“The center is the one who snaps the ball to Trey?” I ask quietly.
I’ve learned to keep my most basic questions about the game on the down low ever since I asked how many points a field goal is worth and the ferret faced guy next to me glared at me like I was an idiot. He’s probably wondering what the hell I’m doing at a playoff game if I don’t know shit about football, but I’m wondering what he’s doing in skinny jeans with a pancake ass like that, so I guess we’re both feeling judgmental.
Carol nods. “Lefao. Yeah. His finger is probably broken or he’d be back out here. This new guy, he and Domata aren’t used to each other. It’s why Domata keeps fumbling. The guy is either handing off too soon or too late.”
Right now the Falcons have the ball. They’re camped on the Kodiak’s thirty yard line, which according to Carol means they’re in field goal range, and from what I learned earlier today, that means they can score three points off a successful field goal or six points off a touchdown if they make it past our defense. Either way, they’re probably scoring on this drive and that means we’re not a tied game anymore. It means we’re losing.
The ball is snapped. My breath is held. The quarterback throws. It flies viciously downfield, over the heads of the defense, over their offense, straight to the ten where a Kodiak and a Falcon are waiting for it. The Falcon catches it. The Kodiak goes for the tackle.
He misses.
Ten yards. End zone.
Twenty-six to twenty, Falcons.
We’re losing.
Carol curses under her breath, shaking her head in disgust. I look to the sidelines as the stadium erupts in a mix of cheers and boos to find Colt. He’s pulling his helmet on but not before I see the grim line on his mouth where his smile used to be. It’s harsh on his face. Intense and angry in a way I’m not used to from him, and I wish there was something I could. Anything to bring back his smile and his laugh, his light that makes the whole world seem brighter. Sweeter.
But there’s nothing I can do. Nothing but sit here impotent and ignorant, watching as his dream slips away from him.
They miss the field goal. It pings off the goal post on the right and tumbles awkwardly end over end to the ground.
Carol claps her hands together excitedly. She takes hold of my arm with an almost painful grip. “That’s a good thing. A really good thing. Two and a half minutes is plenty of time for a touchdown and if we score a field goal on top of it, we’re in the lead. This isn’t over yet.”
I nod my head in mute agreement, my stomach rolling nervously.
The Falcons kick the ball away from their end zone. Tyus makes a fair catch on the twenty-two yard line to stop the clock.
The offensive line takes the field. I recognize the name Lowry on the back of one of the jerseys lined up with them. He was at Colt’s party and he’s the one who told him about Leavenworth. He’s a tall guy standing at least a couple inches over the rest of the line. He points at one of the defensive lineman across from him as they all crouch down. He makes a hand gesture I can’t quite make out from here but it pisses the other guy off enough to make him stand halfway up. He’s not ready when the ball is snapped. Lowry rushes at him, knocking him on his ass.
It creates an opening in the line.
Trey has handed off the ball to Colt who sees the hole in the line and drives straight for it. Another lineman closes in on him but he slips away with incredible agility that leaves me breathless. I take hold of Carol’s hand in an iron grasp as we watch him run across the thirty, closing on the forty.
“Yes!” I shout with Carol, bouncing up and down excitedly.
Just outside the forty a lineman hits Colt from the side and spins him around, taking him to the ground.
I instantly go still, holding my breath waiting for him to get up, just like I have every play since I saw him hurt in December.
Colt shoves the guy away before reaching up for Tyus’s waiting hand. He explained to me once that they always help each other up not just because it’s a dick move to leave your man lying there on the ground, but because it conserves energy for the guy who took the hit. You’re sharing the load by helping him. It’s a minute aspect of the team mentality they live with that I never would have thought of but it’s nice to see.
Tyus helps snap Colt to his feet before they jog back to the huddle where Trey and the rest of the guys are waiting for them. They hurry through the instructions and run to the line. The clock is still ticking.
Less than two minutes left in the game.
Trey calls for the snap. It bobbles in his hands, nearly dropping to the ground before he recovers it, but he’s stayed close to the line for too long. He tucks the ball in close just as a lineman tackles him to the ground. The play is dead before it began.
“That damn center,” Carol mumbles angrily.
Two more plays get us only six more yards. It’s fourth down. We’re outside field goal range.