We joined the team and ran through our pregame ritual. When we walked out to warm up, I found that Eastside’s field had been transformed. They had added bleachers that more than doubled the seating capacity. It was good they had because our side of the stadium was almost entirely full. I was sure that by game time, it would be standing-room-only.
I looked over to the cheerleaders, and my whole day was made by the smile Brook gave me. But when Destiny waved to get my attention, I had to roll my eyes. Brook caught it but decided to ignore her frenemy. After the fight, they seemed to back off on the hostilities. I was under no illusion that they’d totally made up; their feud could boil over at any time. I was somewhat surprised it hadn’t already.
Clumped together were the college recruiters. Noticeably absent were both Wisconsin and Oklahoma. I was surprised to see Notre Dame and Iowa. I thought they didn’t want to recruit me. They must be here to see someone else.
Then I heard something that caught my attention.
“You’re going down today,” an Eastside player said to Yuri. “And you’re ugly.”
“And yet, your girlfriend still prefers me,” Yuri shot back.
I started walking over that way, but Coach Rector grabbed me. This was precisely what I needed; it allowed me to hate them just enough to obliterate any sympathy I might otherwise feel for Eastside over what was about to happen.
It looked like a bunch of my teammates felt the same as I did. The other coaches separated the teams before the situation got out of control. God, I love football.
◊◊◊
We won the toss, and Coach Hope wanted to take the ball. I’d never seen him do that before, but I wasn’t going to argue.
On the opening kickoff, you could feel the nervous energy throughout the stadium. This was the game that would determine who won our conference and went to state. Yes, there was a chance for an at-large slot. But neither team wanted to rely on a bunch of old men in some back room deciding who got the golden ticket.
I watched as Eastside boomed the kick through the end zone, giving us the football on our 20 yard line. Coach Mason had been involved in several lengthy discussions with the coaching staff about our approach to this game. Coach Hope had always been a defense-first type of leader. He would be happy if we won 10–7 in a slugfest.
Coach Mason, however, came from the old Oakland Raiders coaching tree. Granted, they did have some nasty defenses back in the day. Still, what they were known for was their vertical game on offense. Send a speedy receiver long and see what happened. It only took one success, and you scored in a flash. Long scores were like a big right hook in boxing. If it connected, it could be lights out for your opponent.
We were playing Eastside, whose offensive philosophy was completely different. The West Coast Offense they used was predicated on short, accurate passes that were meant to pick up small gains. If you used the boxing analogy, they were body punchers. Their goal was to keep dinking and weaving until you either let your guard down or wore out. Then those short passes could turn into big gains.
The reason I was so confident was that our core group was mainly seniors. We’d been playing together for two to three years. In football terms, that’s an eternity. Eastside, on the other hand, had graduated their leaders last year. This was a new group of young guns who were out to prove they belonged. I had no doubt that this bunch would give us their best shot, but I’d gone to war with my guys and knew we had what it took.
It was with that confident swagger that I strode out onto the field to the sound of our damned cowbells. We huddled up, and I took a moment to take it all in.
“This is why we play them. I want you to keep your head on a swivel out there. These guys will be flying around, and if you’re not careful, they’ll take your head off. I’ve always been of the mind that it’s better to give than receive,” I said.
“Amen, brother,” Johan agreed.
Wolf shook his head at that. We got serious, and I called the play. Coach Mason wanted to put them back on their heels right off the bat. All my receivers were going deep except for Ty, who would flare out as my safety valve in case I came under pressure.
“Down. Set. Hut, HUT!”
Roc, Phil, and Wolf all ran fly routes straight up the field. Jake ran a slant that would put him just behind Wolf and Phil. The hope was that it would pull the safety to help defend him and leave Roc one-on-one. I made a point to stare down Phil to help influence the defense even more.
“Red! Red!” Ty screamed to indicate that someone had a free shot at me.
Half a heartbeat later, I was hit by the corner that was supposed to be defending Roc. I will give the kid credit, he hit the heck out of me. The problem was that he was five-eight and probably 150 pounds. I’m six-four and 225 pounds. If I hadn’t worked hard in the dojo, his hit would have taken me off my feet. Something he did not do right was wrap me up. His hit staggered me, and I spun to twist out of his hold. I knew when to cut our losses and flipped the ball to Ty.
Ty was able to pick up ten yards for the first down.
For the next snap, we called the same play. Coach Mason had yelled from the sideline, “RSP!” which meant ‘Repeat Successful Plays.’ Picking up the first down made it successful. He would hammer them with this play until they could stop it. Too many times, teams would find a play that worked and then never come back to it. It was something that drove me crazy.
“Down. Set. Hut, HUT!”
This time, they sent their linebacker up the middle on a delayed blitz. Johan was helping block one of their linemen and had to release him to stop the linebacker. He got back on his heels and fell back into me. My foot caught under his thigh, and I had to jerk back to get free. It looked like I’d jumped back when we saw it on the game film on Monday. When I gave ground, it gave the defensive ends a better angle to get to me.
Usually, I would’ve peeled off to one side or the other to give myself room to operate. But I saw downfield that Wolf was open now. I stepped forward, and my foot wasn’t able to fully stride because there was a pile of linemen at my feet. I unleashed a ball that was all arm, but it hit Wolf in stride.
Eastside’s defensive end launched himself at me and stuck the crown of his helmet into my ear hole, so I didn’t get to see Wolf score.
I would call Tami after the game and personally thank her for finding my new football helmet. If I’d been wearing what our team handed out, I would have had a concussion, without a doubt. It did ring my bell, but I could tell I would be okay. The defensive end was another story. He’d landed on me as I fell onto the pile of linemen. The referee sprinted up.
“No one move! He may have a neck injury.”
Everyone who could be was pulled out of the pile. That left Johan, their linebacker, and me that had to remain still. Both sets of training staff sprinted out. It seemed like it took forever for them to get him onto a backboard and loaded into an ambulance. I was relieved to see him moving his hands and feet.
I’d seen where an injury like that will take the intensity out of a game. Something like that reminds us that there are things more important than a game. What it did here, though, was set the tone for what was to come.
On the ensuing kickoff, one of our sophomore linebackers was blindsided on a block. I swear that if he hadn’t tightened his chin strap, his helmet would have gone flying. We all held our breath as he lay on the field. It turned out he was okay, but it definitely pissed the rest of us off.
Before we ran out on defense, Tim huddled the guys together briefly.
“This is getting scrappy, and you’re going to get pissed-off if you aren’t already. Use that anger to focus even more! Don’t let it force you into mistakes just because you’re mad,” Tim said.