by Alan Janney
Touchdown Bears!
I didn’t move. That happened so fast! I never saw the defender until he had the ball.
Bears – 13. Eagles – 0.
Coach Garrett called me and I slumped to see him. “First interception you’ve ever thrown right?” he asked me, chomping rapidly on his gum.
“Yes sir. Sorry.”
“You’re going to throw a million more. Shake it off and get back out there,” he said and he slapped me on the butt so hard my eyes teared up.
Something was wrong. This wasn’t like the previous games. I couldn’t summon the courage or anger. I desperately needed the game to slow down! But it wouldn’t. I kept running for my life and screwing up. I closed my eyes between plays and tried to summon the Outlaw but nothing happened. I had no control of it. Or him.
The defense kept storming around the edges and my wide receivers kept sprinting so fast I couldn’t keep up. Over and over. Adam Mendoza got open but I badly under threw him. The game was moving in fast forward and I couldn’t catch my breath. One of their linebackers got his hands inside my collar and yanked me down for another sack. They were laughing and taunting me.
“Yo Jackson,” Jesse said to me in the huddle. “You good?”
I didn’t answer. It was third down and we were going to punt again if we didn’t get some yards. Coach Garrett radioed in the play. Another pass.
“Another pass,” I panted to myself. “No way. I can’t even think. Jeez I hate these guys.”
“What?”
I wasn’t throwing another pass yet. So I changed the play. “Option left,” I told the huddle. “I hate these guys, Jesse. Hate them. Let’s get a first down.”
“You got it,” he said.
The center hiked me the ball, and Jesse and I streaked to our left, leaving the carnage behind us. The linebackers came quickly in pursuit and they would have tackled me but I pitched the ball to Jesse. Without the ball, I turned into a blocker.
I spied the linebacker that had hit me earlier during the fumble recovery. He was adjusting his angle to chase down Jesse, running across my path. I set my feet, lowered my shoulder and drove it through his chest. I didn’t block him; I destroyed him. His feet kicked up over his head and he spun in a full circle before landing on the back of his neck.
The crowd went berserk!
My block and Jesse’s first down provided the spark we needed. The Bears were nasty and spiteful but we started executing. Coach Garrett called outside toss after outside toss, and Jesse used his speed to beat the massive defenders to the edge and pick up yards. As the first quarter ended we kicked a field goal to make the score 13 to 3.
The Bears offense lumbered back onto the grass and ran the ball down our throats. They bashed us, pounded us and forced us backwards with relentless aggression.
After several minutes of struggle their running back broke a tackle and ran thirty-three yards for a touchdown. The air went out of our team but then we caught a break. One of their mindless linemen, an enormous brute, had punched one of our players in the helmet.
“Personal foul!” cried the ref, and the touchdown was not only reversed but they lost yards. The Bears were forced to kick a field goal and they missed!
Our offense sprinted onto the field with renewed vigor.
“I need you guys to hold up,” I demanded. The faces in the huddle were confident and energized. “We’re throwing it deep to Mendoza.”
Adam Mendoza was a burner, much faster than his defender. I held the ball for as long as I dared before throwing the ball far down the field. I didn’t throw it far enough though and Adam had to slow down to catch it. After watching Adam catch the ball, the defender grabbed him by the facemask and drug him to the ground, tackling him awkwardly. Our crowd practically burst in outrage at the poor sportsmanship.
“Person foul,” the ref announced again, as Adam was helped off the field. He held his shoulder gingerly all the way to the bench where the doctor tended to him.
On the next play I rifled a pass to Jon Mayweather for a touchdown.
Bears – 13. Eagles – 10.
The Bears ended the half with a long touchdown drive, making the score 20-10, and we stomped down the tunnel, click-clack click-clack click-clack. Deep in the recesses of our locker room, the mood was not one of despair.
“You took their best shot,” Coach Garrett told us. “They hit us in the mouth and we didn’t fall! They capitalized on our two turnovers but they’re only up ten points. And I know the Hidden Spring Eagles can score ten points in a heartbeat.”
