Right now, none of us were thinking about the cameras or the hype around the opening game for Monday night. We were defending national champions, and this game would prove that we were on our way to becoming repeat champions. We would rightfully claim the title of Texas’s team. The country’s team. It all came down to this game.
I pulled the laces on my shoes, making sure they were extra tight. I liked the feeling across my feet.
Coach Howell walked in the locker room. “Listen up.”
Our mumbling stopped, and we focused on his pre-game speech. I could predict what he would say. It was seldom different game to game.
“Guys, we came here for one thing—to win. It’s opening night. Everyone is watching to see if we can do what we did last season. They’re watching Wes. They’re watching Stubbs. They want to see if Sam can catch the ball. They want to know how many yards Persons can get against their defense. They want to see Grainger’s first game. And all the rest of you… they’re watching. Was it a fluke? Was it luck?
“Well, we know the answer to that. This is a room full of champions.” He paused for a second. “And we’re going to take this game back to San Antonio.”
We all nodded in agreement.
“Bring it in,” he yelled.
I lifted my helmet in the air with everyone else. We could hear the fans through the tunnel. They were screaming and chanting. They would boo when we took the field. They’d throw stuff at our helmets. They’d tell us to fuck off. But it was noise.
The points on the scoreboard would shut them up, and that would make all this shit worth it.
I bowed my head as the Coach led a Wranglers’ prayer.
As soon as Howell said amen, we clapped in unison and filed out of the locker room. I shoved my helmet on my head, ready to take the field. I didn’t care what the fans did or shouted. We were going to win this game. And I’d catch every fucking pass Wes threw my direction to shut them up.
It was everything we expected. The announcer called for the Wranglers, and as we stormed onto the field, the jeers were deafening. It only fueled our hatred. They thought they were getting in our heads, but they were feeding our determination to win.
We waited on the away sideline while the Warriors ran out of their tunnel. The fans cheered. There was a burst of fireworks overhead. Everything was a production. It didn’t feel like a football game. It felt like a circus.
There were cameras everywhere. Someone shoved a mic in Coach’s face before kickoff. I didn’t know how he handled it.
The Wranglers won the coin toss and opted for us to receive first. I jogged in place, knowing as soon as the special teams were off the field, I’d be on it. I looked toward the booth where Ross, our offensive coordinator, was assessing the defensive. I took my cues from Wes, but sometimes I could tell from Ross’s stance whether or not we had a problem. He looked relaxed from my angle.
The whistle blew and we had the ball on our own thirty-five yard line. It wasn’t a bad place to start. Plenty of room for me to run was how I looked at it.
I jogged onto the field and waited for Wes to call the play. The adrenaline was coursing through me. For a flash of a second I thought about last night. How the adrenaline felt with Natalia. Fuck. I shook my head. The lights blazed in the sky. The camera hovered overhead. The crowd was cheering so loudly I could barely hear Wes’s deep voice.
This was it. The first snap of the season. It was everything we had prepared for. Everything we had wanted. It all started with this first play.
I wiggled my fingers in anticipation. I rocked forward, ready to sprint to my open spot on the field. I expected coverage, but I could get open.
The ball was snapped and I took off on my route. I pivoted, and the ball hit me square in the chest. I ran, avoiding one defender and then another. I crossed the fifty-yard line and made it another five yards before the Warriors’ safety took me to the ground.
“Fuck yeah,” he hollered in my ear.
I jumped up from the ground, brushing the grass off my jersey. “Twenty yards,” I taunted.
He thought he had accomplished something, but we were in their territory and no one had stopped me until I crossed mid-field.
Wes called out the next play and I knew I was blocking this time. I wanted the ball, but I was a hybrid player, meant to throw the defense off. My size gave me the ability to block and my athleticism made me a hell of a receiver.
He handed the ball off to Persons, who took us another fifteen yards down the field. I could smell seven points. We were close.
We lined up on the thirty-yard hash mark. The fans were furious. They felt it too. The energy we possessed was electric. The Wranglers were going straight for the end zone.
This time, Wes threw to Stubbs, who caught the ball just inside the twenty.
I looked at the quarterback and read the signal. We weren’t going to run. No more blocking for me. I was headed straight for the goal line this time.
My heart beat hard, but my hands were steady. I wiggled my fingers and tipped upward, ready to run. I skirted around a lineman and darted across the line. It was a blur. I turned to catch the ball, knowing Wes would find me, but I saw a pair of eyes. Eyes that had pulled me into a deep undertow last night.