Second Down - Chapter 21

Everyone was excited as the bus rolled into Trinity High’s parking lot next to their football field. After last week’s game, practice all week had felt different, like the team was starting to think they could win again after a long losing streak.

I was feeling it too, with something like excitement instead of nerves for the first time since moving to JV. It might have helped that this was my first away game with the team. When I’d done the away game with the freshman, it had basically been us and a few parents.

We didn’t have the full caravan that varsity had, but we had a fair number of cars and a second bus carrying the JV cheer team, which is something we didn’t have as freshmen. There was only a JV and varsity cheer team, so we’d had to go without.

There were also a number of kids from the school who’d carpooled up to follow us. We didn’t have the marching band, but it was a pretty good showing after playing to empty stands as a freshman at an away game.

“Alright, let’s move!” Coach Holloway barked as we came to a stop. “Grab your gear and get on the field. Warm-ups start in fifteen!”

I stood and slung my bag over my shoulder and headed off the bus. Most of the grabass came to a halt as we made our way off the bus and toward the visitors’ locker room.

It was time to get our game faces on. Well, for most of us.

I caught Jorden Kinsell glaring at me again, and he wasn’t particularly subtle about it. Honestly, at this point, I didn’t care. I had bigger things to focus on than his resentment over being benched. I was trying to be more ‘adult’ about everything these days, keeping in mind what I remembered from the dream version of myself, but if he’d been meant to lead the team, he would have played better.

Trinity got the kickoff and the game was on with their returner catching it cleanly at the five. Our coverage team swarmed downfield, forcing him out at their twenty-five.

Not a terrible way to start the game.

Trinity’s offense started with basic plays, not that different from the stuff coach gave us. We had a good stop on the second down when Donald Huff broke through their line and wrapped up their running back for a slight loss.

After their quarterback overthrew his receiver on third down, they punted and it was our turn to have a go.

“Remember,” Coach said as I jogged past after calling the play. “Establish the run early. Make them respect it.”

Not what I wanted to hear, but what I expected.

At least it went well. Jerry took the handoff smoothly, finding the hole our line created and then dragged a defender for an extra yard, setting up second and six.

Coach asked us to make them respect the run, and that’s what we did.

On the next run, Joe powered through on the fullback dive, really hammering into their linemen. It wasn’t a huge gain, but it put us at third and short.

The next play was a surprise. A quarterback sneak. We’d done it once in practice, but it hadn’t gone well. I was tall and in good shape, but I didn’t have the weight to really push through linemen like that. I guess coach thought we’d catch them off guard.

And he was right.

I didn’t get very far and it felt like I’d hit a brick wall, but we picked up two yards when we only needed one for a first down.

I could feel the momentum building.

Jerry swept right on the next play, following his blockers for six yards again. That was starting to be his magic number, but for pushing the ball downfield a little at a time, we’d take it.

On the next play, the defense started to creep up and I called my first audible of the game. I sold the play action hard on second down, the entire defense flowing with Jerry while Joe slipped through the middle for four more yards.

We were starting to gain some yards. Not fast, but it was working and I could see their defense starting to get frustrated, which was exactly what they shouldn’t do.

Jerry took advantage of it and broke free on a counter left, with twelve yards of green grass opening up before him. Our first serious yardage and our side of the stands, light though it might have been, went wild. We were rolling now.

We kept going. Joe pounded up the middle for another three on first down and I thought there was a chance we might make it all the way on this first drive.

Then things went wrong. Jerry got caught in the backfield on a pitch right, their defensive end reading it perfectly. An eight-yard loss and our momentum stalled. Third and long, our protection broke down. I spotted Mickey breaking open deep and I actually considered saying screw the short lob coach had called, but I never got the chance.

Their linebacker came free on a delayed blitz. I tucked the ball and ran, finding space to the right. Six yards. I was proud that I’d managed to keep from getting sacked and even pick up a little of our lost yardage, but it still left us pretty far back on fourth down.

We were, however, in field goal range.

I ran off the field and the special teams ran out, getting us our first points of the game. 3 and 0.

Trinity’s next possession had a few moments where it looked like they might get something going, but ultimately it went nowhere. Especially after Spencer Marshal made a tackle on their running back, burying him hard in the dirt, and then later their QB overthrowing his receiver by a good three yards.

