“Red Dogs!” we all shout as one.
“‘Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.’ Sun Tzu.” Coach’s voice rises. “Men, we’ve already won. Now go out there and get the job done.”
“Yes, Coach!” It’s a roar.
Coach’s eyes flick to mine, and he gives a small nod. Every team has their traditions, little rituals that they do before games. Ours is no different. The university tradition is to get into a mass huddle and bump our helmets together before running out on the field. Here, in the locker room, we have another one for just after Coach’s speech.
It started when I was a redshirt freshman, and I’d plugged my phone into a set of speakers, making the guys listen to music before a game. We’d crushed it that day, and, being superstitious bastards, we’d decided that we had to listen to the same song before each game.
I complete the ritual now, pulling up Radioactive by Imagine Dragons and hitting play.
Some guys close their eyes, let the pulsing music roll over them. Others kind of sway, start getting worked up, their blood pumping.
“Visualize,” Coach says over the music. “See the win. It’s there. Yours. Already.”
It happens slowly, heads bobbing to the heavy beat. It draws us together, makes us form a huddle. Then we’re jumping, one mass of bodies feeling the same rhythm, same beat, same mind. We are one. When the refrain hits, a bunch of them shout it out, “Woah-oh.”
Energy flows through us, vibrating with the bass. The power of eighty guys jumping in unison shakes the floor. The music fades, and it’s just us, revving up. My heart pounds, my body pulled tight with anticipation. That tension within us reaches its peak, and as if we’d planned it we roar as one, “Go, Red Dogs!”
* * *
Ivy
“God, I’m nervous,” Anna says at my side. “And Drew isn’t even playing. I don’t know how you deal with this.”
Third quarter and the score is 35-30, and our team is the one down.
Fi shrugs. “I deal by people watching and hitting the buffet.” She nods toward the impressive buffet spread at the back of the luxury box we’re sitting in.
Anna laughs. “I used to cater that buffet spread. Well, not that one, but you know what I mean.”
I’m trying not to notice the buffet because my stomach is rolling. Is it nerves or morning sickness? I don’t know. Aside from slight fatigue and breast tenderness, I haven’t had any pregnancy symptoms. It’s early, so I’m guessing they’ll develop. My fingers are cold too, so maybe it is nerves. I take a bracing breath. “They’ll win.”
“Of course they will.” Anna nods then glances at me. “You’re looking a little peaked. You want me to get you a ginger ale?”
“Yeah, that would be great, thanks.” From the corner of my eye, I see my dad chatting with the university’s athletic director, and a tinge of guilt hits me that my friends know about the pregnancy but my parents do not. One thing at a time. Bowl game, then confess to the parents. Yay.
Leaning back in my chair, I wave the big foam finger Fi gave me back and forth to get some air movement. It’s freaking hot in here and too confining. I cast a longing glance at the stadium seats below. I want to be out there where it’s nice and open. But Anna, Fi, and I are all up here with my dad, the university staff, and a couple of boosters.