Chris Conlan is the coolest kid in sixth grade?the golden-armed quarterback of the football team and the boy all the others look up to. Scott Parry is the new kid, the boy with the huge brain, but with feet that trip over themselves. These two boys may seem like an odd couple, but each has a secret that draws them together, and proves that the will to succeed is even more important than raw talent.
Two-Minute Drill (Mike Lupica's Comeback Kids)
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About the Author
Mike Lupica writes a nationally syndicated column for New York’s The Daily News and is a regular on ESPN’s The Sports Reporters. He lives in Connecticut.
--This text refers to the
Hardcover
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1
There were a lot of bad parts that came with being the new kid.
Scott Parry was already used to eating by himself at lunch, having nobody to talk to yet at recess.
And after just four days in the sixth grade at Bloomfield South, he pretty much expected to be sitting by himself on the short bus ride home.
He had always been shy, even in his old school, in his old town. And in the school and town before that. He just hadn’t realized that his new school was going to be this shy back.
It wasn’t that Scott wasn’t trying to fit in.
When they broke off into discussion groups, he tried to get with a new group of kids every time, hoping that at least one of them might want to talk to him when they were finished. And he knew better than to raise his hand every single time he knew the answer in class. But that was hard for him, because he basically knew the answer to any question his teachers asked.
It had been the same way for him at all his schools.
Sometimes he wished he weren’t so smart, because it seemed to make the other kids mad. What he really wanted was to be a little less good in class and a lot more good at sports, football especially. But that’s not the way things had worked out for him.
He knew teachers always liked the smart kids better, despite how they tried to act like they were treating every student the same. But he didn’t want the teachers to like him. He wanted the other kids to like him. Girls or boys. So he tried not to act like he was showing off, even though his hand still shot up more than anybody else’s in sixth grade.
It’s true that Scott felt alone most of the time, like he was hiding in plain sight, but he knew he could handle being the new kid one more time. What he couldn’t handle was what happened to him every single day while he waited for the bus home.
Because Jimmy Dolan, one of the biggest kids in his class and easily the meanest, was always waiting, too. Which meant that Jimmy had plenty of time to rag on Scott every day.
Scott wanted kids at Bloomfield South to talk to him.
Just not this kid.
The only kid in the whole school that Scott didn’t want talking to him or hanging with him wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Hey,” Jimmy Dolan said now, “here comes the brain.”
Just by watching the pickup touch football games at recess—nobody had picked Scott yet, not one time—he knew Jimmy Dolan was a good football player. At recess that day, Scott had overheard a couple of the teachers talking about how Jimmy’s dad was going to be the coach of the sixth-grade town team this season. Mr. Burden, their science teacher, had said, “Maybe his father can control him.” Just then one of the smaller sixth-graders had caught a pass and even though it was supposed to be two-hand touch, Jimmy had managed to send the kid flying.
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Mrs. Graham, their math teacher, had said.
Waiting for the bus now, Scott tried to ignore Jimmy, tried to act as if he were searching for something really important inside his backpack.
But he knew he was wasting his time, that you had about as much chance of ignoring Jimmy Dolan as you did a stomachache.
“What’s the matter, brain? You don’t want to talk to me today?”
Scott had his backpack on the ground and was kneeling over it. But Jimmy was right over him, blocking out the sun like a giant black cloud.
Scott leaned to his right a little, trying to see past Jimmy’s legs, hoping the buses were starting to board.
They weren’t.
“What’re you looking for in there?” Jimmy said. “Maybe I can help you.”
“No,” Scott said. “I’m fine.”
Too late.
Jimmy reached down and scooped up Scott’s backpack like he was trying to beat him to a dollar he’d seen on the ground. And before Scott could do anything to stop him, Jimmy had dumped everything out on the ground.
Scott didn’t care about any of the school stuff in there, his pens and notebooks and textbooks, so much stuff that his mother always asked if he was carrying bricks.
None of that mattered.
The picture mattered.
The picture of Scott’s dog, Casey. Jimmy Dolan spotted it right away.
Scott tried to reach down and grab it, but once again Jimmy was too quick for him.
“Who’s this?” Jimmy said. “Your girlfriend?”