We got the ball back with under a minute in the quarter. Jerry took another handoff as time wound down, finding three yards before the whistle blew and the quarter ended.

Not brilliant football, but a good first quarter.

We started the second quarter with a handoff to Joe, who plowed straight ahead, pushing through the line for four yards.

Classic Wheaton football, apparently. Head down, smashing into the other line.

Not the most exciting ball in my opinion, but at least it was somewhat working this time and we had points on the board.

“Nice push,” I said giving him a light push as we lined up for the next play.

The defense shifted and was showing blitz. I rolled right on the snap, buying time as their linebacker crashed through. Since it worked the last time, I went with the same strategy, tucked the ball and ran, sliding after picking up five yards.

I could see coach with his arms folded and glaring at me as I headed back to the huddle. I knew he wanted me to throw it away, but it felt like such a wasted opportunity, especially when they were heavy on one side of the line and I thought we had room to run.

We picked up eight more yards on the next one, this to Joe again, except he went on a counter instead of blasting down the center like every other time.

I guess coach had to keep them guessing.

He was keeping me guessing with the next play as he surprised us all by calling a pass play. And not just a short dink, but a serious, honest to god pass.

I tried not to get nervous as we lined up. It kind of felt like he was giving me a shot, and I didn’t want to let him down, or who knew how long it would be until I got another one.

I got the snap and faked a handoff to Jerry as I watched Miles haul ass fifteen yards and cut hard enough to get separation from his coverage. I let it fly as soon as he was clear. The ball sailed perfectly into his hands for fifteen yards.

We were so close to the endzone, for a second I thought he was going to break free and make a run for the goal line, but he was taken down as soon as he tucked the ball under his arm.

He held onto it though.

“It’s about time,” Miles said as he came back to the huddle.

I had to agree.

We were within spitting distance of the goal line and coach had us back to the running game. The defense started to stiffen, trying to deny us the goal, but Jerry managed to pick up six more yards. Coach called another run by Joe right down the middle, which had to be getting predictable by this point, except for once I agreed. He was good enough to push his way through that last few yards and get us the touchdown. Unfortunately, they really didn’t want us to get it and held him to just three yards in a huge pileup. We were third down and one yard from goal.

If we messed this up, coach would have our asses.

We didn’t do anything fancy, except for having Jerry make the run. He was smaller than Joe, but he was good enough to get that last yard for our first touchdown, followed by Gerald’s extra point.

Ten to nothing.

There was a moment in Trinity’s next drive that it looked like they might put something together, but it ended in disaster for them again. They’d put together a handful of good downs including two really solid passes and it looked like they might have an immediate answer for our touchdown.

And then Luke Boniadi managed to strip the ball from their runner and recover it at their forty-five.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Coach Holloway shouted, practically jumping up and down.

Unfortunately, there just wasn’t enough time left on the clock for any kind of drive to come together after that and the time ran out.

As good as the first half went, the second half was when things started to really heat up.

Our first drive started with a running play that picked up four yards and then another that picked up three. It was almost starting to become cliché that every second down was three yards, but I guess that was better than losing yards.

Then coach did it again, calling another passing play. I hoped this was a sign of something coming. I’d shown him I could throw for more than five yards, and I just needed to prove it wasn’t a fluke.

Everything started out well. Mickey burst off the line, creating separation down the sideline almost as soon as he took off, and my protection held, giving me lots of time to set up.

I couldn’t have asked for a better throw.

And then, as it landed in Mickey’s hands, it slipped right through his fingers.

“Son of a bitch.”

I looked over at coach on the sideline as we got to the huddle. He didn’t look pissed, but I hoped it wouldn’t be the end of my being able to pass. It might have been incomplete, but I thought my pass was great.

“Sorry, man,” Mickey said as he joined us.

“It’s okay,” I said, trying to not sound as annoyed as I felt inside.

It wasn’t fair to be too hard on him. It happened sometimes. We only had three more yards to the first down, but coach didn’t want to risk it, which made sense this early in the quarter.

Trinity started at their twenty-five after the punt, and they started picking up yardage on some runs. I was hoping they had another screw up, which had cost them their last drive, but the screw up was on our side this time.

Their QB managed a beautiful pass twenty yards down the line and left our safety hugging air, giving him nothing but open field. Our guys tried, but never caught him, getting Trinity their first points on the board and bringing the score to 10-7.

