Twelve Men in the Huddle, page 30
“That was Bubba’s guard house,” cried Pete.
“Bubba Tubbs, that old rattlesnake!” shouted the driver. “He’ll be sleeping one off for a week. You let me handle old Bubba.”
She slowed up the vehicle as it rattled over the wooden bridge and past the second set of guard towers. A series of lights faintly lit up the route.
“Nobody is here,” said Heather. “They must all be at the game.”
“I guarantee you nobody is here tonight,” said the driver. They’re all at the stadium.” She steered the bus around the main field and into a turn around area, stopping outside the main cellblock. “Home sweet home,” said the driver. “There are usually candles in every cell,” she said with confidence. “Should be some sheets down in the laundry area, behind the infirmary.”
“Sounds like you’ve been here before,” said Pete, as he and Heather walked past the driver.
The driver grinned and slowly lifted up her right pant leg, exposing a tattoo saying “Badlands.”
“Wait!” said the elderly woman from the rear. “Here, take this.” She handed the couple a bottle of Chianti. “It’s from where I was born,” said the woman. “In Tuscany, Italy.”
“Thank you,” said Heather with a smile.
“Long live love,” said the woman. She kissed Heather on the cheek.
“Thank you so much.”
“I’ll be heading back into Tulsa tomorrow morning,” said the driver. “I’ll honk the horn at nine o’clock, right from this spot. Be ready for the return trip.”
“We’ll be ready,” said Pete. “Thank you everyone.”
“Invite me to the wedding!” shouted Winona as the bus pulled away. “Remember, it’s Winona Jackson!”
As the couple held each other in their arms they could hear the fading voice of the Tulsa Valley Tarpons’ radio network. It was already halftime, and the score was tied.
“Don’t go away,” said the announcer. “We’ve got a real humdinger going on in the Bayou. This one has all the makings for an exciting finish.”
Chapter Thirty One
THE TWO MINUTE DRILL
“Yes!” shouted Billy Mo as he jumped up and down with Bambi at his side. “Tie ball game!” He high-fived Dean Royce. The old stadium was shaking from the noise. Connor Kelly had just kicked an extra point, after rushing for a five-yard touchdown. The referee signaled the two-minute warning, allowing each team a respite.
“I didn’t know Connor was a kicker,” said Royce. “The Cannonball, he does it all. Hey, maybe I’ll trademark that saying, it’s kind of catchy.”
Earlier in the quarter a Southern State thug took out the third string kicker during a kick off return. While the kicker was running to the left, the hooligan blindsided him from the right, knocking him into another time zone.
“It’s crunch time,” said Billy Mo while bobbing up and down. He squeezed the part time dancer seated beside him. “Only two minutes left in the game. Time for the two minute drill.”
“Bringing back memories?” asked Dean Royce to the former star. As soon as he asked the question, the educator regretted it. Playing out before him was a near identical situation in which Billy Mo just a few years earlier, fumbled the ball away against Southern State, thus sealing his fate in Tarpon history. Social tact was never one of the dean’s strong points.
“I’ve got goose bumps,” said Billy, ignoring the dean’s gaffe. “It’s easier to be playing the game, than watching it up here. We need a defensive stop.”
The former offensive and defensive star was correct. The Tarps needed a stop. They couldn’t allow Southern State to get into field goal range, especially since their kicker hadn’t missed all night. Unfortunately for Tulsa, the final two minutes of the game didn’t start well, as Connor Kelly’s kickoff was short, giving the opposing team excellent field position.
“Defense!” screamed the home crowd. “DEFENSE!”
What followed was a series of preconceived offensive plays, run to perfection by the Southern State quarterback. Slowly and methodically the quarterback moved his team across midfield, with a blend of short passes and running plays. The ease of ball movement took the Tulsa crowd out of the game, as they helplessly watched their championship slipping away.
“Oh my god, it’s my nightmare,” said Billy Mo to the dean. “It’s my dream over and over again. They’re running the same plays! Next play will be a handoff to the fullback.” Billy was right. “Dean Royce, they’re running the same series of plays from my final collegiate game, when I was the linebacker! It’s a set of scripted plays from back in the day!”
