Page 38 of Calling the Shots

I smash the playbook into my back pocket and press my lips together in a tight line, trying to figure out the nicest way to say this.

“Respectfully, what in the heck was that?” I catch each player’s eye, shaking my head in disbelief. “I’m going to forget about what I just saw and we’re going to hit refresh, ‘kay?”

They all bob their heads, gazes downcast. I spin and face the field, arms crossed over my chest as I watch our offense march the ball down the field. But we fail to score and the defense is back out on the field, the score still seven to zero.

Shouting the play, my guys take their positions. Griffin’s lined up with the wide receiver and he’s squatting low, like we talked about. But damn if the kid doesn’t cut the opposite direction and outrun Griffin, spinning to catch the quarterback’s perfect spiral.

“Dammit!” I growl, shaking my head as the demon sprints into the end zone again. The scoreboard flips to thirteen-zero and beads of sweat form under my ball cap. We’re too early in the season to suffer a loss like this. These kids need to get it together right the fuck now.

Unfortunately, they go for the two-point conversion and we fail to stop them—again. Now we’re down fifteen-nothing.

The second quarter doesn’t go much better. We look like a pee wee team compared to this Sandalwood lineup, and the once-rowdy crowd’s stunned into silence as they roll up the score. By halftime, we’re down twenty-two to eight.

“Locker room, now.” Coach Carter points down the field and the boys file off the turf, helmets hung low. Carter doesn’t say anything to the other coaches, either, and by the time we hit the fluorescent lights I have a pounding headache and a pit in my stomach.

The room’s quiet, no one daring to speak. That phrase about being able to hear a pin drop? You definitely could in this space.

“Y’all are playing like toddlers out there tonight. Langley, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but whatever it is, figure it out. And defense—you’re getting beat on every play. You can’t get beat off the line! You hear me!” He raises his voice, face flushing. Very atypical of him. He’s usually calm, cool, and collected.

Not right now.

“Defense—get with Coach Mack and figure out what the hell you’re doing. Special teams—talk to Coach Baker because we need to do something different if we’re going to win this game. Offense, huddle up.”

We all take our respective boys and regroup. I try my best to give them a pep talk, buoy their spirits after Coach Carter tore them down. Feels weird because I’m hardly ever the good cop in the locker room.

“We’re going to try a different formation, guys. Cover 2 zone defense. Deep safeties and double coverage on that kid. Let’s get out there and stop ‘em!” I pump my fist and determination flashes across their young faces.

With halftime over, we jog back onto the field. The Sandalwood cheerleaders are hyping up the crowd and our squad’s doing their best, although our stand is unusually quiet.

Langley manages to launch the ball down field and we score a big touchdown. Baker high-fives me and Carter’s shoulders relax a touch, now hovering only halfway to his ears. We go for the two-point conversion and we’re back in the game.

“Alright, boys—remember the new coverage. Go get ‘em!” I slap the defenders on the back as they hustle out to the line.

The ball’s hiked and the quarterback searches for the wide receiver, but for the first time all night, he can’t get open. He’s jammed up by my guys and the QB has to find another target. He hands off to a running back, who’s immediately tackled.

Sandalwood can’t get anything going and the ball’s back to us. The offense doesn’t execute like the defense, though, and we don’t manage to score. The whistle blows and it’s already the fourth quarter.

I huddle quickly with my guys. “Fourth quarter and it’s a close game. Stop them here and don’t get beat. Understand? We are not giving up any more plays.”

They all nod, blue-and-white helmets bobbing up and down in unison.

“Get ‘em, boys. Scootch and slant. Got it?”

“Got it, Coach!”

Defense takes the field and I hold my breath, willing them to stop the ball. The first play goes nowhere, the cornerbacks doing their job and holding the wide receiver at bay. But the second play connects and they get a first down.

I lift my ball cap, run my fingers through my hair. The pressure’s on as I work through the team’s options.

“Press!” I shout as the team lines up again, tension sitting in between my shoulder blades.

The quarterback has the ball and miraculously, the defense presses. The receiver scrambles, but the timing’s messed up and I clap my hands as Sandalwood doesn’t make forward progress.

“Two more like that!” I yell and we go again. Same execution, same result.

“One more, boys!”

The hike and the quarterback’s scanning, trying to find an open receiver. He’s got nothing and throws the ball away.

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