Page 51 of Sacked
The Colts had injuries, but experience taught me that a wounded animal was more dangerous, unpredictable, and prone to fighting. Tomorrow’s game wasn’t a given—Coach Tilson was right.
Sunday morning, I met up with Troy before the bus arrived to take us to Crystal Light. “Pratt called me late last night.”
Troy nodded. “You can win this one.”
“I was just getting used to not being sore the day after a game.”
His somber expression cracked. “You’re right. That will be nice.”
“You’re not upset?” I asked.
“I’m not happy, but I get it. We need to look at the season as having at least nine games to play and win. We’re a team.” He slapped my shoulder. “I’ll be watching the great Fin Graham. Not a bad place to be.”
“We’re a team,” I repeated.
During on-field practice, I ran familiar plays with the eligible offense. JD and I connected with the ease of years of experience. Patel was back in the game after missing one. He and Kylon Lewis were quick to their posts. Dijon and Treshawn, my backs, were reliable and sure-footed. All of that meant I was the factor who needed to come through.
In the locker room, Tilson gave us the before-game speech. The game was ours to lose. We couldn’t blame the officials or the other team. Winning was within our grasp. We just needed to want it.
“Do you want it?” he asked.
“Yes, Coach.”
“Do you want it?”
“Yes, Coach,” we all screamed.
“Then get out there and take this win. It’s ours if we want it.”
“We want it!”
As the team trotted behind Coach Tilson through the fog-filled tunnel and out onto the field, the home-team announcer, the Big Hurt’s voice reverberated from the PA system.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your Lexington Coopers.”
AC/DC’s Thunderstruck roared as fireworks shot from the four corners of the stadium. A sea of amber filled the stands as the fans welcomed their undefeated Lexington Coopers.
The roof above Crystal Light Stadium was closed, giving a slightly different feeling to the field. Today’s forecast was for thundershowers. The beauty of a retractable roof was keeping the fans and field dry and comfortable.
The Colts won the coin flip and deferred.
Our kick-return team ran the opening kickoff to the thirty-four-yard line. Dennison and the offense went to work. With six minutes off the clock, Dennison threw to Kylon Lewis, wide receiver, who ran a go route into the end zone.
Touchdown Coopers.
The Big Hurt called the play on the field.
Fireworks exploded.
Turning my attention down the field, I saw the beautiful smile on Vee’s face as she clenched her clipboard. Wearing a long amber skirt with a blue jean jacket and her cowboy boots, she shone as the Coopers’ light.
She wasn’t our moon; she didn’t reflect light.
No, Vee was our sun—radiating her own energy.
The Colts got the ball into the red zone before penalties took them out of field-goal range. They punted on fourth down.
Coach Pratt reached for my shoulder pad, screaming in my face. “Go get them, Graham. We want you in the game because we know you will deliver.”
