We smiled at each other, knowing my enthusiasm was nothing but bullshit. The class chuckled at our byplay. Moose and I had come a long way since we first met at baseball practice. I read my paper to the class.
“Well done,” Moose told me, then turned to the class. “I believe that Mike was also late. Would you be so kind as to read your paper?”
Mike was not comfortable in front of a crowd. He gave me a dirty look when I smirked at him. He locked eyes with me as he stammered through it, and I tried to give him encouraging looks. I was betting that he wouldn’t be late for Moose’s class again.
Friday October 17
THE BUS RIDE TO SPRINGFIELD was subdued because everyone was getting mentally ready for the game. I was sitting with Tim, and we both had our earbuds in, listening to tunes. Tim nudged me and I looked up. Moose was motioning for us to come up front and join him. When we got up front, all the coaches were waiting for us. Tim looked at me and I just shrugged. I had no idea what they wanted.
“I just got off the phone with the head coach at St. Joe. They played Springfield last week, and after the game, they filed a complaint about dirty play. They sent video to the HSAA, and he wanted to warn us. So ... I want you to play through the whistle, but be aware. Also, protect each other out there. I want you two to keep the guys from doing anything stupid.
“I’ll talk to the referees before the game to make sure they’re aware of the charges that have been filed with the HSAA. Leave it to us to talk to the refs. I don’t need any players getting kicked out of the game. We’ll sacrifice Moose, if we need to,” Coach Hope said in jest.
Tim and I headed back to our seats. We’d tell the guys once we got there.
WE PULLED INTO SPRINGFIELD, and it started to rain. It wasn’t one of those gentle rains, either. It was coming down hard and you could see puddles had started to form. When the bus pulled up to the high school, we could see the field would soon turn into a mess because of the standing water. The only good news was there was no lightning. If it just rained, we would play. I pulled out my tablet and checked the forecast. It looked like the worst of it would be gone by kickoff, but for now, we were in the middle of it.
Before we got dressed, Tim and I told the team about the potential for cheap shots. We had survived Brad and the ass-hats; I was sure we would survive this.
I went and got taped, and then got dressed. I had just received Range Sports’ newest football gear. They had a new product they called ‘Base-Layer.’ It was to be worn under your pads, so it fit like a second skin and was filled with a gel to help disperse impacts. It also had rib and back pads, so I didn’t need to get extra padding taped on. The shorts had thigh pads and a place for your cup, so I didn’t need a jockstrap, because of the way the shorts fit. ‘Base-Layer’ was designed to pull sweat away from your body.
Sandy Range had said that I needed to take pictures of me in it, so they could see how it fit. I had Wolf snap shots of me from all angles. I sent her a text with the pictures. A few minutes later I got one back with a smiley face. I think I’d been duped; she just wanted to see me in skintight clothes.
When we went out for warmups, it was still raining. The field was a soggy mess, which caused us to fall down when we cut hard. Coach Hope cut our warm-up short and sent us back into the locker room. The team managers were waiting for us with longer cleats. We normally wore half-inch cleats. They were switching us out into three-quarter-inch cleats for better traction.
I dug through my duffle and found my Range Sports gloves. The ball would be slippery when it got wet, and drying my hands off with towels would only do so much. I had three extra pairs, so I gave them to Jeff, Wolf, and Bill. We planned to try them and see if we liked them before the game started.
Before I knew it, it was time for the game to start. From the time we warmed up and came out for the game, the weather had changed: it had stopped raining, but it was much cooler. It had to be in the low forties. Wet and cold: two of my least favorite things.
Tim and I went out for the coin flip; and that was the first chance we got to see how really big Springfield was. They were not any taller than we were, it was just they looked like college players playing on a high school team. They were big boys.
They won the coin flip, so we got the ball first. For this game, the coaching staff had decided that I was going to be on the field for punts, field goals and kickoffs. I would have nothing to complain about, as far as playing time went.
Prior to the kickoff, I took a moment to take everything in. We had come a long way since the start of the season. Coach Hope had pulled out all the stops for this game. Our goal was to run Springfield off the field. We would bring our own brand of shock and awe! I heard the referee blow his whistle and then watched as the kicker boomed the kick to me.
I headed up the left sideline to draw the defenders to me. Ed had eased out to the right with Tim. When they were almost on me, I tossed an overhand lateral to Ed. He gathered it in and made the mistake of outrunning his blocking. It happens, sometimes, when you get overexcited. Ed could taste the touchdown and darted past Tim. One of their defenders had stayed home and made a crushing tackle at the 35 yard line.
I huddled us up as they helped Ed off the field. I got everyone’s attention.
“Okay, focus. We have three plays called. I want you to hustle every chance you get since we’re in better shape. These boys are big and powerful. I want you to remember that you just need to redirect them, not take them head-on. I want you to protect yourselves, even after the whistle. They’ve been warned, but that doesn’t mean they won’t take a cheap shot.
“Alright, power option pitch strong, on one.”
I had just called the new play with the fullback leading the option between the quarterback and tailback.
“Down, Set ... HUT!”
My first clue that this would be a long day was when their defensive tackles seemed to toss our guards out of the way. Thank the football gods that Jim held his own with the behemoth defensive end. Wolf was able to tie up the linebacker who had tracked me as I went down the line. Bert led the play across the line, and the strong safety ran right through him. Jeff had lost his battle with the cornerback who was now all over Jake, my pitch option.
My only choice was to take on the safety.
You could hear the crack of pads over the roar of the crowd. I hadn’t hit someone that hard in a long time. We both staggered and went down, but it was after I’d picked up seven yards. Wolf came over and picked me up. The referee had to stop play so they could look at their safety.
Two plays, two injured players. If this kept up, we would lose; we didn’t have the depth that Springfield had, and several of our players played both ways. If this game continued to be this physical, we were in trouble.
We lined up as soon as they helped the safety off the field.
“Down, Set ... HUT!”
We ran the same play. I watched as the guards were manhandled again. There was no way we would run anything inside until those boys tired themselves out. This time their defensive end won the battle with Jim and Wolf, and I was forced to pitch the ball to Jake. Bert missed his block on the linebacker, and Jake was brought down for a two yard loss.
“Down, Set ... HUT!”
We ran the same play, except this time it was a pass play. Jeff gave a halfhearted effort at blocking the cornerback, who went into run mode when he saw the action. Jeff then sprinted up the sidelines. I threw the ball and was doing my internal touchdown dance when the ball went between Jeff’s hands, hit him in the helmet, and went out of bounds.
That was when I was slammed to the ground.
I hadn’t followed my own advice and had allowed them to get a cheap shot in. The referee was not having any of it, though. As I struggled to get up and clear my head, he was kicking one of their defensive tackles out of the game, and assessing a fifteen yard penalty. I was proud of my teammates for not getting into a fight because Springfield was spoiling for one. The referees sent us to the sidelines and talked to the coaches.