The Homeboy and The Virgin

04-Duke

04—Duke

 

I refused to lose to D-Ville.

    Ten seconds left in the fourth quarter, and we were down 3-7. It had been a hard fought game all night. Defense was strong on both sides. Offense had little to work with. Their man-on-man coverage was something to be admired. But they were still the team that had kicked our ass last year. Beat me once, shame on you. Beat me twice, shame on me. That wasn’t exactly how the saying went, but I still took it that way. But we were on the forty yard line. It didn’t look good.

   My eyes scanned the bleachers. Packed full, but I could still see everything. My parents were where they usually were in the parents section. Momma looked impeccable, blue jeans and a black shirt with the saying Go, Trojans! Written on it. Dad next to her, the same t-shirt and some jeans. And my little sister was with her friends, running around. My eyes roamed over to where Junior was sitting, wearing my jersey. She looked good in it. And she looked nervous. I could see her chewing her nails from here. She smiled at Kyle. Rena and Chris flirted. I shook my head. He was catching feelings fast.

   Coach ended his play. I knew what to do. Run my route, try to shake the defense, pray my quarterback found me.

   I got in position, listening to the count. “One! Two! Three! Four—“ One of the defensive lineman jumped across. Flags flew. We moved up about five yards.

   Easier.

   This time, everything went as planned. I ran fast, cutting through defenders. My man stayed on me. I saw the ball flying at me. I stopped, faked left, and came back right. The ball fell into my arms, nestled, and I ran to the twenty yard line and out of bounds before I could fumble or get tackled inbounds.

   Cheers. But I had to stay focused. Their coach called a time out.

   Our water girls clapped us on the back and gave us water. Coach looked at us. “Three seconds left. We need four damn points on that board. Touchdown or a loss. Your choice.” He drew up a play. I was slightly disappointed I wouldn’t be getting the ball last, but that was okay. A win was a damn win.

   This is it.

    Our fans were silent.

   “One. Two. Three. Hut!”

    I took off, slicing through my defenders. Our intended receiver was in double coverage. I was wide open in the backfield.

   I jumped up and down.

   “THROW IT TO DUKE!” Coach yelled.

   Allen, the quarterback, sailed that ball through the air to me. I could see the players running at me, but I kept my eyes on that damn ball. If I never played again, we would win this damn game. I stretched my arms out, grabbing the ball from the air like I was catching a water bottle at practice. I felt something hit me, but, before I went down, I stretched my arms out, hoping I was over the goal line.

    Game over.

    Cheers erupted.

    I stood, ball still clutched into my hand. I looked over at the goal, ignoring the pain in my leg. I’d have a nasty bruise tomorrow.

   My boys came jumping on me, hitting me, congratulating me. I was happy we had won, but I wanted to see someone’s reaction in particular. Junior’s. She was rarely impressed with anything I did or said. But I grinned back, told them to “Thank Allen, not me, he threw the pass”, and directed the attention off myself.