He laughs like a hyena.
At the end of the game, after the press has left, I’m drenched in Gatorade and sweat, standing on top of the bench. The faces around me are wreathed with unadulterated joy.
It wasn't perfect, but it was enough. We'd beaten the number five ranked team in the country. That means we should take their place in the rankings tomorrow. One short of what we’d need to make the playoffs.
I stand for a moment and look into the stands shrouded in royal blue Warrior gear. Others do the same—seniors who won’t go to the next level. Guys who played for four years, but will move on to be businessmen, doctors, lawyers. No matter where they go in their lives, they’ll always be able to say that they played for one of the best college teams in the country. I have no doubt that if you asked every one of them if their broken fingers, black eyes, bruised bodies were worth it, they’d snap out a yes faster than you could blink.
Because there is nothing like this game. What had Ellie said? The temple built to the reverence of physical perfection? She’s right and she’s wrong. It’s a place that celebrates sacrifice as much as it celebrates winning.
Ellie’s sacrificed so much for the game. For her brother. For us. I wish she could be here. I tilt my head and pretend she’s sitting in the very top.
Best seats in the house.
“Miss you, baby,” I say into the cool afternoon air. I kiss my helmet and raise it up for her. And then turn to walk toward the tunnel.
A print journalist from the local paper catches me before I can make my way off the field. “There are rumors that you plan to declare. Is this your last home game?”
Behind the journalist stands the team PR lady. She glares at me as if she knows I’d rather run away than do this.
I muster up a smile and bend down to reach the microphone. “This is the last home game this year,” I answer carefully, not letting on that this is a bittersweet win. “Being a Warrior is a special opportunity and I’m grateful to be part of the team.”
“Do you deserve the playoffs despite the one loss earlier in the season?”
“Yes, we deserve the playoffs.” That’s reckless, shit talking, bulletin board type of language, that will probably get mangled into something like Knox Masters guarantees a win and be blasted all over social media. But I believe it 100%.
“Are you saying you’re better than the five other teams in front of you?”
“I’m saying we belong in the playoffs. That’s all.”
“There are rumors of locker room problems. Did that distract you?”
“Did it look like I was distracted today?” I look over her head at Coach, who gives me a nod that I can go. I trot out the lines that we players practice as a joke. “I’m glad I can be part of the Warriors and have the opportunity to play for a national title with the best guys in the world.”
I raise my helmet in the air and holler. The guys holler back, and soon it’s too loud for questions.
We run off the field, into the locker room where there’s more press, more boosters, family members. I hug everyone. Slap a dozen asses. Take a bath in even more Gatorade.
There’s no Ellie, but I call her. I pick up my phone and head straight for the showers.
“You played so great, babe!” she squeals. “I particularly liked the first quarter sack. You stood over the quarterback for a while. What did you say?”
I told him he should get used to the turf. “I complimented him on how pretty he looked lying down.”
She snorts. “Jesus. You’re asking for it.”
“I can’t wait to come home, wife.”
She giggles. “I can’t wait to celebrate.”
Well, hot damn.
I make her do all the work because my poor body feels sore even after the ice bath. Then we get up and watch the rest of the games. Jack, Riley, me, and Ellie sit in her living room, glued to the television.
We watch in growing elation as the number-two-ranked team in the country falls apart before our eyes. The quarterback loses a fumble on the twenty. On the ensuing punt, the tight end gets a personal foul and the opposing team starts on the forty five.
The twenty point underdogs march down the field, punch the ball in, and the score is fourteen-zero. The phone rings.
“You watching this?” Matty yells. I can hear cheers of jubilation in the background.
“It's the first quarter, bro.” I try to play the voice of reason. Jack and I exchange guardedly hopeful looks. Neither of us say anything out loud because we don’t want to jinx it.
The second quarter goes about as well for the favored team as the first quarter, and they go in losing twenty-one zero at the half. By the fourth quarter, the team tries to make a run, but it's too little, too late.
“What does it mean?” Riley cries. My phone is blowing up, but Ellie answers for me.
“A selection committee of sorts decides who is in the playoffs. Ever since the loss four weeks ago, the Warriors have dominated. Today, the top ranked team lost to an unranked one, and by a big margin.” She gestures toward the television. “The rest of top-rated teams looked hamstrung and confused today.”
“When will we know?” Riley leans forward eagerly.
“Tomorrow,” Ellie answers. “The slate will be set tomorrow.”
I’m glad that this is the one day of the season they don’t make us wait until Tuesday for the rankings. Ellie’s correct. The final four BCS teams will be announced on Sunday, just one day away.
I don’t know if Riley or Jack sleep at all. I can’t. I keep waking Ellie for sex because I’ve got so much nervous energy. Around dawn, she kicks me out.
“Go run. I cannot have your dick inside me one more time.”
“I could lick you,” I say hopefully.
She slams a pillow over her head. “Seriously, I think another orgasm would feel painful.”
Reluctantly, I leave her and go run. I’m not even tired after ten miles, so I go to the weight room. I’m not the only one there. Matty’s doing deadlifts. I go over to spot him.
“The wait is fucking excruciating.”
“I know it.”
Grimly, he gestures for me to put another plate on the bar. “I’m hoping to lift myself into a stupor. Don’t stop me until the news comes out.”
I go to the bench press and hope I can do the same. After a couple of hours, the strength coach makes us leave. Matty and I go back to the house and play Madden with the boys. If I go home to Ellie, I’m afraid I’ll attack her, and then I’ll be divorced before the playoffs start.
Around supper time, the phone rings again.
“You gonna answer it?” Matty demands.
Part of me doesn’t want to. As long as I don't know there's still hope. But then I give myself a head slap and pick up my phone.
“I sent you a text. Read it,” Coach says and hangs up.
I pull up the messages. It’s a message from the BCS committee. I scan it. Then read it again. Then read it for a third time. I get up, walk into the kitchen, and put my phone in the far corner. Everyone goes silent. Matty’s hand freezes halfway between the Dorito bag and his mouth.
“You have to stop eating that shit food, Matty boy, because the Western State Warriors are fucking fourth seed.”
His hand opens and chips spill onto the floor. I couldn’t care less.
“You're shitting me?”
“No.”
“Fuck, yes!” He punches the air. Someone else flips the coffee table over. In less than five minutes, chips, beer, soda, and furniture are all strewn about the apartment as the guys hug, back slap, and throw shit around in unrestrained rapture. My smile stretches wide as a football field.
We are in.
38 Ellie
Post Game: Warriors 13-1
At the knock on the door, I smooth back my hair back and straighten Knox’s home jersey. The Warriors were the away team at tonight’s playoff game. They had easily won their conference title and with the win tonight stood only one game away from the National Championship Title. I check the peephole and a good-looking face—minus the close-set eyes and slightly crooked jaw—grins at me.