“Are you sure Billy?”
As the Cottonmouths moved further into Tarpon territory, Billy burst out of the room and down a hallway. He made a quick right into another VIP box situated at midfield.
“What the…” shouted defensive coach Avery upon seeing Billy burst into the room. “Get the hell out of here Billy Mo, I’m trying to stop a tragedy!” Avery and his assistant coaches were viewing the game from above, and calling in defensive schemes to Coach Hayes. Panic was on all their faces. “Forty three!” shouted Avery into the headset. “Forty three, and tell Tyrone to make something happen already!”
“Coach,” yelled Billy. “It’s the dream I’ve been talking about! A short screen pass to the left side is up next. It’s a screen play, you have to hot route the Twister to quarterback contain!”
“Get out of here Billy! They’re going to run the ball.”
Billy was again right, and a short screen pass garnered Southern State another six yards.
“A counter trey is next!” yelled Billy. “Stack the box! Shoot the gap! It’s my recurring nightmare coach! I’ve got every play memorized. Please, listen to me!”
Again, he was right and Southern State picked up another first down. They were nearing field goal range. Sweat was pouring down Coach Avery’s brow as he nervously chomped on some gum.
“Time out! Time out!” screamed Coach Hayes over the radio. “Avery! What the hell is going on up there? We’re getting manhandled! We’re going to lose this goddamn game!”
“Coach, they’re mixing us up,” said Avery. “Tell Tyrone to make a stop for God’s sake. They’re running right at him.”
“Twister!” screamed Hayes, “What the hell…”
Avery looked back at Billy Mo while scratching his head. The Southern State offensive had his team on their heels. The defensive coach realized Billy Mo had correctly called the last two plays.
“What’s next Billy?”
“Bootleg to the right. The QB is going to run it.”
“Now I know you’re nuts,” said Avery. “Get out of here right now.”
“A bootleg to the right,” cried the announcer over the radio. The broadcast was being played in the outer hallway. “They caught the Tarps sleeping for a big gain, down to the thirty yard line. Oh baby, what a gutsy call by State! They’re in field goal range now with forty-five seconds remaining.”
Avery stared back at Billy Mo, in disbelief.
“What’s the call Avery?” shouted Hayes over the wire. “Quick!”
Billy Mo held both hands up to his head in disgust. He turned away to leave.
“Billy, wait,” said Avery. “What’s next?” He had a look of resignation on his face. “I need your help, we’re getting creamed here.”
“End run, off tackle.”
“Which side?”
“To the left,” said Billy.
“Wide tackle six!” shouted Avery into the headset. “Put Tyrone on the left side and for heaven’s sake, tell him to knock that tight end on his ass.”
The Cottonmouth running back did run to the left, and was met by an ornery Twister, who threw him down for a three-yard loss.
“Finally!” cried Avery. The crowd roared back to life.
“They just need a few more yards,” said the announcer over the airwaves. “A short burst up the middle should get them in prime field goal range.”
“I agree Johnny,” said the announcer’s sidekick. “We need another big stop from the Twister.”
“Talk to me Billy Mo,” said Avery. “Talk to me quick.”
“It’s going to be a fake handoff to the running back up the middle,” said Billy. “Then a fade pass to the corner of the end zone.”
“Are you sure?” shouted Avery. “Why would they pass the ball?”
“Call it!” shouted Billy. “Stack the box and drop back into a zone read for the corner.”
“Fake stack and drop back to zone read,” shouted Avery into the microphone. “Have the corners protect against the end zone fade!”
“Are you cuckoo!” screamed Coach Hayes. “They’ll run it right up the middle and score! That call is ludicrous.”
“Do it coach!”
“They’ll tar and feather both of us Avery! Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said the defensive coach with conviction. “They’re going for the score.”