We got the ball in the second half and Jesse scorched them. He kept flying outside the pile, picking up six yards every down, and after a long sustained drive Jesse dashed into the corner of the end zone for a touchdown, making the score 20-17. He yelled and danced and chest-bumped and worked the crowd into a frenzy.
However on the resulting play, we kicked off and the speediest kid on their team caught the ball. He churned full speed through our special teams unit, running ninety-nine yards for a touchdown. This was a heavy-weight slug fest.
Bears – 27. Eagles - 17.
The Bear’s defense was exhausted and dragging their feet. By now, they were expecting a rush whenever we hiked the ball, so on the first play we faked a rush. I pretended to hand the ball to Jesse and he pretended to charge into the line. Unnoticed by the defense, Jon Mayweather snuck downfield past his defender and I threw an easy touchdown pass to him.
The crowd made so much noise my ears hurt! For a second I could hear Katie’s voice louder than all the rest.
Bears – 27. Eagles – 24.
The Bears offense finally came onto the field, rested and chomping at the bit. They clawed and dragged themselves down the field and finally, after half the fourth quarter had passed, they kicked another field goal.
Bears – 30. Eagles – 24.
On our following possession we had to punt. If the Bears put together another one of their long drives then the game would be over, but our defense held and they had to punt the ball back to us.
The clock showed 2:16 left. We would only get one more chance to score. We had to score a touchdown to win.
“We have two minutes and two timeouts left,” Coach Garrett told me, yelling above the school’s horn section. “That’s plenty of time to score a touchdown. They’ll be expecting us to pass, so we’ll run Jesse a few plays. Maybe he can break off a long run.”
Jesse did catch them off guard and he ran for nineteen yards and then another ten. The crowd raged.
1:35
Now the entire stadium knew it was up to me. We had to start passing because it used less time. Their defenders lowered themselves closer to the ground like hounds on my scent.
“Hut!” I called and they came roaring after me. I faked a pass and tossed it short to Jesse who danced forward for ten yards.
“Time out!” Coach Garrett announced to stop the clock.
1:24
We still had forty more yards to go to score a touchdown. On the next play, one of their linebackers came straight up the middle unblocked. I feinted and took off, leaving him far behind. With frantic strides I raced towards the sidelines and scanned the field, but all the Eagles receivers were blanketed by Bears defenders. My breathing was harsh in my own ears. I tucked the ball and shot forward to their thirty yard line before leaping out of bounds.
1:11
We can do this, we can do this, I can do this. My next pass hit Jon Mayweather in the gloves but he dropped it.
1:05
Josh Magee grabbed the next pass but he was tackled inbounds at the twenty yard line. I screamed at the players and we lined up quickly to spike the ball, which stopped the clock.
:43
On my following throw I badly missed Jesse. Coach Garrett made ‘Calm down’ motions with his palms.
:38
My adrenaline was pumping and on the next play I rifled the ball too hard. It snapped Josh’s finger. I didn’t even have to see the result becau
se I already knew; his finger was broken.
:33
During the injury timeout, I trotted to Coach Garrett for a chat.
“We’re running out of wide receivers,” he said. “How about you take a little zip off the ball?”
“Right. Sorry sir.” We returned to the field with a surprise running play. “Super eleven,” I told my team, reversing the field when I saw too many defenders to our right. “Hut!” I pitched it left to Jesse.
He never caught it. He took his eyes off the ball. The football skipped off his fingertips, hit him in the shoulder and bounced loose.
The ball is fumbled!
Jesse whirled in circles, madly trying to locate it. The defense came stampeding towards us. I threw a block to give him time, staggering both me and the defender. That same big linebacker from the last fumble came to decapitate me but I ducked under, sending him sprawling. I threw another block and we both fell. All was chaos.
