Second Down - Chapter 6

Monday, we were playing our first full scrimmage in pads and everything, trying to get as close to a real game as possible against our defensive linemen. Our first game was on Thursday, which didn’t give us much time to get ready. How fast the schedule was between our first practice and our first game, a week into the school year, was pretty stunning, and probably one of the big reasons why they liked putting all the freshmen on the freshman team. There just wasn’t time for us to get ready before the season started.

We’d already run three plays and had picked up some yardage, which was getting the defense yelled at again.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” Coach Heidemann said, blowing his whistle.

We pulled to the sidelines in between each play so the coaches could go through what we did right or wrong each time before giving us the next play. Although Coach Heidemann had us and Coach Plummer had the defense, I think they knew what the other was doing.

I jogged up to the line of scrimmage and got behind Tyrell, looking down either side of the line to make sure everyone was set. We were on the game clock, just like we would be in an actual game, so I couldn’t take too long. Thankfully, everyone was where they needed to be.

“Set! Hut!” I barked, and Tyrell snapped the ball clean.

I dropped back and looked down the field. Elijah was my first read, out wide, sprinting down the sideline. He was fast, and for a second, I thought he might break free. But just as quickly, Gary, the other cornerback, came up fast behind him, staying glued to Elijah. There was no way I could make the connection there, not without it getting knocked away.

I shifted to my next read, checking the pocket out of my peripheral and seeing Connor was holding his block, but barely. I’d probably only get one more read before the pocket collapsed.

I found Miguel, who’d managed to break free from his coverage and was making a move down the middle of the field. I cocked my arm back and fired a bullet his way. I knew I was going to hit him in stride as soon as the ball was out of my hand. He reached his hands out and got the ball, pulling it in, when Aidan came tearing in out of nowhere, smashing into Miguel from behind like a freight train. Miguel’s head whipped back, and it looked like he was going to fold backward in half.

The ball bounced free, tumbling across the grass as Miguel crumpled to the ground. Aidan picked it up and started running with it all the way to the end zone, raising his arms in the air like a victor, while the rest of us, minus Elijah and the rest of the jerks, gathered around Miguel as one of the trainers came over.

Thankfully, as soon as the trainer got there, Miguel stirred and rolled over to his side. Mr. Romero, the trainer, still made him come off the field and helped him to the training room after making sure he could move on his own and hadn’t actually broken his back.

I don’t think Aidan and the rest realized how much everyone else, not just me and the other walk-on guys, but all of the freshman team, glared at them as they came back, hooping and hollering in victory over Aidan’s touchdown. Coach blew his whistle, and we all headed back to the sidelines.

“If you would have thrown to me, we would have made the completion,” Elijah said, catching up to me. “Open your damn eyes.”

“Shut up, Elijah. Your teammate’s injured. This isn’t the time for that.”

“This is practice, jackass. This is exactly what we’re here for.”

I stopped and turned on him just as we reached the sideline, poking a finger at him as I said, “I didn’t throw to you because Gary was on your ass, and you were too slow to break away from him. And even what matters is Aidan hit one of his own guys with a cheap shot. Or did you guys forget whose damn team you were on?”

“I’m about to forget…”

“Enough, both of you!” Coach Heidman yelled. “Get your asses over here.”

When we joined the rest of the offensive line, he said, “Hits like that can happen, and they will in a real game. What matters is you hold on to the ball until the whistle blows. That’s the priority, protect the ball and keep possession! It’s also important to protect your team. You other guys not in the play, you have to call out when your guy can’t see it. And if you are the one getting the ball, you have to keep your head on a swivel. Always be aware of what’s happening around you! Don’t let yourself get blindsided like that. Likewise, Blake, you gotta keep an eye on the whole field, not just your receivers. See what’s developing and don’t throw into something like that.”

“Sorry, coach,” I said.

“It’s okay. Aidan did a good job tracking the throw and diverting off his man and to where the ball will be. We have to anticipate what the other guys are going to do and adjust as needed. Let’s keep going with a running play this time, twenty-two iso left, behind Nielsen.”

Jamal nodded, looking to Connor, who he’d be following through the hole, hoping to break through their line and get open ground.

We lined up again and I called the play, Tyrell snapping the ball back into my hands. I stepped back like I was going to throw, and then dropped the ball down, putting it into Jamal’s stomach as he ran past me, wrapping his arms over the ball.

