Page 141 of A Whole New Play

45

CARTER

“Listen up, men,” Coach Palmer shouts to be heard over the crowd cheering wildly for what is about to be the final play of the game.

It doesn’t matter that Coach Owens called a time out, the spectators are hyped. Half of them won’t stop until a winner is decided. And the other half will only get louder once their team is officially declared the champion.

“It’s fourth down. They’re going to rush. Linemen, you know your matchups. Post up on those guys. Don’t give them an inch.”

“Yes, Coach,” the linemen reply.

“Linebackers,” he addresses me and the two other players who share my position, but his focus lands on me. “Prevent the runs. Stay in step with your players. Jones, you’re going to rush Polland.”

I steel myself for the task. Arizona’s quarterback is a slippery one, but I’m not going to let him get away from me. We’re too close to victory to fail now. “Yes, Coach.”

“Good.” Palmer nods. “All right, men. This is it. Hold them here and this game is over. Are you ready to be Super Bowl Champs?”

“Hell yeah!” We shout and clap. Anticipation hypes us up even more than the crowd.

“Then go give ‘em hell!” Palmer claps players on their shoulders, urging them back onto the field as the refs blow the whistle, signaling the end of the timeout.

I grab my helmet and jog to join my teammates, but not before I lock eyes with my defensive coordinator one last time. He dips his chin once. I sense his encouragement. I nod in return, then shove my helmet over my head and take my position on the field.

My body buzzes. The field is crystal clear as I take in the other team’s position. Two running backs are set close to the quarterback, trying to confuse us as to which could get the ball. Receivers are lined up closer to the sidelines, leaning forward. They’re ready to bolt the moment the ball is snapped.

I don’t know what play is coming, but I trust each of my teammates to stay with their man. If we execute our tasks, we won’t fail.

I zero in on the quarterback. Determination floods my entire body.

The refs blow the whistle to initiate the play clock.

This is it.

My heart beats hard in my chest, but it’s not distracting. It’s motivating. The organ works in time with each second that passes, providing the blood and oxygen my body needs to do what needs to be done.

I’m ready.

Polland’s eyes sweep the field. He calls to his center. “Hut. Hut. Forty-seven. Hut. Hike!”

The center snaps the ball.

I dig my feet into the turf and lunge forward.

An offensive lineman sees me coming. He tries to block me. I plant my hands on his chest and shove him to the side. Adrenaline makes it look like I’m batting a fly. I brush past him with a spin to avoid his outstretched hands trying to trip me up.

The quarterback is in my sights.

Polland holds the ball, ready to throw, but he doesn’t have anywhere to go. My teammates are covering his receivers. He glances my way. He’s running out of time.

Time slows.

My breaths exhale in sync with my footsteps.

I sprint towards the quarterback. My arms pump with effort. Then, I leap.

Pollard tries to escape my grip. He spins left, but I’m already on him.

We’re going down. But before Pollard hits the ground, he throws the ball in the air in a last-ditch attempt to not lose the game.

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