Page 16 of Fair Catch
I shoved a black plug into the turf, backing away a few steps before I let out a slow exhale. Then, with a one-two skip, I swung my right leg up just like I would in a kick, as if that black plug was my teammate holding the ball in position after the snap.
“Good,” Coach said, and then he turned, and I knew without him saying it that he wanted me to keep at it.
The field was alive with energy, every corner of it covered with a subset of offense or defense or special teams running drills and executing plays. Between swings, I watched Holden Moore send a spiral halfway down the field right into a wide receiver’s hands, who took off in a full sprint toward the end zone.
Another swing, and my eyes trailed to where defense was down the field. The linemen pushed against sled dummies, while those hopeful for safety and cornerback positions were working on explosive shuffles and sprints, pivoting when the coach yelled out turn!
Sweat dripped, faces twisted in pain, and we shared our agony and fatigue as a team.
At least fall was creeping in, slowly but surely, that familiar chill lingering on the breeze as it wafted through the city. I longed for October when the leaves would change, and longed even more for the days when Gavin and I would drive up north to the Kanc with our parents, hiking along the rushing water and colorful foliage.
I was still working on leg swings when Coach Sanders blew his whistle loud and long, signaling us all to stop where we were and hustle to the middle of the field. We took a knee, and Coach’s eyes surfed the panting crowd, an unreadable expression on his severe face.
“Pressure,” he said, allowing that word to sink in before he said anything else. “That’s the one thing missing from these practices that you’ll feel in a game. Even when we scrimmage, you can’t fully understand what it will be like to have a crowd roaring — sometimes for you, sometimes against you. You won’t know what it feels like to have the opportunity to make a catch that saves a drive, or a block that brings up a kick instead of a touchdown, or an interception that changes the momentum.” His eyes found me then. “Or a kick that wins the game.”
I swallowed.
“So, in this last week, I’ll be pulling some of you up at the end of practice and putting as much pressure as I can artificially manage on you. You’ll be tired — just like you will be at the end of the game. But you still need to perform.” He adjusted the ballcap on his head. “Novo, we’re starting with you.”
All eyes snapped in my direction, and with those eyes came a spike in my heart rate.
I didn’t let it sink in, though. I immediately hopped up, shrugging on my helmet and waiting for direction, face stone-cold like I expected this challenge, like it wasn’t a challenge at all.
“Offense has driven down the field but couldn’t get in for a touchdown,” Coach said, painting the scenario. “QB1 spiked the last snap with three seconds on the clock. A thirty-eight-yard field goal will win the game. A miss will lose it.”
Without waiting for further instructions, I did the quick math and jogged off toward the twenty-eight-yard line, allowing ten yards from the goal line to goal posts, and seven yards behind the line of scrimmage where I would line up.
Soon after, other players vying for their spot on special teams followed.
“You got this,” Blake Russo said, clapping my shoulder before he got in position. Blake was also a quarterback, but served as a holder for kicks, and I had a feeling he’d be backup to Holden once the chart was released.
I nodded, ears ringing as the rest of the team lined up on the sideline.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Coach yelled at them. “She’s on the opposite team. You’re in the stands. This kick determines the game!”
On cue, all the guys started yelling, some of them cursing at me, some of them making jokes about my mom, some screaming out, “Don’t kick like a girl!” They beat their helmets on the metal benches, stomped their feet, and screamed as loud as they could.
I knew they were doing it because they were instructed to, but I couldn’t help feeling like some of them really enjoyed the permission to berate me.
Cameras lined the field, just like they had every day of camp. Some were small vloggers making depth chart predictions, some were from the local media, some from ESPN. And right now, I knew they were all focused on me — on the female kicker being tested for the first time in front of the entire team, and just one week out from Depth Chart Day.
