The kid comes out with water bottles. I take one. As I do and bring it to my mouth, I can see my right hand trembling all over again, worse than before, so I take a quick drink and toss the bottle back in the kid’s bucket.
Our middle linebacker, and defensive play caller, is a tough bastard named Dickie Nobles, a ten-year veteran of the NFL finishing out his career in this league, having told me during the week that he finally had the chance he’d dreamed about his whole life to win a title, and was about to retire if he did.
“He’s gonna call a run-pass option to his right, no matter what play they send in,” I say to Dickie Nobles.
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s what I’d do.”
“He hasn’t run that all day,” Dickie says.
“Which is exactly why he’s going to run it now.”
“You know how to defend it?”
“I better” is the best I can do.
Ref blows his whistle, sets the ball back down. They come out of the huddle and line up. Dickie moves some guys around behind me. I’m so dog-ass tired at this point, I don’t even get into a three-pointstance. I block out all the crowd noise again, only listening to the snap count.
What would you have paid for one more game?Tay had asked.
Jamal Henks steps back into the shotgun, changing the play as he does when he sees the way we’re lined up—I hear him do it as he calls the signals.
I know it’s the run-pass option, what they call an RPO, without knowing for sure.
Henks looks to his right when the ball is in his hands, the halfback who’d lined up next to him running with him.
I’m chasing the play hard, but feeling lost at the same time, not knowing what my read is going to be in real time.
Not knowing whether he’s going to hand it or run it himself or look for Tyler Moss, who I know is behind me somewhere in the end zone.
Dickie Nobles has a shot at Henks.
But he’s a step slow.
Their right tackle tries to get in front of me at the last second.
He’stoo slow.
I see Jamal Henks pulling the ball down, turning the corner, see the angle he has to get to the pylon on the goal line if he wants to run.
If he beats me to that spot, we lose.
And then at the very last possible moment, I can read him just well enough, see body language from a quarterback that is part of my DNA by now.
I see him slow just enough.
And pull up.
And now I’m not running for Henks, I’m running to get in front of him before it’s too late.
Then I’m the one who knows the right move even if I’ve never made it in my life.
I’m squaring up and leaping into the air on tired legs, and my arms are way up there, too, as Henks releases the ball intended for Tyler Moss.
It ends up in my hands instead, probably shocking him almost as much as it shocks me.
And then I’m a runner again, for the first time in a long time. I know that all I have to do is fall down, because the game will be over and the Stallions will win as soon as I do.
