“Red forty-two! Red forty-two!” I shout quickly. “Hut! Hike!”
Lefao hands me the ball as I fall back, taking three steps behind the line. I look downfield like I’m searching for an opening but what I’m really watching is my right side. I’m waiting for Avery to run behind me for the hand off. The rest of the field falls away in a swirl of colors and curses as I look for him, but he takes me by surprise. He’s there before I expected, faster than I thought he could be. I bring the ball down to drop in his hands just as I raise my right as though I’m about to throw. No one is fooled by my acting, but they don’t have to be. Avery is already on the move. He hits a wall, but instead of stopping he dives head on into the fray, tucking the ball in tightly as he rides the wave of defensive lineman to gain four yards.
He hits the ground. The play is dead. Olynyk helps him up, giving him a swat on the helmet as he springs to his feet.
It’s third and six. Three minutes to go.
“Where the fuck did you come from?” I laugh at Avery when we reach the huddle.
He gives me his cocky grin, opening his arms wide. “I’m everywhere, baby.”
“Jesus, man, have they clocked you against Anthony? You might be faster than him.”
“Don’t get stupid,” Anthony snaps. “He can’t roll with this.”
Avery points at him, still smiling. “I’m coming for you.”
“Yeah, I’ll be waitin’.”
The play comes through on my radio. The guys see it when I stare into nothing as I listen, all of them falling silent as they wait.
“Slants dirty open!” I shout to them. “Check with me if I call Blue thirty-three change to Tiger two drive. Go on two! Ready?”
Clap!
I get behind Lefao, watching him check the line for anything he doesn’t like. He spots it just as I do; two defensive linebackers are inching forward. They’re going for a blitz. They’re going to try to sack me again.
“Blue thirty-three!” I shout, adjusting the play. “Blue thirty-three! Hut! Hut! Hike!”
I fall back with the ball, hesitating. Counting.
One… My line picks up the blitz, keeping me protected in the pocket… Two… Avery takes the handoff from me…Three…He drives into an opening between Lefao and Olynyk… Four… He smashes through the line… Five… Avery is tackled. He drags the linebacker another two yards past the point of contact, because the wild son of a bitch just won’t stop. Finally they drop in a heap half a yard from the line.
It’s forth and one.
“Your call, Domata,” Coach calls over the radio. “Line’s at the thirty. We’re in field goal range for Castillo. He’s warmed up and ready to kick if you don’t want to run it.”
I take a breath, my hands on my hips. My head down. Coach, the huddle, the sideline, hell, the entire stadium waits for my decision. The nation watching the game on television waits for me to decide. It’s a lot of pressure. That’s why Coach Allen is giving me the choice. He wants to see what I’ll do. Do I have the balls to go for it on forth and inches? Do I think I’m ready to roll with this team into the fray like that, or do I want to play it safe? Do I want to keep my cool?
One look in the eyes of my guys and I know my answer.
“We’re running it,” I tell them, simultaneously telling Coach Allen. “Grizz RT over, go on two. Ready?”
Clap!
As we run for the line I know this is a rarity. In the NFL you don’t go for it on the fourth down, not when you’re thirty yards from a touchdown. You kick the field goal and get those points on the board. That’s the smart way. The safest way. It’s the way you go when you feel nervous about taking a risk, but that’s the thing about me; I don’t get nervous.
“Blue seven! Blue seven! Hut! Hut! Hike!”
I know the play is going to fall apart the second I get the ball in my hands. I can feel it in the way the line is scrambling to cover me. The way Anthony is darting around, desperately trying to get free of his coverage but they’ve doubled up on him. He’ll never get clear. Three seconds have elapsed and I have to look for other options or I’m going to get sacked. I run to the side, pulling the pack with me. I’m searching for Avery, hoping he put on the boosters again and will show up open downfield, but he’s lost in the struggle. He’s dead to me. Anthony too.
I’m just starting to consider running it myself and hoping to get the down when I spot Matthews miraculously appear in the end zone. His coverage is coming but they’re three steps behind him and if I lead him he’ll clear them, no problem.
I plant my feet. I make the throw. High and tight, an easy spiral for Matthews to get under. The line cracks, the world shifting away from me, following the ball as it arcs across the perfect blue sky.
Matthews gets under it. It nails him in the chest. He gets his arms around it, his feet planted in the end zone.
Touchdown Kodiaks.