I saw them talking about me, Coach Hubbard with his paw hung over the shoulder of Coach Vickerson, his head bobbing up and down and the younger coach nodding in agreement before the parted.
“Ryan!” Coach Hubbard barked. “Zinna!”
I hopped to it and stood at attention in front of them both. “Coach?”
“Get in there with the second offense. We need you to be ready in case something happens to Marin. We have no idea how long Simpkin’s gonna be out.”
“Got it, Coach!” I bolted into the huddle and wondered only briefly if he would have given me the shot if I hadn’t been the owner of the Dallas Cowboys. I thought not. I thought they would have picked Griffin Engle, our tailback—who was fast and a really good athlete overall—to fill in, but it didn’t matter. This was my chance. Second-string QB didn’t guarantee I’d get on the field, but it did mean I’d get reps in practice.
I looked around at my teammates.
Bryan Markham didn’t even try to hide his disgust. He snorted and spit a loogie on the grass in front of him. Everyone else, except for Jackson, stared and blinked in disbelief at the sight of Minna Zinna taking over their huddle. Jackson? His face glowed and he grinned so hard that it looked like it must have hurt. He might have been happier than me, and that’s saying something.
“Come on, Ryan. Let’s do this.” Jackson spoke like it was just the two of us getting ready to launch a bottle rocket in my backyard.
“Let’s ease you in here with something simple, Ryan.” Coach Hubbard looked at his clipboard, selecting a play. “Thirty-two Dive.”
“Coach, I can run the dive, but there isn’t a play I don’t know.” I turned to look directly at him. Honestly, owning the Dallas Cowboys made me feel like . . . like Superman. Things that hadn’t been possible before were now. I felt like I could say what I wanted. I felt bold and confident and . . .
Coach scratched his ear and glanced down at his list of plays on the practice schedule. “Okay, Blue Right 94. Hit the 4. Got that?”
I didn’t even reply and went straight to the huddle, called the play, and marched to the line like General George Patton crossing into Germany at the end of World War II. I barked the cadence, took the snap, rolled right, and threw a wobbling duck to the 4 route. It wasn’t pretty, but I completed the pass.
Jackson hooted and slapped me high five, then hugged me all the way back to the huddle.
“Well . . .” Coach Hubbard looked at Coach Vickerson and shrugged. “First down. Good play, Ryan. Get a little more spin on that ball if you can.”
Playing quarterback isn’t always about being this super athlete. It’s about knowing the offense, making the right decisions, and being able to get the ball to the open receiver. The really smart quarterbacks run the West Coast Offense, or the spread, whatever you call it, lots of passing, chipping away at the defense. You don’t have to have a cannon for an arm to win games. I thought of John Torres and the way he held the ball against the blitz in yesterday’s game. Even an arm as big and strong as his can’t help you if you don’t get rid of the ball quick.
I knew I could make all the right decisions. I was already quick. If I could just explain all that, I knew I might be able to convince Coach Hubbard that we should adapt Ben Sauer Middle’s offense to some version of the Spread.
I don’t know if it was luck or destiny or if Coach Hubbard was actually tuned into the possibilities, but he called a pass on the next play, too. I went to the line and read the defense. By the way they were lined up, I was sure it was a shallow zone with two safeties over the top on both sides. The play Coach Hubbard called wasn’t the best for this kind of coverage. I had no choice but to run it, though.
I barked the cadence, took the snap, and dropped back. My two primary receivers ran crossing routes, but both were covered, as I expected. I checked them just in case one got wide open, but when they didn’t I hit my check down pass to Griffin Engle, right away. He grabbed it and shot right up through the middle of the field for a twenty-yard gain. It was an easy pass, and the right decision.
Next play was a run. I made the handoff smooth and clean and Griffin gained seven. The following play Coach Hubbard called another pass. I dropped back and when the blitz freed up the middle, I darted outside the pocket. Instead of panicking like the newbie quarterback I was, I directed Griffin to the sideline, pointing my finger. The cornerback let him go and rocketed my way, thinking he’d have a free hit. Just before the defender reached me, I dumped the ball up and over his head. Griffin snatched it and went up the sideline and into the end zone.
My teammates cheered. Griffin tossed me the ball with a wink. Jackson slapped my back and nearly knocked me over.
I didn’t stop after my first series either. I made the right decisions on every play, and even though my passes were nothing to write home about, I continued to move the offense up and down the field by completing short throws to the open receivers, making clean handoffs on the running plays, and encouraging my teammates like I was already the star quarterback I’d always dreamed I’d be.
I thought things couldn’t have gotten any better for me. But, at the end of practice, just as we completed our last wind sprint—which I finished first, by the way—a big black Escalade limousine pulled into the school parking lot beside the field, its chrome grill glinting in the sun.
Coach Hubbard held his whistle halfway to his mouth, ready to call us all in together, but everyone froze and stared at the big black SUV.
And when the rear door opened and we saw who had arrived, no one could believe it.