“Yes, sir!” they barked back at me.
We picked up twenty of the thirty yards and then sent the punt team out. Everyone was shocked when our new punter—Derek Hofmann, one of our new farm kids—boomed a fifty-yarder that looked like a pro had done it. The Washington return man could only make a fair catch.
Our defense rose to the challenge and forced a three-and-out. Ty pedaled back to return the punt, and this time followed his blocking and put us on their 22 yard line. We ran the option again, and I tossed the ball to Ty who cut upfield. Something that Coach Diamond had added to our blocking scheme was that the backside tackle was to release his man and block the safety downfield. If we broke through their first line of defense, this block could mean the difference between a nice gain and a score. Jim was on the back side, and Ty saw him zero in on the safety that was tracking him. Ty cut back, which turned the safety so Jim had the angle and then lowered the boom. The safety crumpled like a rag doll, and the trainers for Washington were running out onto the field before Ty had even scored.
They ended up having to take care of another player. Their defensive end hadn’t learned his lesson, and I had taken him out. It turned out their safety had only had the air knocked out of him and later returned to the game. Their defensive end was checked for a possible concussion. Before I could go congratulate Ty, the white-hat referee stopped me.
“I understand your need to protect yourself, but if you start hurting their players, I will kick you out of the game. Are we clear?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Washington was able to move the football on our defense. They scored on an eleven-play drive to tie the score at seven each.
Washington turned out to be better than we’d anticipated. Their six new players made a big difference in the game. It was apparent that our defense had a long way to go. By the end of the first half, they had scored on three of their first six possessions. Coach Zoon and the rest of our defensive coaches had gone to the video room with Alan and Coach Hope to try and figure out how to stop them.
On offense, Coach Diamond had them so confused that just about anything we ran either picked up big chunks of yardage or scored. We had scored on three of our six possessions also. Wolf had caught one touchdown pass, to add to Ty with one, and Mike had the last one to make it 21–21 just before halftime.
I’d been hit on almost every play, as their coach had promised in his video. It had slowed down towards the end of the half when the referee had started to flag them each and every time they hit me late. Giving up fifteen-yard penalties back-to-back-to-back was a recipe for disaster. I’d gotten my licks in too, but felt the abuse my body was taking. Our training staff had made me take my gear off so they could check me out.
I would have some bruises come Monday, but nothing was injured. Coach Diamond came in to check on me and got a full report from Mr. Hasting, our head trainer, before he came in to talk to me.
“We need to make some changes in the second half,” Coach Diamond said.
I was about to jump on him for taking me out of the game—that was always the fear when you were on the trainer’s table—when he continued.
“I got a voicemail from Coach Styles. Listen to what he has to say,” he said, pulling his cell phone out and playing a voicemail.
“You’re going to kill him if you keep letting them hit David,” Coach Styles said. “Move him into the shotgun so he can see the field better. All your plays can be run from the gun, but he’ll be able to avoid the worst of the contact.
“While you’re at it, cut him loose and throw the damn ball! They can’t defend that Tams kid. If David gets in trouble, then flair out Herndon and he can pick up some yardage. If Washington has to cover the pass, they can’t sell out and run-blitz and hit our boy. I need him in one piece when he comes to Kentucky. Talk to you later,” Coach Styles said, and hung up.
“What do you think?” Coach Diamond asked.
“Do you even need to ask? Any quarterback would love to throw the ball on every down. What’s Coach Hope going to say?” I asked.
Coach Hope was more a defensive-minded coach. In his perfect world, we would be like the old Big Ten teams and gain three yards on each play and grind it out. Then they would win the game six to three on a last-minute field goal. The mindset was to keep their opponent’s offense off the field as much as possible to allow your defense a chance to be fresh come the fourth quarter. If I went pass-happy, we would be scoring quickly.
“Coach Hope has bigger issues right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if he played you on defense on spot plays in the second half.”
Could this day get any better? If I could be on the field for every play, it would make me a happy boy. I got dressed, and we walked out to start the second half. I looked in the stands and found Coach Styles and Don Berta, the recruiting coordinator from Kentucky, there and waved to them.
The second half started, and Washington began to drive on us again. We had made adjustments, and their five and six yards-per-play dropped to three and four; still not great, but better. They crossed our 50 yard line, and we finally had them in a third-and-four situation. If Coach Diamond hadn’t warned me, I would have missed the call. Coach Zoon sent me in to play strong safety. I’d never played the position before, and the only advice Tim gave me was not to let any of them get past me.
From the safety position, I was able to see the whole field. When I played linebacker, I was closer to the ball and focused on the quarterback. When they lined up, something about their wide receiver seemed funny. On the snap, he simply stood there, and Washington’s quarterback faked a handoff to the fullback up the middle. On each play, the quarterback runs a fake as if he still has the football. The idea is it might distract one of our players and make him hesitate. I saw their quarterback peel off and head towards the receiver who had been standing around. That receiver was running full speed towards their quarterback. Our defense committed to stopping their quarterback and pursued hard. I could see they were going to run the reverse, so I sprinted to where their receiver planned to be. When the ball was pitched to the receiver, Tim tried to recover but ended up on his butt as his feet slipped out from under him. Their receiver put on an extra burst when he saw the green grass to the end zone. He began his cut upfield when I hit him. We landed at Coach Crouch’s feet, and I got up and stared at the coach.
“Our House!” I shouted as our fans cheered the turn of events.
Their punter came in and pinned us on the 3 yard line. Now their fans were getting into it. Conventional wisdom says that in this situation, you run the safest play you have in order to pick up a couple of yards to get some breathing room and prevent a safety. Washington had their linebackers line up in the gaps, and it looked like a full-out blitz. Their coaches began screaming from the sideline when I dropped back into the shotgun. I had Johan snap the football before Coach Crouch could get a timeout called. I’d seen Roc’s cornerback start to creep towards the line to blitz, so I just threw the ball in his general direction as I was buried. There was a deafening roar, and the celebration by the Washington players told me something bad had happened. As I jumped up, I saw their corner had picked it off and walked in for an easy score.
What I had thought would be an easy win for us turned into a street fight. Neither team would back down, and the hits were incredible. As we headed to the fourth quarter, we managed to score again but missed the extra point. We were down 28–27. Washington smartly decided to run the football and eat up as much time as they could. Eleven plays later, we finally stopped them, and they kicked a thirty-two-yard field goal to make it 31–27.