Love and Football – Chapters 2 & 3

Chapter 2

My brothers’ funeral was scheduled for the day after the game, keeping the distraction away from our week of preparation. In what should’ve been the biggest week of my life, I was just going through the motions. I did not care about school, I did not care about my friends, I did not care about practice, and I did not care about the game. I just wanted my brother back.

Before I knew it, it was Friday night, the day of the biggest game of my life, and I was mentally ill-prepared. Going into a game I usually had a killer mentality, I would just be angry at the other team and I wanted them to feel it. Tonight, it felt like a chore to be out there. Like my mom just asked me to wash a full sink of some filthy dishes. It would be annoying and tough, but it had to be done.

The venue for the game was a huge collegiate football stadium that was massively under-capacitated, but even so it had more fans in it than I’d ever seen in my life. I knew for a fact all types of college scouts were at this game, the opposing team was loaded with players ranked on Rivals, and we even had a couple people that were starting to earn a buzz in the recruiting world.

We lost the coin toss and were chosen to receive the ball on the first possession. After the opening kickoff, I trotted out on the field, just ready to get the game over with.

“Quads Right 16 Power on 1 on 1,” I spoke to the huddle.

I caught the snap and took off to the right, searching for a hole but failing to find one. I tried to bounce outside. Their outside linebacker was waiting for me and planted his shoulder into my chest, swept me up by both legs, and drove me into the turf.

Unfff, I grunted as the wind left my body. The crowd roared as the defender popped up and celebrated with his teammates, all of them smacking his helmet.

My second down pass sailed over my receiver’s head by a mile.

Third down.

I took the snap, looked off their linebacker to the left and led him to the opposite direction of my primary receiver, then looked back to the right side and flung the ball to the receiver without even taking a second look. The ball landed into his chest with an audible POP! And he gained more than enough yardage for the first down before finally being tackled. The stands loved it, and it gave us much needed momentum. We ripped off three first downs in a row, and I found myself on the 32-yard-line in enemy territory for a 3rd & 1.

“Trips Left Open Zap 10 Iso on one on one,” I called in the huddle.

The play was designed for me to just take the ball up the middle and get whatever I could. But when I took the snap, I saw the right defensive end slant far inside without anybody to replace him. So after my first step forward, I cut to the outside and turned the jets on. I beat the safety with a swift cut inside and trotted into the end zone for the first score of the game, sending the crowd into a frenzy so loud that it sent chills down my spine.

7 – 0.

The defense took our momentum and stuffed our opponents into a three-and-out, causing them to punt the ball right back to us.

On the first play of the next drive, I immediately completed a pass for a first down. I saw the opposing team’s body language sag after that. They still hadn’t come up with an answer for us since the last drive.

On the next play, I felt pressure from my right side, so I took off and scrambled to the left, juked a defender to get the first down, then trotted toward the sideline cockily. I thought the play was over, but a defender flew in and gave me a wicked shoulder pad to the ribs. I skidded on the ground into our bench where everybody was screaming for a late hit call, but the official refused to throw his flag.

I couldn’t catch my breath on the ground, every time I tried to breathe in it felt like a knife inside me was trying to stab its way out.

“Get up 3! It ain’t that easy to get you out the game,” I heard Geneva shout from the stands.

And with that, I pulled myself off the ground and walked back to my huddle, my right side warm. Playing injured proved difficult, however. On 3rd Down I had a receiver open toward the sideline that I threw the ball to, but I just couldn’t get the ball far enough. Their cornerback caught the underthrown pass without even trying, and bursted down the sideline into the endzone without being touched.

7 – 7.

I felt my ribs progressively start to restrict my range of motion, and on the next three drives we failed to get a first down. After our final drive of the first half, I sat down on our bench and looked at the scoreboard.

7 – 24.

My ribs restricted me from even comfortably breathing in, and crippled the entire right side of my torso, my non-throwing side, but it was still near impossible for me to get a proper follow-through on my throws without a stabbing pain in my side. I looked down and thought about Hermes with tears in my eyes. I just wanted to ask him how he did it. How he would play through any injury no matter how severe. I just wanted to ask him what I should do in this situation. I just wanted him to bail me out and make it all stop.

I walked out on the field after halftime just ready for the game to be over. It hurt to even walk too fast at this point. Our opponents got the ball first in the second half, and on the opening kickoff their returner coughed up the ball, and one of our men popped up with the ball in his hand. Our bench showed life for the first time since early in the first quarter as our offense took over in enemy territory.

I trotted back onto the field still pessimistic. And deep in my heart I knew that our loss was going to be prolonged. On the first play, I handed the ball off, and our running back ran into a pile after about a yard. When I looked over to coach for the next play, the crowd started booming. I looked back to see a pile of about 15 men progressively moving forward, then our running back shot out of the pile temporarily dragging a man before shedding him and streaking to the end zone. Our fans all stood to their feet instantly re-energized as we were back in the game.

14-24.

On the next possession, our defense sustained the momentum by inducing a three-and-out. I was back on the field again, praying that Coach kept running the ball. And run the ball we did. On four straight carries, our running back was able to take us from our own 35 to the opposing 42.

“Let’s go,” Coach said to me before calling the next play. “We need you. Get it done.”

We had to run a play-action pass, obviously because we had been running the ball so effectively. It only made sense to run. But I was not confident in my ability to get the ball further than 10 yards down the field. When I took the snap and faked the handoff, the safety bit just enough to give our receiver a step downfield. I let the ball go even though it felt like I was getting stabbed in my side, and I could tell as soon as the ball left my hand that it was a piss-poor throw. The ball fluttered in the air and landed into the trailing defender’s hands. Another fucking pick.

Nobody even looked at me when I jogged off to the sideline. The opposing offense drove the ball on a long, clock-eating series into our red zone, but our defense stepped up yet again and held them to a field goal.

14 – 27.

When we got the ball back, the 4th quarter had just begun, and being down two touchdowns is not a position that you want to be in so late in the game. But Coach was not ready to give up. He called two straight passing plays, both of which went for incompletions. On an impossible-seeming 3rd & 10, I dropped back and saw a wide open lane up the middle for me to run. I hesitated to take it for just a second, giving their defensive end enough time to wrap me up. I struggled to stay on my feet to try to get a throw off, but the whistle blew.

The play should’ve ended there. But the defender proceeded to lift me up and slam me onto the turf. Never had I wanted to straight up die so bad in my life, thanks to the pain that had been inflicted on my ribs. I was ready to call it a night and let the trainers take me off the field. But I heard a faint commotion which caused me to look up. All five offensive linemen and our running back were all shoving around their defender, heated that he had hit me late.

We were down by two touchdowns in the fourth quarter and just had a three-and-out, we had a freshman quarterback that already threw two picks, and our best offensive player, the one that carried us to this point, no longer had a beating heart. And they still had that passion to win the game. Everybody did but me. I couldn’t even run the ball for 10 damn yards for these men that were giving everything. I lifted myself off the turf, shaking with rage. The pain in my ribs only added gasoline to the flames.

They ended up throwing a flag on both teams; them for a late hit, us for unsportsmanlike conduct, but we were still able to get a new set of downs.