Chapter Thirty-Seven: Seattle
The third quarter opened with Seattle moving the ball.
They moved it badly. Noah took what the rain gave him, three-yards, one run-pass where he faked the handoff and found Darius.
Seattle inched forward, the only way you could in this kind of weather, one yard at a time. The Seattle running back was breaking tackles now as the L.A. defense slipped in the hard rain.
Something in Seattle’s offensive line had settled into the rain, and L.A.’s front four were, Piper could see from the sideline, struggling.
They scored on an eight-minute drive, running the ball into the end zone. Score: Seattle 14, L.A. 7.
Tank was waiting when Piper came on.
“Mamma Mia, Here We Go Again.”
“You are such a fucking nerd,” Piper laughed.
The rain got heavier, which nobody thought was possible. It had also decided to angle in every which way it could. God had brought the dramatics to the game of the year, and he was not letting up.
Piper felt the rain intensity change on his neck before the snap.
He took the ball from center and dropped three steps, and the rain came at his face guard sideways, and he couldn’t see the deep middle, as the slot crossed quickly. He found him underneath for six yards. The next play was another throw, five yards. The next play was a quick out he had to throw harder than he would have liked, but the receiver caught it with both hands tight and both feet in bounds.
Three plays in, the rain had not let up, but Piper was converting now.
Tank caught a slant for nineteen yards on second and seven and then slipped, knowing full well it would be a GIF later that night.
The crowd sound dropped slightly, Piper felt that drop in his sternum. Seattle fans were the loudest in the league and they were tired from the weather and exertion. The stadium cut off alcohol late in the game which also helped calm them down.
Piper hit Tank again on the next series, this time for thirty-one yards, the ball coming through the rain in a tight spiral that Tank caught in the pocket of his ribs and held even though the safety came down on him a second after. Tank got up slowly. Piper jogged toward him. Tank waved him off.
“I’m up. Run it.”
Piper ran it, again, still not on brand for him. Twelve plays, six minutes. Touchdown to the tight end on play-action that pulled the linebacker out of position and the perfect opening arrived. The rain caught the ball, slowed it, just enough to let the tight end adjust his hands. He caught it cleanly. He went down with it pinned to his chest. Touchdown.
Score: Seattle 14, L.A. 14.
The fourth quarter started with the rain at a sustained roar.
The rain was no longer falling, it was being delivered. God was angry in Seattle. It hit the field in a continuous percussive wash that Piper could feel through the soles of his cleats. The chain crew was wearing ponchos. The cameramen on the sidelines had given up on trying to keep their lenses dry and were simply wiping them between snaps. Two yards of standing water had collected at the back of the L.A. end zone. The grounds crew kept squeegee pushing it toward the sideline.
Seattle started its first fourth-quarter drive at its own twenty-six.
The rain met them there.
It met them on the first play, when Noah threw to his slot receiver, but he could not hold on to it.
Next play, Noah threw it away rather than risk a sack at his own twenty.
Third play, the rain caught a deep out at its arc and pulled it down short of the marker. The receiver dove. He didn’t get there.
Seattle punted.
The punter had the wind at his back and the punt traveled forty-eight yards in the air and bounced once at the twenty-one yard line. L.A.’s punt returner caught it and went down at the twenty-three.
L.A. at its own twenty-three. Eleven minutes left.
Piper went to work.
