Page 66 of Hard Count
Darius noticed, and ran over before the ball was dead. He was already in the tackle’s face. Helmet to helmet. Hand on the tackle’s face mask, pulling him forward.
“Say it, you fucking bitch, say it to me.”
“Back up.”
“Say it. Say it!”
“Get the fuck off me!”
Darius spat in his face, “Pussy ass bitch.” It hit the inside of his mouth, spit running down his chin. The side judge had been fifteen yards off the play and was sprinting to address the escalating situation.
The tackle reached for Darius. Darius didn’t flinch, ripping off his helmet and clocking him in the head twice.
Noah pulled them apart. He got an arm across Darius’s chest and turned him, away from the tackle, and walked him five yards back toward the Seattle sideline without looking away from Darius’s face.
“Thanks D, we need to win this game and I need you!”
“I knew he was gonna pull that shit. He is a fucking dick.”
The flags came down. Three of them, because three officials had reached the same conclusion at the same time. Unsportsmanlike on Darius, number eighty-seven, Seattle. Ejection. The side judge made the signal. Darius was already walking back to the locker room when the signal came. He stayed facing downward. He walked off the field with his helmet in his left hand and his right hand loose at his side, and the Seattle fans in the visitor section, knowing what had happened, stood up as he passed them and cheered. Seattle fans always traveled and there were thousands, all cheering Darius. The roar of the Seattle fans left nothing for San Francisco fans to counter with.
Darius held his fist up in victory as he disappeared into the tunnel. Noah put his fist up, as his eyes teared up. Then the entire Seattle section put their fists up.
The tackle was being walked back to his own sideline by two of his linemen. Nobody on the San Francisco sideline was applauding him.
Noah watched Darius all the way to the tunnel.
Then he turned back to the line.
The stadium shifted. Defense held.
San Francisco punted as Seattle took over at their own twenty-six.
The next drive moved quickly. A slant to the tight end for nine, then a screen for six.
Two plays that died at the sticks. Fourth and inches at the thirty-four.
They went for it, they had to. Noah watched his number-two, now that Darius was out, the rookie who had been getting more reps every week, converted on a drag route for the first down. The drive stalled three plays later at the twenty-eight. Field goal unit came out. Three points. Score: San Francisco 20, Seattle 17.
Two minutes left, no timeouts.
In the huddle, Noah kept it simple.
“Nothing changes, there are no distractions, let's fucking close this out.”
The drive moved. Out route. Slant. Spike. Thirty seconds. Twenty yards. Snap.
Noah threw like Darius was still on the field. Touchdown. Score: Seattle 24, San Francisco 20. No flags.
The traveling Seattleites lost their fucking minds, all putting their fists in the air.
Noah could not hold in the tears any longer. He needed to thank Darius.
***
Darius was waiting in the locker room.
He was already showered, in a hoodie, sitting on the bench in front of Noah’s stall with his elbows on his knees. He looked up when Noah came in.“You won.”