As the Cottonmouth quarterback approached the line, he smiled. The defense was stacked for the run. As he placed his hands under center, a quick look to the right made eye contact with his star receiver, who winked back at him. Looking up at the clock, there were thirty seconds left, enough time for one more play, followed by a time out if necessary. A touchdown would seal the victory. An incomplete pass would allow enough time for a field goal. They had practiced the route a thousand times over. He began his signal call, ignoring the string of horrid profanities concerning his sister being shouted from his left by the Twister. The defense held their perfect cat and mouse position, baiting the quarterback to roll to his right and attempt a fade pass.
The national championship was on the line.
“Hut, hut, hike,” said the quarterback.
As the ball snapped, the defense quickly shifted into pass protection. The two cornerbacks dropped back towards the end zone, directly to where the Southern State wide receiver was headed.
“He’s rolling out to the right!” shouted the announcer over the radio. “They’re going to try a pass!”
As the quarterback rolled out, he was stunned to see the defensive scheme change. His wide receiver was well covered. He paused in confusion, only to appreciate a smell. It was a putrid odor that reminded him of the only quarterback sack of the game in the second quarter, when Tyrone Tubbs slammed him to the ground. While recalling the Twister he looked back to his left, only to see the defensive man-child barreling towards him like a wild animal. He tried to divert but the massive arms of the lineman wrapped around him. The impact knocked his mouthpiece out, sending saliva into the air. Suddenly his body was being violently driven into the ground, led by his throwing shoulder. The tackle was catastrophic and accentuated by the tonnage and momentum of the assailant. Upon ground contact the quarterback’s shoulder dislocated forward, the force overwhelming his anterior ligamentous construct. Two loud pops were heard followed by excruciating pain. The career ending combination prompted the former star athlete to release the ball.
“Fumble! Fumble!” cried everyone. The ball was loose.
As the ball squirted towards mid-field, Coach Hayes went airborne, as did everyone on the sideline. Like a cat, the Twister bounced upright and scooped the ball into his arms, in full stride. There was nothing but daylight between him and the end zone. He took two steps towards immortality but was tripped up by a trailing lineman, the shoestring tackle saving the day. In a heap, the Twister went down.
“The Twister recovered the fumble!” shouted the announcer. “The Twister recovered the fumble! Oh, what a play! Tarpon ball! TARPON BALL!”
Chaos ensued on the sideline as the defensive star was mobbed by his teammates. Eighteen seconds remained on the game clock, with the ball on the fifty-yard line. Hayes tried to calm down his team.
“Listen up! Listen up!” shouted the coach. “We dodged a bullet boys. So let’s take a knee and run out the clock.”
“But coach,” said Derrick. “Let’s get in field goal range. A short sideline pass will do it.”
“Derrick! We ain’t got a kicker!” shouted the coach. “Connor can hit an extra point, but nothing beyond that.”
“He’s right,” said Connor. “I barely hit that extra point.”
“Take a knee,” said Hayes while pointing in Derrick’s face. “Let’s not do anything stupid. We’ll get them in overtime. We got the momentum.”
“Right coach.”
As the offensive squad trotted out onto the field, the stadium stood to their feet, in anticipation of the final play. The Tarpon team huddled up.
“All right guys,” said Derrick. “Snap to me and I take a knee. Cover up the ball. On three, ready…”
“Wait, wait,” said Connor with a wave of his hand. He slowly looked around the huddle, into the face of each teammate. “This is our moment Derrick. The hell with overtime, let’s win this game now!”
“But coach…”
“You let me handle coach,” said Connor with confidence. “Tyrone and the defense did their job, now let’s do ours! For the sake of the Tarpon nation.”
“Yea, yea. Let’s do it,” chimed in a few linemen.
“All right,” responded the quarterback with hesitancy. “Well, what’s your call?”
“The Our Father,” said Connor with a shake of his head. “It’s the perfect situation. No one will expect it.”
“What? Are you insane?” asked Derrick. “We practiced that play as a joke Connor. This is the national championship on the line.”
“Yea,” said a down lineman. “Don’t pull a Billy Mo. Listen to coach. Take a knee Derrick.”
