Two-Minute Drill - Mike Lupica [29]
Scott watched every play from the sidelines, as usual.
Finally Mr. Dolan moved the ball back to midfield and told Chris, “Okay, it’s first down here, one minute left, no time-outs. Gotta score a touchdown to win the game.” If the offense did score, Mr. Dolan told them, the defense would have to to run laps afterward. If the defense held, the guys on offense would run.
As the offense went to huddle up, Mr. Dolan pointed at Scott and told him to get in at cornerback and cover Jeremy.
Scott didn’t think he could possibly have heard right.
“What did you say, Coach?”
“I said, I want you to take over at left corner.”
“But—” But, he wanted to say, I haven’t played one down at cornerback all season.
“Is there a problem, Parry?”
“No, sir.” Scott was fumbling around with his fingers, trying to get the strap on his helmet snapped.
“Then get out there.”
When Scott got to the defensive huddle, Bren Mahoney said to him, “We are not going to be the ones doing the running after practice. So here’s the deal, Parry: If Jeremy starts to blow past you, do what you do best and trip him.”
A couple of the other guys laughed.
Bren Mahoney said, “I get why Mr. D wants to pick on you for what you did to Jimmy. But why’s he have to pick on us at the same time?”
Mr. Dolan was in the huddle with the offense, calling every play. The first two were passes to Dave Kepp, who had replaced Jimmy at tight end. Dave ran out of bounds both times, the second pass gaining enough yards for a first down.
“Thirty-eight seconds left,” Mr. Dolan said, looking at his watch.
When the offense broke the huddle this time, Scott noticed Chris staring right at him, like he was trying to stare a hole right through him, holding the look as he walked up to the line, still looking at him as he bent down to take the snap.
Scott didn’t have to run over and ask him what was happening, because he knew.
Practice was about to come straight at him.
Scott immediately backed up five more yards and wished he could back all the way into the parking lot.
At least Bren Mahoney didn’t make it easy for Chris. Bren picked this play to blitz, and it must have surprised Chris’s blockers, because nobody picked him up. So as Jeremy Sharp made his cut to the right sideline, Scott could see Chris scrambling away from Bren to his right.
That was the last thing Scott saw as he turned and ran after Jeremy, who was ten yards past him already.
Scott had never rooted against Chris Conlan, but rooted against him now as hard as he could, hoping Bren would run him out of bounds or sack him, that the next thing he’d hear was Mr. Dolan’s whistle blowing.
He heard what felt like half the team yelling “Ball!” instead.
Scott knew he was beaten—badly—but also knew that you better turn around when you heard everybody yelling that the ball was in the air.
As he did, he saw the ball coming in his direction end over end, looking more like a punt falling to earth than one of Chris Conlan’s perfect spirals.
Whatever had happened, the pass was way underthrown.
“Aw, man,” he heard Jeremy Sharp say from behind him.
It wasn’t Scott fighting to catch up with Jeremy now, it was the other way around, Jeremy trying to come back and give himself a chance to make the catch.
Scott tried to do the same thing, putting the brakes on because he could see he’d nearly outrun the ball himself.
As he did, he got his feet tangled up.
As usual.
He didn’t need anybody’s help this time. He was just tripping himself up the way he always did, falling backward, unable to stop himself, not sure where Jeremy was in relation to the ball, not really caring.
Two things happened then, one amazing, one not so amazing.
The not-so-amazing thing:
Scott ended up on his butt.
The amazing thing:
The ball ended up in his lap.
He had intercepted the pass.
“You let me get it,” Scott said later in the car.
“Did not.”
“You threw it to me on purpose.”
Chris said,