“Give it back,” Scott said, quieter than he wanted to.
“You carry a picture of your dog with you, brain?” Jimmy said, loud enough for every kid still waiting for a bus to hear. “That’s like something the little nerd in that Lassie movie would do, right?”
Scott felt like this was some kind of assembly now, and he and Jimmy were up on stage in front of the whole school. If the other kids at Bloomfield South didn’t know the new kid before this, they sure would now.
If I’m such a brain, Scott thought, how come I can’t think of a way to get myself out of this?
As a last resort, he actually tried being nice, as hard as that was.
“Can I please have my picture back?” he said.
Jimmy smiled and shook his head no, waving the picture back and forth in front of Scott’s face.
Scott lunged for it, trying to catch Jimmy by surprise.
Only he wasn’t big enough. Or quick enough.
As he landed, Jimmy stuck out a leg and tripped him, giving him a little shove on the way down for good measure.
Scott went down hard, landing on knees and elbows.
All he could hear now was laughter.
Until he heard this: “Cut it out, Dolan.”
Not a teacher’s voice. Not a voice belonging to any grown-up. A kid, definitely.
Scott picked himself up and saw that it was Chris Conlan.
You only had to be at Bloomfield South for one day to know that even though Jimmy Dolan was one of the bigger football players in the sixth grade, Chris Conlan was the best.
Chris Conlan wasn’t just the quarterback, he was the boy all the other boys in their class wanted to be.
“What’s the problem, Chris? I was just playing—”
“Give him back his picture.”
Scott could see by the look on Jimmy’s face how much he didn’t want to back down. “Why’re you standing up for him?” Jimmy said, sounding whiney all of a sudden. “You don’t even know this guy.”
“I know you, though,” Chris said. “And I know you’re acting like a tool. Now, for the last time, give him back his picture.”
And, to Scott’s amazement, Jimmy Dolan did just that.
2
It was like a play Chris had called in the huddle.
Jimmy handed the picture back to Scott, saying, “Whatever. Take your stupid picture.”
Then he walked away shaking his head, maybe for once knowing what it felt like to look bad in front of the other kids.
“I’ve got a dog, too,” Chris said to Scott. Then he grinned and said, “But pictures sort of don’t do him justice.”
“Thanks for doing that,” Scott said. He stuck the picture of Casey inside his math book, started putting the rest of his books back inside the pack.
“Don’t worry about it,” Chris said. “He was acting stupid.”
Scott smiled for the first time since school had let out. Maybe the first time since he’d showed up at Bloomfield South on Monday morning. “I don’t think he was acting,” he said.
Now it was Chris’s turn to smile. “He’s actually not such a bad guy,” he said.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Chris said, “It’s just that the only thing he’s really good at is knocking people down, like in football. And sometimes he forgets the game’s over. Or hasn’t started yet.”
Then, as if he’d remembered something, Chris stuck out his hand.
“I’m Chris,” he said.
It felt funny, and Scott was sure it looked funny, a couple of sixth-graders shaking hands, but they did it.
“I know who you are,” Scott said.
“And I know who you are,” Chris said. “The smartest kid in our class.”
“No way.”
“Way,” Chris said. “Like way the smartest. I watch you in class sometimes when
somebody else is answering, and I can just tell you know the answer.” Scott said, “Maybe that makes you the smart one.”
Chris gave him a funny look.
Just then the bus line finally started to move. Scott said he’d better get going, thanked Chris one last time.
“Dolan won’t bother you anymore,” Chris said.
“I wish.”
Chris grinned. “You’re cool now,” the coolest kid in their class said. “I got you.”
“Well . . . cool,” Scott said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He started to walk toward the bus, and Chris walked with him, saying, “Hey, maybe we could hang out sometime, or whatever.”
“Yeah,” Scott said, “anytime.”
He said it like it was no big deal, but what he really wanted to do was yell “Yeah!” and pump his fist windmill-style, the way Tiger Woods did after he sank a big putt in Tiger Woods PGA Tour ’07.
“See you tomorrow then,” Chris said.
“Yeah,” Scott said...
--This text refers to the
Hardcover
edition.
There were a lot of bad parts that came with being the new kid.
