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Brody: Don’t need luck when I’ve got you.
Taylor: Aww.
The game was at noon the next day. The cheerleaders had a special uniform for the outdoor game: white leggings, thick Under Armor shirts, and puffy blue Stallions jackets to keep us warm. Rounding out the outfit were white gloves and blue-and-white knit caps. The girls all looked sharp in the uniform, even if we weren’t showing a lot of skin. But more importantly, they kept us toasty and warm as we walked out onto the field.
Even though Utah was cold, we were spoiled to play in an indoor stadium. Buffalo didn’t have that luxury. Their stadium was completely open and exposed to the elements. Worse, the bowl caused the wind to swirl around even harder.
The crowd was every bit as hostile. When the Stallions took the field, a chorus of boos boomed from the stands like thunder. The crowd was so loud that I could practically feel the vibrations in the ground.
Now this is a playoff atmosphere, I thought. I had never experienced this before. Not even when the Stallions played the Broncos at home.
One of the girls next to me groaned. “We finally get to travel for a road game, and this is what we get?”
“Too bad the Miami Dolphins didn’t win the AFC East,” Isabella mused. “Then we’d be cheering in the sun and eating Cuban sandwiches after the game.”
A singer I had never heard of sang the National Anthem. Her hair whipped around wildly during the performance, constantly covering her face despite her best efforts. Even the massive metal field goal posts were swaying chaotically in the wind.
Good luck, Brody, I thought.
The Stallions won the coin flip, and chose to receive the ball first. During the kick-off, the ball flew up into the air and then was stopped by the wind before dropping straight down. That gave the Stallions pretty good field position to start the game.
It didn’t matter, though. After running the ball once, the Stallions tried two passes. Both times, the wind carried the ball out of reach of the receivers, and they had to punt the ball.
The rest of the first half wasn’t much better. It was an ugly game, and both teams struggled in the oppressive wind. When each team did score a touchdown, the wind was so strong that they missed the extra points. After that they started attempting two-point conversions.
On the sideline, the cheerleaders struggled to stay warm in spite of our thick uniforms. There was a heat cannon nearby, and after every cheer we all clustered around it to soak up as much warmth as we could before returning to our spots. Even Isabella, who was normally bossy and loud, was subdued by the blizzard.
The Stallions were winning 12 - 10 at halftime. But it felt like a fragile lead.
After warming up inside with hot chocolate, the other cheerleaders and I walked back out onto the field. I had hoped that the wind would ease up, but my wish wasn’t granted. If anything, it felt stronger and colder than before.
A photographer jogged ahead of us, then turned around to snap a few photos. Not much to see in all these layers, I thought while smiling for the camera.
“Wonder what that was about,” one of the cheerleaders said. “That wasn’t one of the team photographers.”
“The Buffalo cheer squad is full of hags and skanks,” Isabella said with a sneer. “They’re excited to see what real women look like.”
The hard wind carried away the sound of our laughter.
We did the best we could on the sideline, dancing through our routines and huddling around the heat cannon. Whenever I could, I focused on the game—especially when the Stallions had the ball. They were mostly running the ball, which made sense because of the powerful wind. But it wasn’t their strength. They were a pure passing team. The Bills, meanwhile, were able to scratch out a touchdown early in the fourth quarter to take the lead.
On the next play, Dallas started throwing the ball more. Deep passes were out of the question in this wind, so he focused on screen plays and short routes—both of which involved Brody. He was sharp, or at least as sharp as anyone could be in these conditions.
“Geez, get a life,” one of the cheerleaders muttered. Two photographers had come over and were snapping photos of all the cheerleaders around the heat gun.
“It’s a good photo,” I said. “It shows how awful the playing conditions are.”
“Smile, girls!” Isabella said. “We might be on the highlights later.”
But as I locked eyes with one of the photographers, I realized something. They weren’t taking photos of the entire cheer team.
They were focused on me.
I slid backwards a bit, hiding behind Isabella. Sure enough, the photographers lowered their cameras.
Why me?
Suddenly the crowd broke out in groans and angry shouts. Brody was sprinting across the field, kicking up drifts of snow with every athletic stride. He slid to the left, avoiding the pawing hands of the final defender between him and the end zone. He let out a victorious roar as he scored the touchdown, and spiked the ball into the ground as hard as he could.