Coach was absolutely livid.

Again, it happened, but it put us way closer than anyone wanted. At least the kickoff went okay, with us returning it to the thirty-two-yard line.

We started putting up running plays again, just like the rest of the time. Five yards here, three yards there, managing just enough to keep us in the fight. We’d made it a good way down when Jerry had his own moment of luck, breaking free on a sweep and hauling ass twenty yards down the sideline, juking hard enough to get their safety to almost wrap up on his own feet, and into the endzone.

With the extra point, we were back up 16-7.

As we went into the final quarter, it seemed like that one big play was all Trinity had in them, because their offense completely gave up the ghost. They had a terrible kick return, a run that only managed one yard, and then back-to-back incomplete passes that had them punting almost as soon as the drive began.

I was ready for a final slow grind to the end zone, and it started that way with another run for Jerry that got nowhere.

Then coach surprised me for a fourth time. Even with the incomplete pass last time, coach called for another pass. This one wasn’t a cut at fifteen yards though. This one had my primary read as Mickey who was going deep, and my secondary read as the closer-in receiver.

I guess coach figured we were far enough ahead and we might as well go for something flashy. Or maybe he just wanted to see what I could do.

The defense showed blitz again, but I wasn’t buying it. They’d been faking most of the night. The ball snapped and I dropped back, watching Mickey burn past their corner. Luck was on our side. The safety, probably expecting another run, by the time he realized what was happening, Mickey had a clear path a good two steps ahead of his coverage.

I let it fly.

It was one of those passes you knew was going to be on target the moment it left your hand. Mickey didn’t screw me this time. He didn’t even break stride, catching it in a full sprint and cruising into the end zone.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” I said, slapping Andre on the shoulder as I started to walk off to the sidelines.

Gerald nailed the extra point, putting us up 23-7.

Trinity tried to answer and they battled a few first downs before their drive fizzled out after a short completion and a stuffed run up the middle. Another incomplete pass later, they punted it away.

I honestly thought they were close enough for a field goal at least, but maybe they didn’t have faith in their kicker. Not that it really mattered. The game was over by that point.

We just ran down the clock while Trinity burned through their timeouts, I guess hoping for a miracle.

I don’t really know what their thinking was.

The final whistle felt amazing. My first win on JV and I’d finally gotten some real passing yards.

I headed toward the locker room when I walked by Coach Holloway and he said, “I guess you can handle a few passes after all.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just turned and walked away.

I hoped beyond hope that meant we might start passing more and running less. End up with some kind of balanced offense. Maybe I’d been too hard on Coach. Maybe he’d been so wedded to the idea of a mostly running game because he’d had some bad runs at QB.

I just hoped I’d shown him that I wasn’t going to continue that. I was here to play.

I’d slowed down as I’d worked that through and just started to walk again when something caught my eye. I looked up to see a blond cheerleader waving at me. As soon as she saw she caught my attention, she winked, did this little kick back thing with her foot, and then ran off to join the other cheerleaders without looking back at me.

I didn’t have to wonder who she was. Melanie Barlow. In the dream life, I’d had a serious crush on her both years of high school and then seeing her around town for the next two years until she headed off for college.

I’d heard she’d gotten with some star athlete in college and I think settled down and had some kids. After she’d left town, dream me had stopped paying attention. But he’d sure as hell paid enough attention to know who she was now.

And she was winking at me.

Yeah, I could definitely get used to this winning thing.

Sunday morning, I was up early because I knew Dad had to be at the station at nine, which meant leaving the house no later than eight. I wasn't usually a morning person, especially on weekends, but this wasn't something I wanted to talk about around other people, and I needed an answer in the next few days. With his schedule and what time I had to be at school, it was much harder to catch him alone on a school day.

As soon as I smelled the coffee, I got up and went down to the kitchen, where I found him sitting at the small kitchen table, the newspaper open and a cup of coffee already next to him.

"Nebraska really crushed Pacific," he said as I sat down.

Football. It was the main language we spoke to each other.

"Yeah. I watched some replays when I got home last night on ESPN, and Pacific's defense looked lost out there. They've got a young secondary, but I think their coordinator's new this year too."

"It helps that Nebraska's running game is unstoppable," I said, but in an offhanded way.