Scott Parry was already used to eating by himself at lunch, having nobody to talk to yet at recess.
And after just four days in the sixth grade at Bloomfield South, he pretty much expected to be sitting by himself on the short bus ride home.
He had always been shy, even in his old school, in his old town. And in the school and town before that. He just hadn’t realized that his new school was going to be this shy back.
It wasn’t that Scott wasn’t trying to fit in.
When they broke off into discussion groups, he tried to get with a new group of kids every time, hoping that at least one of them might want to talk to him when they were finished. And he knew better than to raise his hand every single time he knew the answer in class. But that was hard for him, because he basically knew the answer to any question his teachers asked.
It had been the same way for him at all his schools.
Sometimes he wished he weren’t so smart, because it seemed to make the other kids mad. What he really wanted was to be a little less good in class and a lot more good at sports, football especially. But that’s not the way things had worked out for him.
He knew teachers always liked the smart kids better, despite how they tried to act like they were treating every student the same. But he didn’t want the teachers to like him. He wanted the other kids to like him. Girls or boys. So he tried not to act like he was showing off, even though his hand still shot up more than anybody else’s in sixth grade.
It’s true that Scott felt alone most of the time, like he was hiding in plain sight, but he knew he could handle being the new kid one more time. What he couldn’t handle was what happened to him every single day while he waited for the bus home.
Because Jimmy Dolan, one of the biggest kids in his class and easily the meanest, was always waiting, too. Which meant that Jimmy had plenty of time to rag on Scott every day.
Scott wanted kids at Bloomfield South to talk to him.
Just not this kid.
The only kid in the whole school that Scott didn’t want talking to him or hanging with him wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Hey,” Jimmy Dolan said now, “here comes the brain.”
Just by watching the pickup touch football games at recess—nobody had picked Scott yet, not one time—he knew Jimmy Dolan was a good football player. At recess that day, Scott had overheard a couple of the teachers talking about how Jimmy’s dad was going to be the coach of the sixth-grade town team this season. Mr. Burden, their science teacher, had said, “Maybe his father can control him.” Just then one of the smaller sixth-graders had caught a pass and even though it was supposed to be two-hand touch, Jimmy had managed to send the kid flying.
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Mrs. Graham, their math teacher, had said.
Waiting for the bus now, Scott tried to ignore Jimmy, tried to act as if he were searching for something really important inside his backpack.
But he knew he was wasting his time, that you had about as much chance of ignoring Jimmy Dolan as you did a stomachache.
“What’s the matter, brain? You don’t want to talk to me today?”
Scott had his backpack on the ground and was kneeling over it. But Jimmy was right over him, blocking out the sun like a giant black cloud.
Scott leaned to his right a little, trying to see past Jimmy’s legs, hoping the buses were starting to board.
They weren’t.
“What’re you looking for in there?” Jimmy said. “Maybe I can help you.”
“No,” Scott said. “I’m fine.”
Too late.
Jimmy reached down and scooped up Scott’s backpack like he was trying to beat him to a dollar he’d seen on the ground. And before Scott could do anything to stop him, Jimmy had dumped everything out on the ground.
Scott didn’t care about any of the school stuff in there, his pens and notebooks and textbooks, so much stuff that his mother always asked if he was carrying bricks.
None of that mattered.
The picture mattered.
The picture of Scott’s dog, Casey. Jimmy Dolan spotted it right away.
Scott tried to reach down and grab it, but once again Jimmy was too quick for him.
“Who’s this?” Jimmy said. “Your girlfriend?”
“Give it back,” Scott said, quieter than he wanted to.
“You carry a picture of your dog with you, brain?” Jimmy said, loud enough for every kid still waiting for a bus to hear. “That’s like something the little nerd in that Lassie movie would do, right?”
Scott felt like this was some kind of assembly now, and he and Jimmy were up on stage in front of the whole school. If the other kids at Bloomfield South didn’t know the new kid before this, they sure would now.
If I’m such a brain, Scott thought, how come I can’t think of a way to get myself out of this?
As a last resort, he actually tried being nice, as hard as that was.
“Can I please have my picture back?” he said.
Jimmy smiled and shook his head no, waving the picture back and forth in front of Scott’s face.
