Wes was grinning. He loved this shit. His hatred for the Warriors ran deep.
I nodded. “Hell, yeah. Throw the ball to me every time and I’ll get it done.”
“What’s that?” Stubbs yelled from the other side of the junk pit.
“I said I’ll get the TDs this game.”
“Like hell you will.” The wide receiver strutted over. “I’ll take a few myself.”
“Come on, boys,” Wes chuckled. “We can split
them. Stubbs, you take four, and Sam, you take another four.”
We laughed. The Wranglers had come here not only to win, but also to annihilate our enemy. We weren’t walking out of here with anything less than a complete and totally humiliating victory.
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.