I had too much on my mind to talk about football in any intelligent way, and I think he caught onto my distraction. Or maybe it was my nervousness.

He folded his paper, set it aside, and asked, "What's on your mind?"

"What do you mean?"

"Blake, I cannot remember the last time you were up this early on a Sunday, and it wasn't so you could sit and shoot the breeze with your old man. So what's bothering you?"

"Busted. Okay, yes, I did want to talk to you about something, although honestly I do wish we sat down and talked more."

Although I was on the path to keep from losing him, there was a part of me that really wanted to spend more time with my dad. The other weekend we'd hung out for an afternoon and it was still one of the best I'd had. It was just hard because he was working a lot, or with mom who wasn't my biggest fan half the time, or I was preoccupied with homework and other stuff.

It wasn't until he pointed out that we never did this that I realized time was getting short between us even if the stuff in my dream never came true. I'd be off to college in four years and I'd have less and less time with him.

I really did need to make spending time with him a priority.

"I'd like that too," he said, reaching over and patting my arm. "But why don't you go ahead and spill whatever you actually wanted to talk to me about."

"So last week I talked to Coach Holloway about what it takes to get to the next level. I know I've been working on getting my grades up, but my goal is still to get picked up by a really good program and do well enough to get drafted. I know, I know how unlikely that is and that's why I've been working just as hard on my schooling, but it doesn't mean I've given up my dream."

"I've never asked you to. I just want you to do it smart, so that if you don't get what you want, you still have a plan."

"I am. I promise. Anyway, he said that while the program at school will work with me to improve as much as they can, and they do have a lot of kids get into D1 and D2 programs, that there was a big difference between that and making it into the NFL. He also pointed out that if I checked, the bulk of the guys that do make it come from families with money. He said the reason for that was that the only way to really ensure you get to that next level is private coaching and specialized training, along with elite level camps, clinics, and showcases. I imagine in college, the training will pick up a lot, but there are a lot of kids playing college ball who want to be a starting quarterback at one of the big programs. There's a lot of competition for those spots."

"I guess that makes sense. I'm glad to see you're taking this all so seriously."

"I am. I've also been thinking about how to pay for it since, from what I've been able to find, it's really expensive, and I have an idea.

A way to pay for it myself."

"That's admirable, son. How much are we talking about?"

I took a deep breath. "Between ten and fifteen thousand dollars a year."

Dad choked on his coffee. "Fifteen thousand dollars?"

"Yeah. Like I said, a lot. But that's for a full year of coaching from a private coach, plus a speed coach, consulting with a nutritionist and regular checkups, as well as attending the majority of the football camps I could find."

"Blake, that's…"

"I know, way more than we can afford. But like I said, I have a plan. One that could work to get me started by this summer or maybe even the end of the year. And you're going to hate it."

"What is this plan?" he asked, using his cop voice.

He didn't do it often, but sometimes it leaked out. Like I was a perp about to lie to him.

"I need you to really hear me out, okay? I am dead serious about this and I'm not just doing this on a whim."

He gestured for me to continue.

"The Oklahoma-Colorado game is coming up and I remember you talking to that old college friend of yours in Nevada around the Super Bowl last year. The one who helped you place that bet."

Dad placed little bets in office pools and I knew he gambled here and there in Vegas a few times, but last year he was positive all of the experts were wrong and, in spite of the Cowboys being favored, Buffalo would pull it out. He'd been wrong and the Cowboys had not only won, but it'd been a blowout.

Mom had been pissed at him for a week for wasting the money.

"No."

"Dad…"

"Absolutely not. Sports betting? That's what this is about?"

"Dad, hear me out," I said. "I'm not asking you to gamble for me. I'm asking you to place one bet, one time, with my money."

That was a lie, but I figured it would be easier to slowly walk him into this rather than trying to sell my plan all at once.

"Blake, gambling is against the law, even if you do it through a friend."

"Come on, dad. It was also illegal when you placed that bet on the Super Bowl."

"That was different."

"How? I'm just asking you to do the exact same thing, but with my money this time."

"Stop." Dad held up his hand. "You're fifteen. Do you understand how easily this kind of thing can get out of hand? Are you really prepared to throw your money away like this? And if you win, are you going to be able to just stop? I've seen a lot of gambling addicts in my time, and this is how it starts."