Jesse snatched the ball on a lucky bounce, darted one way, faked the other and raced through the scrambling defense. He was so quick that, despite the fumble, he still got the first down. The band’s drums pounded out an avalanche that tumbled over us.
:19
We needed ten more yards to score and we had four tries before the clock ran out. I was so excited that my first pass flew five feet above Jon Mayweather’s hands.
:14
I was mobbed as I threw my next pass. Jesse caught it but the defense decked him. My assailant pulled me to the ground and got his hand inside my mask, raking his nails across my face.
“Timeout!” Coach Garrett called because the clock hadn’t stopped. The equipment-managers ran out with water bottles for us, and the sports-medicine grad student dabbed at the blood on my forehead. Coach Garrett berated the official for letting the Bear claw me, and the cheerleaders led a ‘Go Eagles!’ chant.
If we hurried, we’d have two more chances.
:7
I cried, “Hut!” and my offensive line broke. The Bears defenders came through cleanly, and I had zero time to throw the ball. I spun away from them to buy myself a precious second or two and I searched the end zone. Nothing! No one open. I could hear the hungry horde gaining on me.
With no options left, I pulled the ball down and sprinted towards the corner of the end zone. All the defenders converged on me. My teammates quit running and just watched. The crowd screamed two octaves higher. The world shook violently through my visor as I ran.
The Bears’ safety met me four yards in front of the end zone. Four yards away from a touchdown. Four yards away from victory.
I dropped my shoulders as far as I could and got underneath him as we collided. The impact shook me down to my bones. I groaned with the effort of raising up like a bull, kept pushing with my legs, kept fighting, kept digging. The rest of the Bears hit me from behind. The crowd noise faded to a hot throb. The safety was draped over my back like a cape. We crashed forward onto the ground.
The referees blew their whistles. I opened my eyes and saw painted grass in the dark shadows beneath my face. I had broken the plane of the goal line.
Touchdown Eagles!
The crowd erupted and the entire team streamed onto the field. The cheerleaders did too. Mayhem! The band could probably be heard for miles. In the midst of the celebration, Mr. Desper the public relations coordinator grabbed my elbow and squeezed so tight it hurt.
“Now listen, young man,” he yelled into my ear above the band. “Remember what you practiced. Positive words, complete sentences, school pride!” He steered me towards the goal post where one of the many hefty cameras sat on a tripod. Beside it stood a local sports reporter I didn’t know.
“Chase Jackson,” he said into the microphone. “That was quite a comeback! How’d you pull it off?”
He pressed the microphone towards me and I panted, “Wow, you’re right. That was really exciting. This Eagles team showed a lot of heart today. I couldn’t be more proud of them. We never gave up.”
“What did your coach tell you at half time?”
“Well, we were pretty excited in the locker room,” I said, still wheezing. “Burbank is a really good team and the Coach told us we’d taken their best shot and not fallen down. So if we’d just execute then we could pull out a victory.”
“Thanks Chase, and congratulations on the victory!”
“Thank you,” I said.
Mr. Desper whacked me on the back and said, “Better.”
The straps to my pads had broken during the game. One of the buckles had snapped and another cord had torn free from its fastener. Players’ muscles hardened and swelled with exertion, but not that much.
Everything hurt. Cory lifted my pads off while Coach Garrett preached determination and pride. All the faces had smiles, and the biggest of all was Jesse’s. Where was Andy Babington? He probably didn’t feel he could share in the experience, which was sad.
We showered, changed, and walked out of the locker room carrying our bags. The usual crowd of family and friends was waiting. My blood was still hot from the battle. We were violent conquerors, vicious warriors, and to the victor go the spoils.
Hannah Walker was waiting for me. My father was chatting with her while everyone stared. Dad shook my hand and congratulated me on the good game.
“Mr. Jackson, may I borrow Chase for the evening?” she asked. “There’s a victory celebration at a friend’s house and I’d like him to accompany me.”
My father is old and made of stone, but even he couldn’t say ‘No’ to the full force of Hannah Walker’s charm. I told him I’d be home later, and we walked to Hannah car.
