life we are creating is going to look completely different in a few short months.
“Noah is the only one who has said anything.” Our resident jokester is a senior, and with his golden toe, he’s a shoe-in to get drafted.
Trav is the wildcard. He redshirted as a freshman, and based on things he’s said, I get the impression he wants to play out one, if not both, of his eligibility years.
Thankfully, a wide receiver for the Crimson Tide breaks a tackle and runs the ball into the end zone, bringing our attention back to the once-again tied game.
Whichever defense is the first to make a stand will end up the victor.
I fucking love football.
#Chapter48
Back in the locker room for halftime, Kev throws his helmet, causing it to bounce off the back of his locker and roll onto the floor. The room is silent as we watch him stalk his way around it, his frustration clear every time his feet pound into the ground.
No one says a word, each of us keeping our distance while Kev works through his shit. I get it. The defense isn’t playing bad per se, but they also haven’t been playing up to the standard they set for themselves this season.
“Listen up, Hawks.” Coach Knight walks into the center of the room, his bellow drawing the attention of each of his athletes immediately.
Slowly and with great purpose, he rakes his gaze over each and every one of his players, not stopping until he comes to Trav standing beside me. We wait, Trav’s shoulder pads clacking against mine as he sucks in a breath in preparation for Coach Knight’s speech, but it never comes. All Trav gets is a small nod, and his relief is palpable at the silent Just keep doing what you’ve been doing.
Coach Knight scans the huddle again. “Sanders,” he says, locking eyes with Kev. “You and the D need to shake off the first half.” Kev nods. “It’s a tie game. We get back out there starting fresh.” Another nod. “Bama starts with the ball, so come out hitting hard. Show them the Tide doesn’t stand a chance against a flock of Hawks.”
A wall of sound hits Coach as every person in the room releases a hawk cry.
“Show them who we are.” Coach thumps a fist to his chest. “They may think they want it. But”—thump—“we”—thump—“want”—thump—“It. More.” Thump. Thump. “They”—he thrusts an arm at the doors to the locker room—“robbed us of the win last year.” He swings his arm around and aggressively points to the ground. “History. Will. Not be repeating itself this year.”
This time, he’s the first to let the hawk cry rip.
Adrenaline surges, energy pumping through the team, rolling off us in waves as we rush down the tunnel and back onto the field for the second half, ready to dominate.
We surround Kev, smacking the hawk on his helmet, pumping him up to get to work. Trav, Alex, Noah, and I stand shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed as a unit, and get ready to enjoy the show.
Whatever was missing in the first half has sparked to life and radiates off the defense as they get into position with the Alabama O-line.
First down is a two-yard gain.
The second only gets another three.
On third and five, Kev intercepts a pass meant for one of Bama’s wide receivers, stiff-arms a lineman out of the way, breaks a block, and with no one else there to defend, runs it in for a touchdown. Pick six baby!
With the Hawks scoring, the Tide gets another attempt at offense, but Kev and the D hold them to a three and out, making them punt.
The momentum officially becomes ours.
Time for us to do our thing and see if we can extend our lead by hopefully another seven points.
We work our way down to the Bama twenty.
Trav pump-fakes. I tuck the ball tight to my side when he hands it off to me, find a hole, and don’t stop running until I cross the white paint of the end zone.
Time ticks down, and with a beautifully launched spiral from the Alabama quarterback, they cut our lead back down to seven.
Halfway into the fourth quarter, Coach Knight takes a risk on fourth down, calling for Noah to attempt a fifty-four-yard field goal. It’s only a risk in the sense that if he misses, the Tide will start with great field position—but this is Noah we’re talking about. The pigskin sails through the uprights, once again making it a two-score game.