Taking One for the Team Ch. 02

It was on the very first play from scrimmage in the third quarter, after we'd received the kickoff and returned the ball to the forty yard line, that real disaster struck. Hazley went back and set up to throw to Clyde Tillman, Dave's replacement wide receiver, wide open on the opponents' twenty yard line, when Hazley was blind-sided by this big ass defensive end. Down he went, and as he fell, there was this loud snapping sound.

You could have heard a fucking pin drop in the stadium seconds after that. Hazley was crumpled in a heap at the thirty yard line, and two defensive linemen standing next to him were puking their guts out, and turning away from him. As one, all the players on our entire team ran toward him, until Coach and his assistants shooed us back. Meanwhile, the trainers from both teams and an ambulance crew standing by raced over to him.

Well, that freak accident had broken Hazley's leg in two places, Not only was there no way he would finish the game, there was no way he would ever play football again, at least competitively. I'm not ashamed to say that we were all crying like babies. Even our opponents looked scared. Coach grabbed me by the shoulder pads and dragged me over to a quiet spot far from everyone else.

"Ryan, I'm going to give it to you straight. You're going to have to suck it up and lead these guys. You've been a clipboard holder behind one of the greatest QBs in the history of Kansas high school football, and that's the ONLY reason YOU haven't had the chance to lead this team. You're just as good as Hazley, and if I'm any judge, even better than Hazley. This is your team. This is your championship. This is your piece of history. Make it one that NOBODY in this stadium will ever forget!" With that he gave me a pat on the ass, and I ran out and huddled with the other ten.

"We've got a little time to get our heads screwed on straight," I said to them, looking each of them in the eyes. "You guys know me, I've played with all of you over the last two years, and you know I tell the truth. If we all play together, and play our best, for Zack's sake, we can make him proud."

"What about making Coach proud?" one of the linemen said.

"Screw Coach," I said. "He's an idiot. Our best wide receiver was grounded because of that ass hole. Play for each other, for Zack, and for me, or I will personally kick the ass of any guy that lets the rest of us down. And you know I will." I got such a fierce look on my face that nobody grinned, and by that time play had recommenced, Zack being wheeled off the field to a standing ovation from everyone in the stadium, both schools' fans. I didn't mention the guy I was playing for, and how I might avenge what happened to him, but I knew he was in the stands watching me with loving eyes.

Faced with a second and ten, I engineered a drive down to the twenty, where our kicker managed a field goal, the score now 28 - 10. On the next drive our defense held, and we got the ball back on our 25 yard line, after a punt. Coach knew I had a good arm, and we had nothing to lose, so he signaled in that I could call an audible if I saw an opening at the line of scrimmage. I did, and sent our ham-handed backup wide receiver, straight down the sideline. I aired it out a good 65 yards right into his hands on the 15 yard line, and he walked into the end zone. The place exploded. After the extra point, the score was 28 -17.

I stood on the sideline as our special teams kicked off, my arm hurting like hell. I didn't say anything, figured I'd get it taken care of after the game, maybe the doctor would prescribe a cortisone shot. Our defense, fired up now, held again, and the opponents punted, our returner bringing the ball back to our own 40 yard line. We bogged down on the first two downs, so I decided to exploit the defensive secondary long again. They were easy pickings deep, Zack was more of a runner and their defensive line and linebackers had stacked the line in the first half - that's why we'd been unable to score much. Now I was just taking advantage of what they were giving us, the passing lanes.

We tried a flea flicker - I pitched back to the fullback, who ran forward, handing me back the ball. Then I threw it as hard as I could and hit a flanker in the end zone after he split the zone. 28 - 24, the stadium was a madhouse, our fans jumping up and down smacking each other in joy, hell, so were all my teammates!

Play bogged down the rest of the 3rd quarter, then 5 minutes into the 4th and final quarter, our opponents kicked a field goal to make it 31 - 24. Down by 7, we still had a chance, at least until our halfback fumbled on their 30 yard line, and they recovered. That quieted our side down, and I was praying for a miracle by our defense.

With 1 minute, 39 seconds left in the game, their QB made one of the worst blunders I've ever seen in football. They were driving toward our end zone, and had gotten all the way to our 20 yard line. They could have just sat on the ball. He tried a pass into our end zone. The smart play would have been to run it, and eat up the clock, and worse case scenario, kick a field goal. Our safety, a guy named Ed Shabazz, picked that thing, and ran it out of the end zone to our 30 yard line. 37 seconds left in the game, and we had the ball, 70 yards from the end zone, needing a TD to tie or win. Nothing to it.