“Follow me home so I can change, and I’ll drive you to the party,” she told me.
“Sounds good,” I said. My heart started thumping harder than it had on the field.
She lived in a small mansion nestled up next to the mountains near Chevy Chase. I was instructed to wait with the car because, “I don’t think you could handle my parents right now.” I leaned against her car and admired the immaculate, well-lit landscaping while I killed time, but I didn’t have to wait long.
She was built for heels. I heard the appealing clicking sound before I saw her. Her khaki skirt was short and so was her tight top. Her ears and neck sparkled with diamonds. She strutted right up to me, encroaching deep into my personal space, and dangled the keys in front of my eyes. I could smell enticing perfume as she said, “I’ll take your silence as a compliment. You’re driving, hotshot.”
She had an Audi convertible, and the trip to the party might have been more thrilling than the football game. I could go from zero to the speed limit faster than I could count to three, and yet I barely felt it due to the car’s luxury suspension and cushioning. I roared down roads and flew around corners and Hannah lowered the top. I had to catch my breath when we arrived. That is definitely a benefit to being rich.
The party was being thrown at a big house owned by a kid named Alex, a senior girl I’d never met. When Hannah arrived it became apparent she was the queen. The kids on the steps cleared a path for her, hugged her, and took pictures with her using their phones. A few students I didn’t know wanted pictures with me too. Whichever room we entered gave us the same response, hugging and laughing and pictures. I recognized some of the most popular kids in school, but I only knew the football players so I shook hands with them and congratulated them on the game. We were offered drinks, snacks, places to sit, and the latest juicy gossip. Hannah dealt with it all gracefully, both absorbing and reflecting the energy. The social flow of the evening seemed to be drawn towards her, like she exerted gravity over the festivity.
I don’t know what I expected, but the party didn’t strike me as being particularly…happy. The atmosphere felt forced, as though the night’s collective priority rested not on having a good time but hoping everyone else thought you were having a good time. Enormous effort was being exerted to give the appearance of fun. Girls gossiped and screamed. Guys looked cool and bored and se
lf-conscious. Each room had its own mood, some with pockets of authentic merriment, but underlying it all I sensed a needy desperation. What I saw resembled work more than fun.
Hannah finally let go of my hand and I stole away from her collection of girls. I probed deeper into the house, searching out the source of the throbbing music. Everyone I passed nodded or politely mentioned the game. I found a back room that had been converted into a dance floor. The lamps were low and someone had plugged in a light machine that coated the dancers in shades of electric colors. The music droned out of two big speakers in the far corners.
That’s when I saw Katie. She hadn’t told me she was going to a party tonight, but there she was, dancing in the middle of the crowd, still wearing my jersey, only now it was tied into a knot near her ribs and exposed her midriff.
Katie’s skin is light for a girl with Puerto Rican grandparents, like she was born with a perfect tan. Her eyes are dark and sultry and her hair looks great when pulled back.
She moved with natural rhythm, bouncing with the beat on instinct. Her hips swayed independent of her torso, which twisted and rocked rhythmically. She laughed and danced with all the boys and girls around her, trying moves they’d seen on music videos. I wasn’t the only person watching; all the boys in the room not dancing were staring at her. I didn’t blame them. Her laughter and joy were infectious, intoxicating.
I enjoyed the show for several songs before I realized Sammy was standing nearby. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he was talking quietly with some kid. Didn’t Sammy realize he was the luckiest kid at the party? That every other guy wished he could be with a girl like that?
“Chase!” Katie noticed me and skipped over. “Oh my gosh, hi!” she yelled above the noise and threw her arms around my neck. “I didn’t see you come in. You played so well, I’m so proud of you! At the end, with only a few seconds left, I couldn’t even watch. You carried like five guys into the end zone with you! I bet you’re really excited! And wow, are you so sore? Those bullies were so mean to you. Does everything hurt?”
