We went over what he wanted generically, and then we sent Marshal to film some other stuff. I know I said I didn’t care if they knew what we were going to do, but I wasn’t crazy. Coach Mason had watched more film and had suggestions on reads I could make.
“One last thing: keep your head on a swivel. If I were them, I’d be sending someone on every single play to try to force you to make bad decisions. While I hate it when you have to scramble, I want you to be ready for it. I have faith that you can handle it,” Coach Mason said.
My heart rate increased with excitement at the thought of getting to play like Captain Chaos. The key to my success would be my receivers paying attention and working to find holes in Eastside’s defense if a play broke down. If they just stopped or allowed the defensive backs to cover them, I would be forced to run. I could do much more damage if I could throw downfield.
We joined the team and ran through our pregame ritual. When we walked out to warm up, I found that Eastside’s field had been transformed. They had added bleachers that more than doubled the seating capacity. It was good they had because our side of the stadium was almost entirely full. I was sure that by game time, it would be standing-room-only.
I looked over to the cheerleaders, and my whole day was made by the smile Brook gave me. But when Destiny waved to get my attention, I had to roll my eyes. Brook caught it but decided to ignore her frenemy. After the fight, they seemed to back off on the hostilities. I was under no illusion that they’d totally made up; their feud could boil over at any time. I was somewhat surprised it hadn’t already.
Clumped together were the college recruiters. Noticeably absent were both Wisconsin and Oklahoma. I was surprised to see Notre Dame and Iowa. I thought they didn’t want to recruit me. They must be here to see someone else.
Then I heard something that caught my attention.
“You’re going down today,” an Eastside player said to Yuri. “And you’re ugly.”
“And yet, your girlfriend still prefers me,” Yuri shot back.
I started walking over that way, but Coach Rector grabbed me. This was precisely what I needed; it allowed me to hate them just enough to obliterate any sympathy I might otherwise feel for Eastside over what was about to happen.
It looked like a bunch of my teammates felt the same as I did. The other coaches separated the teams before the situation got out of control. God, I love football.
◊◊◊
We won the toss, and Coach Hope wanted to take the ball. I’d never seen him do that before, but I wasn’t going to argue.
On the opening kickoff, you could feel the nervous energy throughout the stadium. This was the game that would determine who won our conference and went to state. Yes, there was a chance for an at-large slot. But neither team wanted to rely on a bunch of old men in some back room deciding who got the golden ticket.
I watched as Eastside boomed the kick through the end zone, giving us the football on our 20 yard line. Coach Mason had been involved in several lengthy discussions with the coaching staff about our approach to this game. Coach Hope had always been a defense-first type of leader. He would be happy if we won 10–7 in a slugfest.
Coach Mason, however, came from the old Oakland Raiders coaching tree. Granted, they did have some nasty defenses back in the day. Still, what they were known for was their vertical game on offense. Send a speedy receiver long and see what happened. It only took one success, and you scored in a flash. Long scores were like a big right hook in boxing. If it connected, it could be lights out for your opponent.
We were playing Eastside, whose offensive philosophy was completely different. The West Coast Offense they used was predicated on short, accurate passes that were meant to pick up small gains. If you used the boxing analogy, they were body punchers. Their goal was to keep dinking and weaving until you either let your guard down or wore out. Then those short passes could turn into big gains.
The reason I was so confident was that our core group was mainly seniors. We’d been playing together for two to three years. In football terms, that’s an eternity. Eastside, on the other hand, had graduated their leaders last year. This was a new group of young guns who were out to prove they belonged. I had no doubt that this bunch would give us their best shot, but I’d gone to war with my guys and knew we had what it took.
It was with that confident swagger that I strode out onto the field to the sound of our damned cowbells. We huddled up, and I took a moment to take it all in.
“This is why we play them. I want you to keep your head on a swivel out there. These guys will be flying around, and if you’re not careful, they’ll take your head off. I’ve always been of the mind that it’s better to give than receive,” I said.
“Amen, brother,” Johan agreed.