Scott lunged for it, trying to catch Jimmy by surprise.
Only he wasn’t big enough. Or quick enough.
As he landed, Jimmy stuck out a leg and tripped him, giving him a little shove on the way down for good measure.
Scott went down hard, landing on knees and elbows.
All he could hear now was laughter.
Until he heard this: “Cut it out, Dolan.”
Not a teacher’s voice. Not a voice belonging to any grown-up. A kid, definitely.
Scott picked himself up and saw that it was Chris Conlan.
You only had to be at Bloomfield South for one day to know that even though Jimmy Dolan was one of the bigger football players in the sixth grade, Chris Conlan was the best.
Chris Conlan wasn’t just the quarterback, he was the boy all the other boys in their class wanted to be.
“What’s the problem, Chris? I was just playing—”
“Give him back his picture.”
Scott could see by the look on Jimmy’s face how much he didn’t want to back down. “Why’re you standing up for him?” Jimmy said, sounding whiney all of a sudden. “You don’t even know this guy.”
“I know you, though,” Chris said. “And I know you’re acting like a tool. Now, for the last time, give him back his picture.”
And, to Scott’s amazement, Jimmy Dolan did just that.
2
It was like a play Chris had called in the huddle.
Jimmy handed the picture back to Scott, saying, “Whatever. Take your stupid picture.”
Then he walked away shaking his head, maybe for once knowing what it felt like to look bad in front of the other kids.
“I’ve got a dog, too,” Chris said to Scott. Then he grinned and said, “But pictures sort of don’t do him justice.”
“Thanks for doing that,” Scott said. He stuck the picture of Casey inside his math book, started putting the rest of his books back inside the pack.
“Don’t worry about it,” Chris said. “He was acting stupid.”
Scott smiled for the first time since school had let out. Maybe the first time since he’d showed up at Bloomfield South on Monday morning. “I don’t think he was acting,” he said.
Now it was Chris’s turn to smile. “He’s actually not such a bad guy,” he said.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Chris said, “It’s just that the only thing he’s really good at is knocking people down, like in football. And sometimes he forgets the game’s over. Or hasn’t started yet.”
Then, as if he’d remembered something, Chris stuck out his hand.
“I’m Chris,” he said.
It felt funny, and Scott was sure it looked funny, a couple of sixth-graders shaking hands, but they did it.
“I know who you are,” Scott said.
“And I know who you are,” Chris said. “The smartest kid in our class.”
“No way.”
“Way,” Chris said. “Like way the smartest. I watch you in class sometimes when
somebody else is answering, and I can just tell you know the answer.” Scott said, “Maybe that makes you the smart one.”
Chris gave him a funny look.
Just then the bus line finally started to move. Scott said he’d better get going, thanked Chris one last time.
“Dolan won’t bother you anymore,” Chris said.
“I wish.”
Chris grinned. “You’re cool now,” the coolest kid in their class said. “I got you.”
“Well . . . cool,” Scott said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He started to walk toward the bus, and Chris walked with him, saying, “Hey, maybe we could hang out sometime, or whatever.”
“Yeah,” Scott said, “anytime.”
He said it like it was no big deal, but what he really wanted to do was yell “Yeah!” and pump his fist windmill-style, the way Tiger Woods did after he sank a big putt in Tiger Woods PGA Tour ’07.
“See you tomorrow then,” Chris said.
“Yeah,” Scott said...