I could feel the tension in the air. I looked at the other guys in the huddle, they all looked scared. "What say we put this one away, RIGHT NOW?" I said. I looked at each one, hard. "This one is going to Tillman. Run a fly pattern to the right side back corner of the end zone. The ball will be there. Just gather it in."

He looked at me, started to say something, then said, "You got it, boss."

We set up, and the center snapped the ball back to me. I watched the OTHER wide receiver as he ran to the left side, and the corner backs and safeties bit. They were sure I was going to throw left, and went to cover that side. Then I whirled and just flung that sucker as hard as I could to the right side, where Fumblefingers Tillman was once again wide open. He caught it, then it bounced up in the air as almost everyone started choking on their hearts coming up in their throats, then he gathered it in. I missed the whole thing, as immediately after the ball left my fingers I felt a loud pop in my right shoulder, followed by mind-numbing pain, followed by a 280 pound defensive end pancaking me into the turf.

I was dazed, but I heard the cheers and stomping as our fans went crazy. The opponents' lineman, a nice guy, offered me a hand up, but when he grabbed my right hand, I screamed with pain. I limped off the field and checked in with Coach. We could kick a point after to tie, or go for two to win.

"Let's win this," Coach said, and I nodded. "What's wrong with your shoulder?" he said, looking at me funny.

"Nothing, Coach," I said, then huddled up with the offense at the 10 yard line. We had the ball on the opponents' 3 yard line, the score Opponents 31, Good Guys 30. If we got the ball the 3 yards into the end zone, we'd be state champs third time in a row, go down in history. If we DIDN'T, we'd be losers. I knew which choice I would make, and I'd make it for Dave. Not for the school, or myself, but for Dave, and for what those bastards had done to him.

I called the play, which ideally would have the wide receiver on the left side crossing over at the back of the end zone to the right side, and as I roll out to the right a simple toss, 2 points. No one could blame me if it didn't work, 2 point plays usually don't work. And no one would know if I made it fail...

The ball was snapped, I faked a handoff to the back coming up from behind. I almost fumbled the ball when he hit my right shoulder pad and pain shot through my whole right side, then I recovered and bootlegged the ball on my right hip and rolled right toward the sideline. If the receiver was open, a simple toss straight down the field would go right into his hands at chest level. If he wasn't, I could cut into the end zone if there was an opening. And as I say, usually the QB just ends up running out of bounds, or the receiver drops the ball.

As I was rolling right I looked at where the receiver should have been, but wasn't. He was tangled up with the referee on the ground. I had no choice but to keep rolling and hope for the best. The sideline grew closer and closer, the end of the season and my high school career all converging. Suddenly I saw a defensive lineman slip and fall and I cut up field, no more than 2 feet from the sideline, and dove for all I was worth, praying my flight would take me over the corner marker.

About one foot deep past the goal line, my flying body ran into an immobile object - this big ass, slow but hard to move defensive lineman. I crumpled up, but held onto the ball, the linesman signaling touchdown. We had made our two points, and won 32 - 30 as the clock ran out.

The place was bedlam, I could hardly hear anything and my right shoulder was a mess. It seemed like it might be more serious than a cortisone shot. Our fans flooded the field, but I didn't see any of them. Flashbulbs were popping right and left in my face, everyone loves a hero, but I only had eyes for Dave as he walked across the field to me. In one of those vagaries of crowd movement, a big space momentarily opened up around us as I stood facing Dave, three feet away. He had a big smile on his face.

I took off my helmet, then slowly moved to him and hugged him. It made a great photo, the hero quarterback and the disgraced former hero meeting. But the picture that people remember the most, the one they still talk about to this day, the one that changed sports attitudes forever, is the one taken right AFTER that one, the one that you can easily find all over the Internet, that shows me kissing him, with lots of tongue, and my left hand deep down inside the back of his jeans, lovingly squeezing his pert little ass.

I never played football again, after that game. I had lost interest, plus my destroyed rotator cuff meant that I'd forever have trouble with something as simple as soaping up my back in the shower. Fortunately, I'd acquired someone who could help me with that.