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The Bulletin
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Pop
by Gordon Korman
Talented quarterback Marcus Jordan, a transfer student, arrives at
Aldrich High ready to challenge the star player, Troy Popovich. The
Raiders are a tight-knit team poised for a repeat championship season,
and the players, under tacit but palpable pressure from Troy, freeze
Marcus out, denying him protection on the field and friendship off the
field. Meanwhile, Troy’s on-again, off-again (currently off-again)
girlfriend, head cheerleader Alyssa, is flirting with Marcus, who’s not
putting up much resistance. Yes, this is the standard formula for any
number of teen sports novels, but if you think you’ve read this one
before, think again.
Marcus has been practicing alone in the park when a fifty-something guy
arrives out of the blue and joins in like they’ve known each other all
their lives. Charlie may be triple Marcus’s age, but he’s an
indefatigable human battering ram, and under his tutelage Marcus
discovers a genuine enthusiasm for smashmouth football. Forget the
finesse of a well-thrown pass; the more punishment Charlie dishes out,
the more Marcus relishes the “pop,” that moment of bone-jarring
collision that can send a helmet flying across the field (or, this
month, across the Bulletin
cover). Charlie may have the stamina and
moves of a younger man, but he exhibits some pretty juvenile behavior
as well, taking off when he and Marcus accidentally crack a car window,
pranking the sour-tempered local exterminator (in a hilarious scene
that one trusts will not prove inspirational), and even leaving Marcus
in misery when the boy dislocates his shoulder. It takes a while for
Marcus to deduce the reason for these aberrant actions: his eccentric
pal is Charlie Popovich, ex-NFL linebacker, once known as the King of
Pop, and, incidentally, father of Troy. Troy and his family have been
assiduously covering up the fact that Charlie suffers from early onset
Alzheimer’s, probably brought on by multiple concussions suffered
during his pro career. Once apprised of Charlie’s condition, Marcus
evinces a better understanding of what Charlie needs than the
Popoviches do, and when he learns that Charlie’s alma mater wants to
induct him into their hall of fame, he tracks down one of Charlie’s old
teammates and they whisk him off to the ceremony, against the explicit
wishes of the family.
Korman masterfully plays this as a dark comedy. Charlie’s addled antics
are certainly the occasion for gallows humor, and narrator Marcus is
deft at drawing out the absurdity of his own situation—in Charlie’s
mind, Marcus is his old highschool pal Mac. However, Korman limns
Charlie himself with profound affection, allowing the reader glimpses
of impishness, loyalty, and dedication to football that mask his
disease and make him a beloved member of the community. Sports stories
are supposed to elicit tears when the new kid makes the big play or the
underdog team wallops the powerhouse, but it will take a pretty
hard-hearted teen to suppress the sniffles at Charlie’s rare and
heart-breaking moments of lucidity: addressing the college homecoming
crowd, realizing he must be confined to a nursing home, and, having
lost control of his life, taking death on his own terms.
There’s a cautionary message here on the dangers of successive head
injuries, but it is so thoroughly integrated into the plot that no
overt homiletics are necessary. Troy is so shattered by his father’s
condition that he ultimately gives up the game, while Marcus,
thoroughly addicted to the pop, sees in Charlie’s career a risk worth
taking. While Korman may not be crusading to shut off the Saturday
night lights, even the most bulletproof teen readers will find
themselves confronted, however fleetingly, with the notion that today’s
daring may result in tomorrow’s dementia.
Elizabeth Bush, Reviewer

Cover image from Pop ©2009
by Number Seventeen, NY. Used by permission of Balzer +
Bray/HarperCollins Publishers.
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This page was last updated on January 1, 2010.