Juice - Eric Walters [1]
“How can you be so sure about that?” the other corner asked.
“I’m not. What I am sure of is that we have to push them back or they’ll get a field goal. We have to gamble. If I’m right, we win. If I’m wrong, we lose—losing by one point or losing by five is still losing,” Dave explained, and it all made perfect sense.
“And if you get your hands on the ball carrier, don’t tackle him to the ground. Hold him up and try to punch the ball free. Understand?”
Everybody grunted out agreement.
“Okay, break!” Dave yelled.
I started for the line. Everybody settled into their spots.
“Moose!” Dave called out and I stopped. He walked up and put his mouth right by the ear hole of my helmet. “They can’t double or triple you on this play. Drive straight and hard for the hole—the moose is on the loose.”
I smiled and nodded my head and he tapped me on the side of my helmet.
He was right. All through the game I’d been having to battle two offensive linemen. They’d been double-teaming me on every play—except for the times I’d found myself battling through three men.
That had been happening more and more throughout the season. In the beginning, nobody knew who I was, but as my sack total kept rising, I got more attention. Today all I’d managed was a few tackles, a couple of quarterback rushes and a shared sack. My arms were sore and my legs were heavy. It felt like I’d been running through water all day.
I also felt like I was letting my teammates down. The Moose hadn’t been able to break loose all game. That could change with one play. Just one play.
I stood over my spot and waited as the other team’s huddle broke and the players got into position. They looked confident, cocky. But why shouldn’t they? All they had to do was hold onto the ball and make the game-winning field goal.
If Dave was right, they were going to hand off the ball to the back. He would cut along the line, right in front of me, to get to the middle of the field. The only thing between him and me was his offensive line. All I had to do was listen for the snap, explode off the line, knock down my man and probably another, and … Wait a minute, what if I hesitated for a split second? What if I waited for them to see the blitz coming from everywhere and then shot into the gap? The gap that would form when they left to try to cover the extra men?
“Three-ninety-eight!” yelled out their quarterback.
I felt the hairs on my arms stand up. This was the play that was going to decide the season, decide who would be champions.
“Three-ninety-eight. Hup. Hup. Hup!”
There was an explosion of sound and fury as both lines surged forward and bodies collided. I stutter-stepped and then shot through the little opening between two players, splitting them, practically untouched. I was suddenly standing in the backfield with the quarterback just off to the side! I launched myself at him as he turned to hand the ball off to the running back. My helmet hit his back with a sickening thud. I wrapped my arms around him, and the ball shot free and into the air! It bounced against the back’s hands and then up and off his helmet and soared into the air. It was like I was watching in slow motion as the ball turned, end over end, hitting first one player and then another until it hit the ground and rolled and wobbled right into my outstretched hands. I pulled the ball toward me until it was right against my chest, protected, shielded and cradled there as bodies piled on top of me. It was mine.
Chapter Two
The dressing room was filled with sounds and smells and emotions. Cheering, screaming, swearing, yelping. People chasing each other around the room, spraying soda that they’d shaken up. Lots of laughing. Some were even fighting back tears. Tears of joy. A few of the guys had stripped down to their boxers and others were still in full uniform, as if they thought that when they took off their uniform, the party would end, or we’d have to give back the trophy. The championship trophy.