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More About the Author
Mike Lupica is one of the most prominent sports writers in America. His longevity at the top of his field is based on his experience and insider's knowledge, coupled with a provocative presentation that takes an uncompromising look at the tumultuous world of professional sports. Today he is a syndicated columnist for the New York Daily News, which includes his popular "Shooting from the Lip" column, which appears every Sunday. He began his newspaper career covering the New York Knicks for the New York Post at age 23. He became the youngest columnist ever at a New York paper with the New York Daily News, which he joined in 1977. For more than 30 years, Lupica has added magazines, novels, sports biographies, other non-fiction books on sports, as well as television to his professional resume. For the past fifteen years, he has been a TV anchor for ESPN's The Sports Reporters. He also hosted his own program, The Mike Lupica Show on ESPN2. In 1987, Lupica launched "The Sporting Life" column in Esquire magazine. He has published articles in other magazines, including Sport, World Tennis, Tennis, Golf Digest, Playboy, Sports Illustrated, ESPN: The Magazine, Men's Journal and Parade. He has received numerous honors, including the 2003 Jim Murray Award from the National Football Foundation. Mike Lupica co-wrote autobiographies with Reggie Jackson and Bill Parcells, collaborated with noted author and screenwriter, William Goldman on Wait Till Next Year, and wrote The Summer of '98, Mad as Hell: How Sports Got Away from the Fans and How We Get It Back and Shooting From the Lip, a collection of columns. In addition, he has written a number of novels, including Dead Air, Extra Credits, Limited Partner, Jump, Full Court Press, Red Zone, Too Far and national bestsellers Wild Pitch and Bump and Run. Dead Air was nominated for the Edgar Allen Poe Award for Best First Mystery and became a CBS television move, "Money, Power, Murder" to which Lupica contributed the teleplay. Over the years he has been a regular on the CBS Morning News, Good Morning America and The MacNeil-Lehrer Newshour. On the radio, he has made frequent appearances on Imus in the Morning since the early 1980s. His previous young adult novels, Travel Team, Heat, Miracle on 49th Street, and the summer hit for 2007, Summer Ball, have shot up the New York Times bestseller list. Lupica is also what he describes as a "serial Little League coach," a youth basketball coach, and a soccer coach for his four children, three sons and a daughter. He and his family live in Connecticut.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
5 of 5 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Two-Minute Drill: Mike Lupica's Comeback Kids,
By
This review is from: Two-Minute Drill: Mike Lupica's Comeback Kids (Comeback Kids Series) (Hardcover)
This is a very good book, my son is finishing it right now, it seems he appreciates sports more as a result of the book, and also that there is a tie into the sciences. Very well written, as an adult, I'm also going to read it. Well done Mike Lupica, thanks for joining the gap on sports and friendships.
5 of 5 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
The Greastest Game Ever Played Middle School Style,
A Kid's Review
This review is from: Two-Minute Drill: Mike Lupica's Comeback Kids (Comeback Kids Series) (Hardcover)
And... it's good! I think it was brilliant for Mike Lupica to name his book the Two-Minute Drill. A reason I enjoyed reading this book was that it shows how one friend can make all the difference. Also, the way the main charters, Scott and Chris worked together to solve their challenges is something I liked. Chris encourages Scott to join the football team. My favorite charter is Chris because he is a great quarterback and a great friend. The football team has to run a two minute drill to win the championship. They both had personal setbacks but they accomplished their goals on and off the field. The story is told in Scott's point of view. I recommend it to people that love sports and challenges or conflicts and people that love sports fiction. Mike Lupica's style was hard to get used to but once you get in there's no getting out especially if you like sports fiction and football. The middle of the book was easier to read because I understood the story. If you have already read this book I recommend Hot Hand another book in the series. This book is a must for football fans!
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A Book Review,
A Kid's Review
This review is from: Two-Minute Drill (Comeback Kids) (Mass Market Paperback)
Two Minute Drill by Mike Lupica is a story about a boy named Scott that moves to a new town and school. At his new school, he had no friends and a bully was always picking on Scott. One time when Scott was being picked on, the coolest kid in his grade name Chris, stuck up for Scott.
After that, Scott and Chris became friends. While Chris was one of the best football player on the team, Scott didn't think he was good at all. But since Scott's father had played football for Boston College, Scott thought he should join the football team anyway. It turned out that Scott was really good at kicking. Scott and Chris' football team made it to the championship in their league. Scott's team was losing by one point in the fourth quarter with three seconds left. And the coach told Scott to go out and do something and if you want to find out about the end of the book you should read this book. I liked this book a lot. It was a very good book. My favorite part of the book is the end but, you will have to read it to find out about it. My favorite character is Scott, because he thinks he's not good at football but, he keeps trying and doesn't quit the team and he finds out what he's good at in football. I think the author wrote this book for a lesson to never give up. I recommend his book to everybody that likes football even if you don't like football it is still a very good book. I hope this book review makes you want to go out and read this book, because it is a very good book.
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