We have to score or it’s over.
The ball is snapped and I charge forward. The defensive end is built like a Mack Truck, but we’re pretty evenly matched and when we collide, it’s a clash of titans.
He attempts to spin past me, but I hold tight to his pads, making sure I stay on the inside so I don’t get called for holding. It’s a running play and though I can’t see what’s happening downfield, I don’t relent until I hear the whistle.
We gain eight yards and line up to do it all over.
Reid calls another running play and we pick up the first down, stopping the game clock as we cross the fifty-yard line.
My right hand is throbbing when I return to the line of scrimmage and I want to kick my own ass for throwing a punch before such an important game.
At least you didn’t break it.
I can’t think about that right now. I need to focus on the next play.
We drive down the field, but when we get inside the twenty, our progress stalls—again.
Georgia’s defense is tough, but like our guys, they’re starting to look tired. I line up across from the Bulldogs defensive end, who, like me, is sweating bullets. He spits in the grass, and when his eyes meet mine, they’re brimming with aggression. “You play with the big dogs, you gonna get bit.”
I ignore the taunt and everything that comes after. I’ve faced bigger, meaner guys on the field and I’m not about to get drawn into a penalty over a little shit talk.
The ball is snapped and the DE explodes off the line. I make the block—barely—but the Dawgs hit us with additional rushers and we can’t hold them. The pocket collapses and Reid scrambles before he’s forced to throw the ball away.
Fuck.
We’re second and ten when we reset.
I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the tension that’s got me coiled tighter than a rattlesnake.
It’s another passing play, but the receiver can’t hold on to the ball and it’s ruled incomplete.
“I need you to buy me a little more time,” Reid says as we reset. “These fuckers are really bringing the pressure and they’re double-teaming Coop.”
No surprise there. He’s our best receiver and a top draft contender.
“We’ll hold them,” I assure him, speaking for the entire O-line.
Reid calls a new play, and this time, he finds Parker for a gain of nine.
It’s not enough to stop the clock.
We’re one yard short of the first down and at this rate, time will expire before we can score.
Reid calls a timeout and hauls ass to the sideline where he huddles with Coach Collins and Coach Walker.
Win or lose, this will all be over in thirty seconds.
Just thirty seconds until I step off the field for the last time. Thirty seconds that were years in the making, with countless hours spent memorizing playbooks, strength training, and running rep after rep to become the best.
Years of blood, sweat, and tears and it’s all come down to this moment.
The fans seem to sense it as well. They’re on their feet, stomping and cheering as they bring down the house.
We all gather round, waiting for Reid to return with the next play.
“I’m going to need an ice bath when this is over,” Parker says, rubbing his shoulder. “Those assholes nearly took my arm off with that last hit.”
“At least you can get your hands on the ball. The double coverage is killing me.” Coop’s gaze slides to the sideline where Carter is kicking into a net, warming up her leg. “What do you think Coach is going to do?”
