Page 34 of Fair Catch
As I did, I felt like I had the plague.
My first bad kick, and none of the other players would look at me. They avoided eye contact as I jogged past them, no words of encouragement — not that I should expect them. This was football, after all. This was college football.
I needed to get my own shit together.
Our special teams defense jogged out on the field for the punt, along with Shay Holmes, who landed a beautiful kick that put the Trojans starting at their eight-yard line.
And the game went on.
Both team defenses played tough, holding the score at six-zero until just before the half when the Trojans finally managed to sneak into our end zone. We went into the locker room down by one point.
The one point I missed.
I was quiet as we got re-taped and ready for the second half, eyes on my fingers clasped together between my bouncing knees.
Come on, Novo. Head in the game. Shake it off… whatever it is.
When I glanced up as Coach signaled for us to head back out, I caught Zeke staring at me.
He frowned, asking without a word if I was okay. I just shook my head in warning for him to leave it alone, to leave me alone. His words from the library last night were already too itchy under my skin.
I’m not trying to put my nose where it doesn’t belong but… you seem a little stressed.
The memory made me grind my teeth, and I closed my eyes on an exhale, blowing it off.
If I was going to focus, I needed absolutely zero distraction.
The third quarter started just like the first for us, defense stopping their advance followed immediately by our offense connecting on each drive and scoring a touchdown.
This time, I jogged out and landed the kick with my gut tied up in the fiercest of knots as I watched the ball sail through.
I eased a bit going back to a sideline that greeted me with claps on my shoulders and atta girls that made me feel like I redeemed myself.
But by the end of the fourth quarter, the Trojans had made it down far enough for two solid field goals and the game was tied.
So we went into our first overtime of the season.
“Alright, boys, let’s go! This is it! Our house! Our win!” Clay said, running up and down the sideline and butting helmets with everyone who would let him as he passed.
I stayed silent, focused, and limber, stretching and keeping warm off to the side.
Holden jogged out onto the field for the coin toss, and thankfully, we won it. He elected for us to play defense first, and just like that, overtime started.
It was different than I was used to in high school. In college, the opposing team started at our twenty-five-yard line, one possession to score. Our defense held strong, though, and nearly intercepted the ball before forcing a kick.
They made it, and then it was our turn to answer.
I watched with my heart hammering in my ears as Holden led the offense in a tight drive. Leo ran the ball like a machine, but their defense was just as tough as ours, and on a third down I was sure we would convert, Holden was run down and sacked in the backfield.
It was a loss of nine, fourth down and twelve to get the first.
I knew before Coach told me that I was going in.
I pulled on my helmet, jogging out onto the field with that same uneasy presence that had been simmering all game.
Blake eyed me through his face mask as we lined up. “You’ve got this, Novo,” he promised, just like he had that day in practice before I secured my spot on the chart.
I nodded, lining up everything just how I needed it before I angled back and got into position.
It’s just a thirty-one-yard kick. You can do that all day long. You can do that in your sleep.
I loosened a breath as the ball was snapped, and then as if in slow motion, I jogged toward where Blake waited for the ball.
A breath, he caught it.
A skip, he positioned it.
A heartbeat, I kicked it.
And then I watched with every other person in that stadium with bated breath as the ball went sailing up, up, up…
And too far left.
Again.
It must have skimmed the post. It must have left a brown skid mark as it passed because it was so close to passing in.
But it didn’t.
The small section of Rhode Island students in the stands went nuts, their team exploding off the sideline in celebration as I stood staring at the post in disbelief.
“Come on,” someone said to me as they passed, trying to tug me off the field, but I was glued to the spot.
I missed.
I missed, and we lost.
