Chapter 44

Scooter

Joey hands me the ball, and I wait for Jeff to lead the way through the line.

The problem is that Jeff is waiting too.

He doesn’t wait for long—but it’s long enough.

Long enough to let the River Valley players cross the line of scrimmage.

I have no choice but to run to the sideline. Hopefully, Jerrod Lemon, our tackle, is able to hold his own against their defensive end. Otherwise, I have nowhere to go.

Jerrod hardly moves. He takes one step toward the end, but that’s it.

Just like that, the River Valley end is in the backfield—so close I can practically smell his breath.

I’m quick, but I’m not that quick. He collapses on top of me before I can make a single move.

No one helps me off the turf.

“Williams!” Coach yells. “Follow your blocks!”

What blocks? I wonder.

We line up again for another run play. River Valley blitzes a linebacker, and this time Jeff is there to block for me.

Sort of.

Jeff’s the strongest person I know, but the linebacker plows him over. I’m standing right behind Jeff. When he falls over, so do I.

Basically, I just got tackled by my own teammate.

One of the guys grabs Jeff’s arm and lifts him to his feet. Nobody does the same for me.

Coach Douglas calls for a pass play on third down. It’s incomplete, so we need to punt.

On the sidelines, Coach tries to encourage us: “Stick with the plan, boys,” he says to Jeff and me. “We’ll wear them down eventually.”

“Yes, Coach,” Jeff says.

And he’s not lying. I’m sure he is going to stick with the plan.

Just not the plan Coach is referring to.

Jeff’s plan isn’t to execute the I formation. It’s to let me get creamed by the other team.

***

Several minutes later we have the ball again. The game is still scoreless. And my teammates are still refusing to block for me.

I could try to scramble. To make something out of nothing.

But Coach was clear that he wants me to run into the teeth of the defense.

Besides, even if I beat four or five guys, there would still be six or seven others breathing down my neck. No one, not even Barry Sanders, can play one versus eleven.

Still, I’m nervous. I’m so anxious to get the ball and run away from the defense that I move before the ball is snapped.

The refs blow the whistle.

“False start!” one of them calls.

The others move the ball back five yards.

“C’mon, Williams!” Coach yells. “Get your head in the game!” I get the ball on the next play and run past Jeff’s non-existent block right into three River Valley players.

It’s not the hit itself that hurts. It’s the collective weight of their bodies.