he introduced himself.
    “I’m Stevie Thomas,” Stevie said, forgetting that he was supposed to be Steve in the adult world. “This is Susan Carol Anderson.”
    “Oh yes,” Roger Valdiserri said. “You’re the contest winners. I read about you guys. Congratulations. You having fun?”
    They both nodded. “What’s the golf cart for?” Stevie asked.
    “As soon as Coach Graber gets here, I pop him and his two players on here”—he reached out to pat the two seats in the back that faced away from the driver—“and get them down to the interview room. You guys might have noticed it’s a pretty good walk from here.”
    “So Chip Graber will be riding on your golf cart in a few minutes?” Susan Carol asked.
    “I would assume he’ll be one of the two players going to the interview room,” Valdiserri said. “You want me to try to get you an autograph?”
    Susan Carol stood up very straight as if she had just been insulted. “Of course not,” she said. “We’re here as reporters.”
    Valdiserri smiled. “Good for you, honey.”
    “Do you think we can walk down to the CBS compound?” Stevie asked.
    “I don’t see why not,” Valdiserri said. “They let the TV writers down there and you guys have media passes. If you have any trouble, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”
    They thanked him, shook hands again, and continued down the hall. There were two large double doors at the endof it and, much to Stevie’s surprise, no security people to stop them. They walked up to the doors, pushed them open, and peered around. It was relatively dark on the other side of the doors. It looked to Stevie as if they were on some kind of a loading dock. To their left, he could see what he guessed would normally be space that was part of the football field. There were several giant trucks with the CBS logo on the side and a small city of trailers. Everywhere Stevie looked, there were people scurrying in different directions, in and out of the trailers and the trucks. There were steps at the end of the loading dock that led down to the CBS compound, and, as Stevie and Susan Carol stood taking it all in, two young men came bounding up the steps carrying walkie-talkies.
    “The bus just pulled up,” Stevie heard one of them say. “Is there a crew there? We’ll get people to the entrance hallway in about thirty seconds.”
    “Sounds like the Purple Tide has arrived,” Stevie said to Susan Carol as the two CBS types swept past them and through the double doors without so much as a glance in their direction. Roger Valdiserri had been right. Apparently the CBS people didn’t care if anyone from the media walked into their compound. And anyone who made it into their compound