Page 53 of Red Zone Realizations
“Unsportsmanlike conduct. Offense number forty-nine. Fifteen-yard penalty. Still fourth down.”
I killed the play. Ruined our chances at a first down. At fourth and twenty-three, we’re forced to punt.
The punting team comes out on the field, and I jog off, defeated.
How weak of a man am I to get goaded into a fight? I’m just another testosterone-driven caveman who catches a ball for a living. As together as I’ve convinced myself I am, it’s all fallen apart in minutes. I go right to the bench and sit down. Rip off my helmet and fume. I see Coach stomping toward me, steam practically coming out of his ears cartoon style. “What the fuck was that, Fox?” I only have the energy to look thoroughly embarrassed. I don’t have an excuse for myself. “How am I supposed to trust you after this? Who am I supposed to lean on in fourth and long if not you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you fucking are, but it doesn’t fix a goddamn thing.”
“I know.”
“So how about you sit your ass on this bench for a while and get your shit together.”
I hang my head, ashamed. “Yes, Coach.”
For the rest of the game, all I can do is watch as we fall apart further. Our punt returner drops the ball after muffing a fair catch. Colin throws a ridiculous interception. Our lineman jumps early and gets called offsides. We’re taking it from every direction right now and I’m sitting on this bench, wallowing in my own self-pity.
When the game ends, we file into the locker room like each of us are attending our own funeral.
“It’s a long season, fellas, but it’s going to be a helluva lotlonger if we go out every week and play like that.” He looks around the room, picking random guys to look in the eye. “I expected more, especially from the veterans on this team. There is no reason we can’t be a playoff team this year except for the way we perform. You have to be hungry! Starving for a win! We lost tonight because the other team wanted it more than you.”
After Coach finishes ripping us a new one, it’s a quiet bus ride back to the hotel. I look around at my teammates, head down, AirPods in. Defeat is written across all of our faces. The bus reeks with it. A ten-minute bus ride feels more like ten hours. No claps on the back, no talking about crazy plays, no hyping ourselves up for the next game and replicating touchdown celebrations we saw. Just the deafening sound of defeat hanging heavy in the air.
The only break in the density is Jaden leaning across the aisle whispering, “At least you didn’t throw a punch and get fined.” I laugh and we fist bump.
“Hell, yeah,” I say.
My dad must have some kind of sixth sense because the second I step into my hotel room, my phone rings. I look at his name flashing on the caller ID and take a deep breath. I know exactly why he’s calling. May as well get this over with.
“Hello?”
“Noah,” he starts.
“Yeah, Dad?” I ask like I don’t already know where this is going. Like I didn’t already get reamed by Coach and he’s about to tap in for round two.
“Don’t take that tone with me. I shouldn’t be calling my grown son to scold him for the way he behaved in a professional football game, but here we are. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I was just having an off night. Things were going bad and that guy was making them worse.” I sit down on the bed and put my head in the hand not holding the phone to my ear.
“This kind of shit is unacceptable.”
“I know.”
“Don’t let me find out that the reason for this is some girl.” I suck in a breath and hope he doesn’t hear it through the line. Of course that’s exactly what it’s about. What else pushes grown men to fighting more than comments about a man’s woman or their momma?
“It’s not,” I lie. I don’t exactly feel like taking his shit tonight. I’ve been feeling shitty enough going days without talking to Audrey, spending all my time wondering if she’ll take me back—if there’s even anything to get back.
“It better not be.”Or what?He’s going to come down to the practice field and kick my ass himself? He’s going to go to Coach and tell him to bench me for a game to teach me a lesson? This isn’t high school football anymore. He can talk all he wants, but at the end of the day there’s nothing he can do but call and bitch.
“The first game of the season is next week. I’ll have my act cleaned up by then.”
“You’d better. I shouldn’t have to remind you what’s at stake here.”
“You don’t.”
“Then start acting like it.”
