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We went through all our pre-game stuff on the field. Stretching, warming up, getting loose. All the steps we took before playing football, as if this were any other game. It was cold today, and I missed our indoor stadium back in Salt Lake City. The team was a series of puffed breaths around me, like dozens of little cannons firing silently.
Then we went back into the locker room to change from our practice clothes into our real gear. As I did, I checked my phone one last time.
Taylor: GOOD LUCK! Play with the emotional intelligence of Hufflepuff, but the Bravery of Gryffindor.”
Taylor: And know that I love you, and will be proud of you, no matter what happens today.
We finished gearing up, then gathered at the tunnel. When we ran out onto the field, the Denver locals showered us with boos. They were so loud that it felt like the ground itself was trembling from the noise. Andrew Stark gazed up at the crowd with wide eyes.
Just another game, I thought.
A local Denver singer came out and sang the National Anthem while playing an acoustic guitar. Three jets flew overhead at the climax, blasting the stadium with jet noise. The team captains went out to the center of the field to flip the coin. We were receiving the ball first.
“We’ve prepared all season for this,” Dallas said to everyone on the sideline. He stalked back and forth like a Roman general in front of his centurions. “I know they beat us twice in the regular season, but there’s nothing special about them. Not here, not anywhere. It’s about time we knocked them down a peg and showed them who really controls the Rockies!”
The offense charged out onto the field. But I wasn’t with them. Coach was starting Andrew Stark over me. I was mentally prepared for it, though. I knew I might have to earn my spot back.
So I became the team’s biggest cheerleader.
“LET’S FUCKING GO!” I shouted while pacing along the sideline. I clapped and cheered and yelled encouragement after every play. I slapped every ass I could reach until my palm was red. And when Andrew caught a touchdown pass, I jumped up and down and screamed like I was his biggest fan.
“Atta boy!” I shouted at him when he returned to the sideline. “Way to put us on the board!”
“Thanks, Brody,” he said sheepishly.
As the sideline shifted back toward midfield, it brought us closer to the Stallions cheerleaders. Taylor was front and center next to Isabella. My ex had kept her end of the bargain.
And she was wearing a snazzy pair of specially-made cheerleading shoes that Adidas had whipped together in time for the game.
Seeing Taylor there, swaying her hips and smiling brightly, I didn’t regret a damn thing. I would’ve given all the money in Fort Knox if it meant making that girl happy.
Love you, Foxy, I thought while grinning at her.
The game was a rough affair, with four turnovers in the first half and a lot of penalties on both sides. After Dallas was sacked with a little more force than necessary, the Stallions linemen descended on the offending Broncos player and shoved him to the ground. A scrum broke out, both teams shoving and throwing punches. On the next play, Dallas ducked away from a tackle and ran for the first down himself, sliding out of bounds. When he got back up he tossed the football at the same defender that had sacked him last time, which drew a taunting penalty from the refs.
“Keep your cool, partner!” I shouted. It was tough, because I wanted to be out on the field shoving it in the Broncos faces, too.
At halftime, we were down 10 - 14. Not bad, but not great, either. The Broncos were one of those teams that always came out swinging in the second half, and they were going to start with the ball.
And when the second half began, the Broncos marched down the field and scored a quick touchdown to make it 10 - 21.
“You’re playing fine out there,” I told Andrew on the next drive. “But you’re over-running your routes. That’s why Dallas’s passes have all been behind you.”
“Sorry, Brody,” he replied.
“I get it. You’re all jacked up right now.” I patted his chest. “But once the adrenaline goes away, you’ll be calmer. Wait for that moment, then strike, all right?”
He gave a weak smile. “Yeah, sure thing.”
“Also, watch the way the left safety keeps crowding the zone,” I added. “If you get the ball on that same button route as earlier, go left instead of right. That’ll make them pay for trying to cheat a little.”
I smacked him on the ass and sent him back out onto the field. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the coach watching me.
Andrew listened to my advice. After a few big plays to bring us to midfield, he made a button-route catch and then immediately darted up the left side. The defender, caught off guard, fell to his knees while trying to change directions, and Andrew was able to gain fifteen yards.
“Atta boy!” I shouted, clapping my hands like an extra at a political rally.
One of the Broncos players was injured on the play, so they called a timeout. As the team came over to the sideline to get a quick drink of water, coach gestured.
