Page 137 of Home Town Advantage
Fortunately for me, that miracle comes in the form of Beau Fudd. He breaks through the offensive line, seemingly untouched, and just as the quarterback is about to hand the ball off, Beau wraps his arms around him, taking him down. More importantly, the ball squirts loose.
Every single player on the field dives on top of it, undoubtedly fighting for that ball. There are twenty-two men currently piled on it. I have no idea who has the ball, but our entire bench is jumping up and down at the possibility it could be us. I can only imagine the fight going on at the bottom of that pile right now, but there’s no one I want fighting for us more than Beau Fudd.
“Come on, Beau. Come on, Beau,” I quietly whisper-plead to myself and the football gods.
The refs begin peeling the players away, one at a time. Every single person in this stadium, over seventy thousand people, is on their feet waiting for the outcome.
I can’t see what’s going on with all the players now circled around the fumble, but as we get to the final two, I see our guys jumping up and down in excitement before the head referee points his arm, indicating that it’s Camels’ ball. Our entire team and all our fans begin cheering wildly.
Coach grabs me by the facemask and brings his face to mine. “This is your time, McCaffrey.” His green eyes bore into mine. “This is how legends are made. How heroes are born. Go be the hero and cement your legacy.”
I nod as he releases my facemask, and I trot out onto the field, trying to temper my nerves. The ball is on our forty-yard line. We need about twenty to twenty-five yards to reasonably give Presley a chance to tie the game and send it into overtime, though the more yards we get, the more helpful it is to him. We need sixty yards for the touchdown, which would win the game in regulation.
A two-minute offense, which we call fourth quarter fever, consists of a series of smaller passing plays up the sideline aimed at gradually moving the ball up the field while giving the receiver an opportunity to step out of bounds, stopping the clock. The clock is our worst enemy right now, with only forty-four seconds remaining and no timeouts left.
Our plays are designed to give me a lot of options between our wide receivers, Daylen, and Champ, all running crossing routes. It’s my job to find the most open man. It’s fairly complicated, but my downfield vision and ability to find the open man have long been considered a strength.
Our opponent will give up the middle of the field, knowing we need to throw the ball toward the sidelines. They happilyallow short passes up the middle, which will only serve to eat up the clock.
The ball is snapped, and I drop back in the pocket. I quickly check my first two options, but they’re covered. Fuck, everyone is covered. Daylen changes course and runs through the middle of the field. I throw a fifteen-yard dime to him, and he catches the ball, dragging the defender an extra six yards along the way before he’s brought down.
It gets us close to Presley’s outer field goal range, but it didn’t stop the clock. I wave my arm frantically to rush everyone to the line before I quickly spike the ball, stopping the clock with twenty-one seconds remaining.
After huddling my team to call the play, I stand under center. I see the other team stacking the line. They’re blitzing me so I don’t have time to find my second and third options. I call a quick audible, yelling, “Ricky right, Lucy left.” It means that Champ will shorten his route to the right sideline, and Linc will shorten his to the left. Instead of running his route, Daylen will now stay back and block for me.
The ball is hiked. I can sense a defender coming up my blindside, but Daylen blocks him, giving me time to throw a quick pass to Linc, who steps out of bounds for a nine-yard gain, one short of the first down we needed.
There are now eleven seconds on the clock. It’s third and one. The smart thing to do is to run the same play we just ran. Get a couple more yards for Presley and then step out of bounds with a few seconds remaining on the clock. If the pass is incomplete, the clock also stops, and Presley can go for the tie from where we are now.
The crowd is so loud. It’s hard for me to hear the plays coming into the earpieces in my helmet. I cup my hands over my ears to listen for the play and can hardly believe my ears when it comes in. I turn my head to Coach. He nods. For over a decade, this man has always had faith in me. I refuse to let him down.
It’s similar to the play we ran all those months ago, where I have both a long and short field option. Champ will not be in the backfield this time. They know we’re not running the ball. The other difference is that this is the fucking Super Bowl. If we go for the long ball and miss, time will likely expire, and we’ll lose. The season will be over, as might be my career and Coach’s.
I quickly give the team the play. Daylen mouths, “Just throw it to me.”
He’s going to be triple-teamed. Throwing to Champ is the safer play.
I set Linc in motion to the right to draw the safeties away from Daylen and Champ.
I yell out hike and drop back in the pocket. Both Daylen and Linc are double-covered. One of their linemen comes charging at me, but I spin and scramble out of the pocket to my left side.
Every moment of football in my life comes flooding into my mind. Every backyard play with Finn when we were kids, where we’d act like we were in this very moment. I’d roll out, pretending I was being chased, he’d run all the way across the backyard, I’d throw the ball as far as I could, he’d catch it, and we’d jump around like crazy, acting like we won the Super Bowl.
I’m brought back to the present. Champ has a step on his man. It’s now or never.
I turn my body and pump fake to Champ. One of the men covering Daylen bites, so I plant my feet and let the ball sail high into the evening sky.
I’m immediately knocked to the ground by one of their linemen, but I roll so I can see what happens in the end zone. It’s like a movie, with the ball flying through the starry sky in slow motion. It’s a perfect spiral on a collision course with both Daylen and his one remaining defender. It’s going to be a matter of who wants it more.
I look up at the clock. Time has expired. We will either win or lose this game right now. A tie and overtime are no longer an option.
Thousands of flashes go off. I hold my breath as both men jump up high for the ball. Both get their hands on it, but Daylen gets the edge, grabbing the ball and dragging his toes inbounds before falling out of the back of the end zone and landing on the ground.
I look to the back judge, the referee in the end zone. He holds up his arms in the air, indicating a touchdown.
The entire stadium erupts in excitement. It’s pandemonium. Nearly everyone rushes to the end zone while one of my offensive linemen helps me up. Daylen, being Daylen, does a little airplane move, running away from the team before he stops and does a whole dance routine.
I laugh at his antics as I make my way to him and jump onto him, as does everyone else on the team.
