Fourth Down (Portland Pioneers 1)

Once taped and ready, I head out to the field. I like to start with a good stretch and meet with one of the trainers on the sideline. He works my hamstrings, checks my knees, and then helps me stretch. When he moves on to the next guy, I head out onto the field and run the snake, but only a quarter of it. I’m not looking to get tired before the game starts, but I want my legs as warmed up as they can be. When Noah wants to practice throwing the ball, I volunteer. Each and every time. There is no better way to get ready than to take a toss from your quarterback.

Noah gives me a hand signal, and I run the route. He hits me in stride, right in the center of my chest, with every throw. This is, of course, unrealistic because there will be a defender or two—or five, trying to prevent me from catching it. Football might be a physical game, but it’s a mind game as well. And some defensive specialists really know how to fuck with your mind.

The stands start to fill up, and the media outlets are either setting up or already on air. I have no idea how many times the cameras are on me. We’re given the signal that we need to get ready for the game. We head back into the locker room, where we dress in our pads and full uniform. The vibe around the locker room is different than when we first arrived. It was chill and relaxed, and now we’re focused and hyping each other up. Coach gives us a quick pep talk. This isn’t like high school, where we only see our coach for two hours a night, and he has to use the time before the game to go over strategy. We’ve done that all week and again yesterday morning. We’re ready.

We head out to the field after the team introduction. The stands are full, and everyone is on their feet. I run to the bench and look up, spotting Reggie, Roxy, and my parents right away. I wave and blow them a kiss before slipping my helmet on. It’s time for the coin toss. My teammates and I go out to the center of the fifty-yard line. Handshakes happen with our opponent, and the head official tosses the coin, with me yelling, “tails.”

“Tails it is.”

“We’ll receive,” I say, and the official makes the catching motion and points to which direction we’ll start. I’m halfway toward the bench when our special teams take the field. Each guy that passes by, I either bump chests with or grab their helmet and tell them to run like the wind. I’d love to start this game off with a run back.

Sadly, the run back doesn’t happen.

Noah and I run out together. In the huddle, he tells us what play we’re starting with. I line up on the left and watch him. As soon as the ball is in his hands, I’m down the field, juking my defender as much as I can until I cut across the field, poised and ready for the pigskin to land in my arms. As soon as I see the perfect spiral, I raise my hands and leap. The ball touches my fingertips, and I curl them to pull the ball into my palms. The moment my foot touches the ground, I’m in stride, running toward the end zone.

I glance over my shoulder to where my defender is. His hands reach for me, but I veer. Not today, I repeat in my head. What I forget to do is look to my right. The safety comes out of nowhere and takes me to the ground. As much as I want that touchdown, we’re on the ten-yard line, and I couldn’t be happier.

The next play goes to the running back. He wiggles through the melee of men and comes out the victor on the other end. I’m happy because we’re on the board but pissed I didn’t get the call.

At half-time, we have a two-touchdown lead, with Noah scoring the second one.

When I come out of the locker room, I spot Autumn at once. She’s standing with Peyton, wearing the Portland Pioneers shirt she wore to her first game. Damn, she’s beautiful. Her long dark hair is in a braid, which I’m learning is her favorite hairstyle when she’s not working, and she’s wearing a Pioneers trucker cap. Autumn looks every bit a fan. As I approach the bench, she sees me and smiles. Instead of going up to her, I pick up a football and lob it to her. I fully expect her to catch it, but she doesn’t. She steps to the side, and Peyton takes it easily out of the air. She sends it back to me, the ball whizzing in the air.