Page 64 of Hard Count
“Tell her I apologize.”
The lineman laughed and kept walking. Noah looked down at the tape on his thumb.
Darius stepped up beside him, working his shoulder loose.
“You good?” Darius said.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“I said yeah.”
“Win the fucking game then,” Darius said.
***
San Francisco came out fast.
First possession, a nine-play drive that felt choreographed. Score: San Francisco 7, Seattle 0.
Noah’s first drive went three and out.
His second died on a dropped ball at the sticks that should have converted.
By the end of the first quarter, it was 10-0 on a field goal Noah watched from the sideline without moving.
His next drive began early in the second quarter on his own thirty.
On second and six, he was reading the front when the defensive tackle lined up across from his center said it, “Commercial looked real convincing, bro.”
Noah ignored him. He called the protection, took the snap, and threw.
Six yards, third and three, then back on the line.
The same player appeared again,“Bathroom fuck your idea or his?”
Noah took the snap, dropped back, and felt the pocket hold long enough to let him see everything. He scanned it the way he always did, and threw the slant. The safety broke and the ball went through Darius’s hands and into the secondary. The linebacker had it before Noah had finished his follow-through.
Noah watched it and then he watched the linebacker run.
He ran the man down inside the forty and went down hard. The linebacker went down with him. Noah’s face mask caught the turf and opened a thin burn across his chin, but he wouldn’t notice for another two possessions.
He got up and walked back to the sideline without looking at anyone feeling fucking defeated.
“It’s mine, I’m fucking up,” he said to the offensive coordinator. “I’ll take this shit, just let me ride.”
The coordinator nodded, saying nothing.
San Francisco scored off the short field. Score: San Francisco 17, Seattle 0.
Noah walked off at the half with the taste of iron and defeat in his mouth and chest.
The locker room smelled the way visitor locker rooms always smelled, like shit. The head coach used the wordfuckmore thanhe had that season and then stood at the whiteboard making changes to formations that were planned and that they were now throwing out. The offensive coordinator was noticeably sweating. Someone handed Noah a Gatorade that he stared at instead of drinking. Noah sat down on the bench in front of his stall and stared at the carpet between his cleats.
Bathroom fuck your idea or his.
It was not the taunt that got to him. It was how little the taunt had cost the dude who said it. A throwaway line, easy, but it hurt. He didn’t even have to think about it. That part was pissing Noah the fuck off.