“Do it,” said Connor with a twinkle in his eyes. “Let’s make some noise. We’ll go down in history for calling the shot.” He scanned the young faces staring back at him. “The heck with a Hail Mary pass, let’s introduce the world to an Our Father. Trust me, we can’t go wrong.”
The team just gawked at their co-captains, waiting for a decision.
A grin came upon Derrick’s face as he stared into the helmet of Connor Kelly. He was right thought Derrick. This was their moment, the hell with overtime.
“Let’s go boys,” said a referee as he poked his head into the huddle. “The play clock is running.”
“The Our Father on three,” said Derrick with confidence. “Ready, one, two, three… break!”
As the team took their position on the scrimmage line, Coach Hayes immediately sensed something amiss.
“What the Jesus is going on out there?” He raised his hands above his head, as if asking a question. “Derrick! What the hell is going on out there?” He began to pace the sideline, speaking into his headset. “Avery, what alignment are they in?”
“I don’t know,” said Coach Avery from above. “I’ve never seen it? Have you Billy?”
“Billy!” shouted Hayes. “Billy Mo? Is Billy Mo Morris up there with you Avery? Get that boy outta the booth Avery! He’s jinxed, don’t touch him!”
“Oh my,” said the play-by-play announcer. “I’ve never seen this alignment before. I’d be shocked if they tried anything fancy here.”
“You’re right Johnny,” said the sidekick. “Look at Coach Hayes, he’s going absolutely berserk on the sideline. There must be some sort of a mix up.”
As Derrick placed his hands beneath center, the crowd fell silent. He began the play call, yet suddenly stood up straight and began walking to his left, towards the sideline. The team stayed in position on the line of scrimmage, as their leader approached Coach Hayes. Derrick held his hands up, as if asking a question.
“There’s confusion out there, Johnny,” said the announcer. “I knew it. Derrick is calling a time out.”
“Wait a minute,” said Johnny H. “I didn’t see him signal a time out!”
As the quarterback sauntered towards the sideline, the defense momentarily lapsed, expecting a time out call. The deception worked to perfection and the center snapped the ball directly to Connor Kelly.
“A fake! We’ve got a fake procedure play!” shouted the broadcaster. “I do not believe it!”
Connor took the ball and began to run right, behind a gang of blockers. The sound of crashing helmets rang out before him as he stopped dead in his tracks and looked downfield. There, he spotted the streaking Derrick Smith, who had broken free behind the defensive coverage. He was wide open. As Connor released the ball, a massive defensive lineman made contact with his torso, driving him into the ground. The pass was a high wobbler that hung in the air, allowing the defensive safety to recover. As the orb fell down from the sky, a jump ball occurred between Derrick and the defender at the five-yard line. Both players took hold of the ball and tumbled to the ground. Two referees rushed to the landing site and peered into the entanglement. The senior official immediately signaled a catch, and pointed his arm in the direction of the Tulsa Valley end zone. The gadget play worked! Absolute pandemonium ensued.
“Holy cow! Time out!” shouted Coach Hayes into the ear on an official. “Time out!”
“Ohhhh Johnny!” shouted the announcer. “What a call by Coach Hayes! The old swamp rat pulled one out of his bag of tricks!
“There’s one second left on the game clock!”
Up in the booth, Coach Avery was hugging Billy Mo in celebration and Bambi jumped into the arms of Dean Royce. Down below, Sylvia and Harold Wagner were clutching onto each other as the stadium beneath them shook. Mrs. Wagner even turned to her left to include Chloe in the celebration. A tremendous roar emanated from the college campus surrounding the stadium. Derrick was mobbed by his teammates as they joyously ran to the sideline. The jubilee however was short lived and the stadium quickly went silent, as Dr. Harper ran out towards Connor Kelly. The star running back was motionless on the turf.
“Connor. Connor!” said Harper. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh,” moaned the hero. “My ribs. They’re broken. I can hear them crunching. Oh, does it hurt.”
Harper reached his hand under the running back’s jersey to palpate his right rib cage area. Immediately, he felt the grinding sensation of bones rubbing against each other. The crepitus signified a broken rib cage.
