Chapter 22

Scooter

The next day we played South Hill.

It was an away game, and the South Hill fans were crazy.

Crazy about football. Crazy about their team. And mostly, crazy about their team’s defense.

“DE-FENSE!” they shouted over and over. “DE-FENSE!”

Throughout the first half, they had a lot of reasons to chant.

The main reason was me.

Maybe they heard about my long run the week before. Whenever I got the ball, it looked like their entire team was running after me. I did everything I could think of to gain some yards. I’d juke one guy and fake out someone else, only to have four other guys breathing down my neck. Mostly, I ran side to side along the line of scrimmage, trying but failing to find a hole to cut into. By the end of the half, I must have run for a hundred yards. But all of it was sideways.

“DE-FENSE! DE-FENSE!”

Jeff had more success. He barreled into the heart of the defense. I don’t know how many yards he ended the half with—Thirty-five? Forty? But they were all helpful.

Thanks to Jeff, we were able to move the chains. By getting first downs, we stayed on the field—even if we didn’t score many points.

As we entered the locker room at the half, we were down 10–3.

But for some reason, Coach didn’t seem too concerned.

“Keep doing what you’re doing, boys,” he told Jeff and me. He was fired up. “That defense has gotta be sore and tired. They can’t last forever—not when they’re overcommitting like that. If we get by that wall, there’s no one left to beat.” He turned to Jeff, grabbed his face mask. “Stoddard, keep blasting away at them, you hear?”