He took off like a bullet, following behind Connor, who smashed into one of the defensive backs, opening a small gap for Jamal, who blasted through it. Unfortunately, the defense knew exactly where we were going to be, and they’d shifted right, our left, to have stronger defense on that side. Jamal was fast, but there wasn’t nearly enough room for him to break through.

Worse, Mason was the back closest to, putting his head down and launching himself at Jamal. Just like Aidan had in the last play, he put everything into it. Way too much, in fact. The two of them collided with a sickening crunch, Mason’s arms wrapping around Jamal’s waist as he drove him to the ground, almost like he was putting him through the ground.

Jamal’s legs flew out from under him, his body twisting as he tried to break free. But Mason held tight, his helmet smashing into Jamal’s and causing it to bounce hard against the ground.

Like Miguel, he didn’t get up right away, probably from having his head rattled around too much inside the helmet. Coach blew his whistle, and everyone pulled up as the trainer ran out to check on Jamal, who thankfully started moving and was half up by the time a trainer had gotten to him.

I jogged over to Jamal as he dusted himself off. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, just got the wind knocked out of me,” he said, although he was favoring his side a bit, and I knew it was probably worse than he was letting on.

I saw Mason and the other guys headed to Coach Plummer, and I decided I’d had enough of their bullshit. Instead of going with the rest of the offensive line to Coach Heidemann, I veered off, intercepting Mason. Jake saw me coming and gave a warning shout as I got to them.

“What the hell, man?” I said, getting in his way, intercepting him.

“What’s your problem, Sims?”

“My problem? You and Aidan keep smashing into people like you’re trying to take them out before the game even starts. That’s my problem.”

Mason took a step closer, almost chest to chest with me. “That’s football, genius. Maybe your little buddies should toughen up.”

“You’re hitting them harder than anyone else. You think I can’t see that?”

He laughed, leaning his head back a bit, making a show out of it. “You’re imagining things. Maybe if you weren’t such a little…”

I shoved him, hard enough that he had to take a step to catch himself. “You think this is funny? What if Miguel or Jamal can’t play on Thursday because of you?”

Mason’s face twisted in rage and shoved me back, harder than I had pushed him. “You don’t tell me how to play, Sims. Just because you’re the quarterback doesn’t mean you’re leading shit.”

My hands clenched into fists, and for a second, I thought I might just swing at him. I knew I shouldn’t, since at the moment I was outnumbered and fighting could get me kicked off the team, but the jackasses were just so … infuriating. Thankfully, before I could, Coach Heidemann grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back.

“Both of you, cut it out!” he said, stepping in between us.

“Coach, they’re going after us, harder than they’re hitting anyone else. It’s not fair. If Miguel or Jamal gets hurt …”

“This is football, Blake. Hits happen. You don’t want to get hit, don’t play.”

“Yeah but …”

“I told him the same thing,” Mason said.

That was the wrong move, since it redirected his attention. “No, Charlie’s also right. There’s hitting and then there’s punishing your opponents. This is scrimmage and they’re on your team. You need to control yourselves, not just to keep them from getting hurt, but to keep you from getting hurt too. Now, you guys go to Coach Plummer, Blake if you come with me. We don’t have time for this nonsense.”

Mason and Aidan headed off while I headed toward the rest of the offensive line that was waiting for the next play. I could feel Mason’s eyes on me as I went though, and Elijah and the rest glaring at me as I headed towards them.

I was pissed, but I was also annoyed with myself. The last thing I needed was another escalation.

Thankfully, it didn’t actually come to anything. At least at this practice.

The coaches were keeping a better eye on them the rest of practice and I think Mason and Aidan knew they were being watched because they were on their best behavior after that. Once they weren’t so focused on just hurting people who annoyed them, we even started making some progress on tightening up our plays, which maybe meant we wouldn’t be a complete mess on Thursday.

I got home and took a shower as always, since I’d rather take a shower at home than at the field house if I didn’t have to. When I got downstairs, I found Dad sitting in his chair, leaning back with his legs stretched out, one hand wrapped around a beer.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Book club, I think,” he said, looking up at me a second before turning back toward the TV, which was playing Monday Night Football.

Instead of football, it had some talking heads on it, going over all the preseason stuff, since the actual season started the next weekend. Josh would be up in his room. He didn’t ever participate in family stuff and could care less about sports.

“Preseason stuff mostly tonight. Not as exciting, but it’ll do,” he said, looking over at me as I sat in Mom’s chair, which was next to his, separated by a little end-table thing.