"I'm not a gambling addict. I have a plan and this is the only way I could think of to make it happen."

"That's what every gambler said when they first started."

"Dad, I've been working so hard. My grades are up. I have all As for the first time since elementary school. I'm starting on JV as a freshman. I'm not the same kid I was even two months ago."

"And I'm proud of you for that. But it doesn't change…"

"It's my Christmas and birthday money," I interrupted. "Mine to spend how I want."

"Why are you so sure about this game? What makes you think you know something all the experts don't?"

"I can't explain it. I just do. I am absolutely positive I'm right."

"Nobody knows for certain how a game will end. That's what makes it gambling."

"I do." The words came out before I could stop them.

"I really can't explain it."

"Blake, if you know something that's set up ahead of time, that's not just gambling illegal, that's fraud. A felony."

"It's not that. I will swear to you now that's not it."

He was quiet for a minute, I think trying to get a read on me. I knew it was a big ask, believing in my confidence but not taking the next logical step to some kind of fixed game. I couldn't even be mad at him for it. The real explanation was so fantastical, there was no reasonable way anyone would believe it.

"You're smart, son. But you're being naive. There's no such thing as a sure bet. That's how people lose everything - thinking they've figured out some special angle nobody else sees."

"I'm not trying to figure out angles. I just..." I trailed off, frustrated. "I need you to trust me on this."

"This isn't about trust, Blake. It's about protecting you from making a mistake that could snowball."

"But that's exactly what trust is. Letting me make my own decisions. Hell, letting me make my own mistakes."

"There's a difference between letting you learn from mistakes and enabling potentially destructive behavior."

"Come on, Dad. You're acting like I'm asking to join a gang or something. It's one bet. My money. And I swear to you, I wouldn't ask if I wasn't absolutely sure."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Blake…"

"I'm not going to let this go. I've done everything in my power this year to show you I'm worth trusting. I've done everything you've asked and all the stuff you wanted but didn't ask me to do. I don't know how I could do more than I am right now. You can't then shut me down the first time I ask you to trust me."

He didn't answer right away. "Alright. If, and this is a big if, I help you with this, there have to be ground rules."

"Name them."

"First, this is absolutely a one-time deal. Win or lose, we're never doing this again."

"Agreed."

"Second, your grades stay up. You promise me here and now that you will keep on the path you're going."

"I promise."

"Third, I handle everything. You don't talk to anyone about this. Not your friends, not your classmates, and absolutely not your mother. As far as anyone's concerned, this never happened."

"Deal."

"Fourth, if you lose, that's it. No crying about it, no asking me to cover it, no trying again to win it back. You accept the loss and move on."

"Absolutely."

Dad took a long drink of his coffee. "How much are we talking about?"

"Nine hundred and sixty-five dollars."

"And what exactly do you want to bet on?"

"Oklahoma over Colorado by thirty points."

Dad's eyebrows shot up. "That is a very specific bet."

"I know."

He tapped the side of his mug for a second and said, "No. We can't make that bet."

"But you just said…"

"I said I'd help you place a bet. If we walk in with that kind of specific bet and win, it raises red flags. Nobody bets that precise unless they know something."

"Oh." I hadn't considered that. "So what do we do?"

"We spread it out. Four sixty-five on the spread the books are offering, four hundred on the closest spread to thirty points, and a hundred on the money line."

I did some quick math in my head. It wouldn't pay as much as my original plan, but it was better than nothing.

"That works."

"Not even a question about the plan. When did you learn about sports betting?"

"I told you, I've been doing my research."

"I can see that." Dad stood up, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this. I must be losing my mind."

"You're not. You're trusting me."

"Maybe." He grabbed his coffee cup, downing it and putting the dirty cup in the sink. "I'll call Pete tonight after my shift."

"Thanks, Dad."

He paused in the doorway. "Blake?"

"Yeah?"

"I really hope you know what you're doing."

"I do," I said, but he was already gone.

I sat there for a while, staring at my hands. I did know what I was doing, sort of. The memory of that game was clear enough, even if I couldn't remember the exact score. Oklahoma had destroyed Colorado. I just hoped spreading the bets out like Dad suggested wouldn't cut too much into the potential winnings.

The next step was going to be even harder. If dad didn't like the idea of me betting, he was really going to hate me rolling the winnings into the next bet.