She's Just That Kind of Girl

Thirty-Three | Tanner

In the first half, we scored thirty-five points and Clemson, seventeen. The third quarter imitated a battle ground. The Clemson Tigers scored a touchdown but we answered back easily with ten points. The defense really shined tonight, the most of all season. Once the fourth quarter rolled around, every single fan put up four fingers on both hands, as per tradition.

Clemson carried the ball on the fifty-yard-line and dodged the ball up the middle on the first play and just when you thought their running back was about to break loose for big yards, our safety tackled him. It was such a hard hit, I felt it. An echo of, "Oooo," filled the stadium, as everyone did too. The throw of a yellow flag followed shortly after. A ref rushed center-field and announced the penalty, signaling in unison. "Personal foul. Number thirty-eight. Helmet to helmet. Fifteen-yard penalty. Automatic first down."

The same defensive back threw up his hands. He approached the referee and tried to explain why it was a bullshit call. The ref only walked away to calm the raging Coach Saban cursing at the top of his lungs and ready to aim his headset. I wonder how many headsets he's broken over the years?

Even being comfortably ahead, you never let your guard down. That's when the opponent knows when to strike and catch you on your weaknesses. Never bend over, never put your hands on your hips, never show exhaustion. They'll lick their chops and arrive at the slaughter. We were trained not to look at the clock often, but in the fourth quarter, that rule permitted leniency. So I glanced here and there at it, counting it down. Waiting. Hungry for that win.

When we possessed the pigskin again on the thirty-five-yard line, the ball snapped. Flags flew and whistles blew loudly. The refs huddled together and chatted it over. One announced the penalty, signaling with his hands. "Offside. Number fifty-four. Five-yard penalty. Still second down."

I patted the penalized wide receiver's helmet after encouraging him. I clutched the ball, dancing and shuffling my feet after the snap, scanning the field for someone open while the offensive-line pounded back the defense. A defensive linebacker broke free and raced after me. I spun out of his grasp and fled the pocket. I motioned for a running back to run left then threw it to him. He caught it and dashed ten yards for a tasteful first down. I thrusted my elbow down with my hand in a fist for a mini celebration. Around a minute and a half left to go, and while Clemson already scored this quarter and we remained ahead, I wanted one more touchdown.

As stadiums are known to blare short bursts of songs through the speakers being no surprise, it rattled me because they played a Scarlett Violets' song. One from the same album one of our teammates played in the locker room earlier. It distracted me for a blazing moment, triggering Violet in my mind. I shook it off. Focus. You're almost there.

I squatted behind my center and barked the play. Right before the snap, it's as if I saw Violet in a flash, crouching in a stance right before me with a smirk on her face. One minute she's there, the next she isn't. "HIKE!"

The ball snapped to me and I handed it off to our running back, able to stuff up the middle for a few yards. I clapped once to feel some momentum on the play, any yardage gain was good. Especially since we were just trying to eat the clock at this point. The clock continued to tick because the running back stayed within bounds, so we took our time.

The second play the defense blitzed so fast that a linebacker sacked me ten yards deep into our zone. A discouragement, but we held our heads high even though Coach Saban ripped at our faces from the sideline. Tick, tick, tick.

The short clip of the Scarlett Violets' song played again. Yet another reminder of who remained here and might be watching me in the stands. I called the play in the huddle and breaked. Crouching behind the center again, I shouted to both sides of the line of scrimmage. When the ball snapped, I fell into the pocket and hugged the football to my chest. Looking for any wide receivers down the field to get us out of the redzone, a memory flashes into my view. One of my wide receivers is Violet bustling down the field for a split second before it's just a receiver again. Before I knew it, a player tackled me but not before stripping the ball from my hands.