“Think Nebraska’s got a shot this year?” I asked as they started talking about college ball this year.

I’m not sure why I said that. Maybe to show off. I was usually a Texas Tech fan with Dad, or at least because of Dad. He’d gone to school there and was a Red Raider until the day he died, even the years when their program struggled. Like any kid, I mostly just supported them cause Dad did.

This year though, I was pretty sure I knew something he wouldn’t. I remembered, from my dream, that they were going to have a season for the ages with their Black Death defense.

“I don’t know. These guys are all pretty sure that Paterno is going to take it. They have him at the top of the coaches’ poll.”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty confident. They’ve got a solid offensive line and Ed Stewart is a beast. Trust me. It’s going to be Nebraska.”

Part of me wanted to say ‘I bet you’ but if felt a little unfair to do that to my dad, since I was pretty sure I knew the answer. My dream had done me good so far, and I just felt really confident it would hold.

Maybe it wasn’t because I was a good guy, though. Even if I’d decided to take my dreams seriously, I couldn’t help but be skeptical. Maybe I held back because I didn’t really believe in it after all.

He chuckled. “You do sound awful sure for someone who wasn’t around for all those heartbreaks Nebraska fans have gone through. But, hey, being sure of yourself … confident, that’s a good trait to have. Even if it does make you a traitor.”

“Hey,” I protested, but we both laughed. “We can still both agree the Cowboys will kill it again this year, right?”

“I hope so. They were so damn good last year, they’ve just got to keep that momentum going. Aikman’s still strong, and if Smith stays healthy, we might see another ring, but you never know.”

Again, assuming my dream was true, I did know. It would even be the Cowboys and Buffalo in the rare repeat Super Bowl, with the Cowboys taking it a second year in a row, although by not as much.

It wouldn’t do to say anything though. Even if I explained my dream to Dad, I would either seem childish or insane. Either way, he wouldn’t believe me. Hell, I barely believed me.

We kind of wound down for a moment, both watching the guys on the TV talk about the coming season and just kind of, existing together.

After about ten minutes, as it went to another commercial break, Dad asked, “So, how’s the team shaping up this year? Got a lot of talent?”

“It’s hard to say,” I said, picking at the arm of the chair. “We’ve got some good guys, but Elijah and the others are kind of making it tough. There’s a lot of tension. It’s messing with the team chemistry. I’ve been trying to get them to calm down, or at least realize we’re all on the same team, but man … they just want to beat their chests and let everyone know they’re the most important guys on the team.”

Dad set his beer down on the little table between us and looked at me. “That’s not your job to fix, Blake. You just focus on your position, on doing your part. Let the coaches handle the rest. They’ll take care of the troublemakers.”

He made it sound simple, like all I had to do was keep my head down and things would work themselves out, but the coaches hadn’t done much so far. I didn’t hold out a lot of hope they’d rein them in.

“I guess. But I don’t think the coaches really see what’s going on yet. They’re not paying enough attention to what Elijah and the others are doing.”

“They will. Guys like Elijah, all the stuff they do eventually catches up with them. But they’ll try to take you with them, so better that you keep your distance.

“Yeah.”

Dad looked at me for a long moment, his expression thoughtful before saying, “I’m proud of you, you know? Sticking with football, even with all the drama. That takes guts. Just remember, you can’t control everything. Focus on what you can do, be the leader they need on the field. The rest will come.”

“Yeah, I’ll try,” I said, giving him a forced smile.

I turned back to the TV, thinking we’d lapse back into silence again, but instead he said, “Speaking of, I was thinking about grilling out next Monday. Labor Day and all. Thought maybe you could invite some of the new friends on the team you’d mentioned over, make it a thing. What do you think?”

It caught me off guard, maybe because we very much weren’t speaking about it, unless he made some connection I didn’t follow. I was becoming friendly with those guys, but we weren’t really friends yet. At least not, ‘hey come over for a bbq’ friends.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” he said, giving me a smile before picking up his beer and turning back to the TV.

I was hit with a sudden wave of … something. Happiness and contentment for something I lost a long time ago that I didn’t lose. Hell, dad and I didn’t really spend time like this before. I was always off with Elijah when I didn’t have to be somewhere, and I never really hung out with dad. Something dream me always regretted. The way he looked at me, it felt kind of like everything would be okay.

I wanted to hold on to this moment.