They were surprised by the story, but more surprised that my name was attached to it. A lot of people asked if I was okay. No death threats yet, I told them, although the hate mail was beginning to trickle in from a few Walker crazies. That night, my mother came over in a panic and demanded to know what was going on, why I hadn’t told her anything, and whether Coach was mad at me. “No, he’s not mad at me,” I said. “Is he okay?” “Yes, Mom. He’s fine. He’s a head coach. He’s just focusing on our next game. One day at a time.” “Well, is it true?” she said. To anyone else, I would have said a flat no. That the reports came from jealous boosters at a rival school. A bitter transfer. Someone with a beef or a chip on his shoulder. But there was something about my mother, always so extreme in her views, that made me say, “Probably some parts of it. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be an official notice and a full-blown investigation.” She shook her head and said, “No way.
