We’re sitting just outside the red zone at the 22-yard line. I look at Miller and mouth, feed me. He smirks, claps, and lets ten seconds tick down before calling, “Break!”
Miller snaps the ball, fakes the handoff, and throws me a quick screen. I sprint for 12 yards and tip-toe out-of-bounds.
We’ve only managed to take three minutes off the clock during this drive.
No huddle again. Miller yells "hike" and fakes another handoff to me. I’m wide open on the 5-yard line, but he throws a dart to Briggs in the corner of the end zone instead. Briggs jumps in the air and pulls the ball into his chest. He manages to get both feet in bounds for the game-leading touchdown.
The team explodes, with every offensive player rushing to Briggs. I head straight for Miller, give him a light tap on the helmet, then one on the ass, and start jumping on Briggs, with the rest of the offense.
I glance back up at the stands and see that Nate’s literally bouncing up and down, hugging my mom. She’s jumping with him while my dad and brothers look furious as Boston is now trailing.
With only ten minutes left, Boston gets the ball and drives down the field slowly, chewing up a little over seven minutes before making it into the red zone. On fourth down, instead of going for it, their coach sends out the kicking unit.
I look at Miller, baffled. “A field goal? They have three timeouts left, but still. We get two first downs, and the games over.”
Miller shrugs. “You tell me. He was your coach.”
They kick the field goal, and it’s good. We’re up by four.
After a decent return, Coach calls us together before we hit the field.
“We got this, don’t fuck it up” he says with pure intensity. Then he looks directly at the O-line and says, “Block Elliot. Block him like your job depends on it.” I know what that means. I’m getting the ball.
First play of the drive, and I’m stuffed at the line for no gain. Boston burns their first timeout, just before the two-minute warning.
On second down, Miller hikes the ball and hands it off again. I punch up the middle for a decent 5 yards.
The two-minute warning hits, and we all rush to the sideline. Coach is yelling at the linemen, tearing into them. While they’re getting chewed out, Miller leans in and says, “He’s gonna run you up the middle again. I’m not doing that. I’m gonna call a screen. Just be ready, we only need five.”
The two-minute warning ends, and we quickly line up at the line of scrimmage. Miller calls an audible at the last second and waves me over to him, on his left side. He snaps the ball and fires it to me. I catch it and follow two of our biggest linemen until I am pushed out-of-bounds, gaining six yards. This is enough for the first down.
Coach looked pissed when the ball left Miller’s hands, but now he looks smug as hell.
Miller slaps my ass and shouts, “YES! You’re amazing!”
As I jog back to the huddle, a defender I just burned mutters directly towards me, “Faggot.”
My heart drops to my stomach, but the two linemen, who just cleared the way for me, clearly heard the defender and immediately spin toward him.
“Fuck off. You got beat,” one says.
They slap my back, and I nod in thanks.
Miller gets us back in the huddle. “One more first down, we just need one more!”
Boston’s coach calls their second timeout.
Once the timeout ends, we run the ball to the right, and I get three short yards.
Immediately after I am tackled, my old Coach calls his last timeout. A minute and twenty-five seconds remain.
Coach McCormick has nothing to say to us, so luckily, this time out is good for a thirty-second breather.
Miller looks at me and nods with a clear understanding of what's about to happen. I have no nerves; I'm ready for this. We need seven yards, just seven, and the game's over.
Miller snaps the ball and it’s the same damn play up the middle, but I see Boston is ready. I cut to the outside, swing right, and turn the corner. I stay in bounds as I sprint: five yards, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, and I see the end zone, but I slide inbounds.
I would have loved to get that touchdown, but the game ended with that slide. With no timeouts, Boston can only sit and wait for my team to run out the clock.
