Scott Muska

I woke up the next morning on a couch in the laundry room, three floors down from where I lived. I was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.

“Scott,” he says. “I know Bill has been playing every single minute for us for the past year-and-a-half, since right after that fall formal, you know, when he came up to me at the punch bowl and started rubbing my back and said, ‘Why don’t you give me a shot at the title, coach?’ But…