Page 69 of Playing the Field
Their scrum-half pounces on a loose ball, flicking it wide before our defense has a chance to reset. Their outside center breaks the line, stepping past Carter, leaving our fullback, Zane, scrambling to cover the space.
It’s too late.
Their winger gets the ball in stride and sprints, nothing but open field ahead of him.
The crowd roars as he dives over the line.
Try.
Utah leads 5-0 after the conversion attempt goes wide.
I press my fingers against my temple, my pulse pounding.
Not the end of the world. We can come back from this. But I need to see something—a reaction, an adjustment.
Instead, the restart is sloppy.
Dominic boots the ball deep, but Utah recovers easily, their forwards setting another quick platform. We’re struggling to slow them down at the ruck, and it’s giving their halfbacks too much time to set the attack.
I shift my weight, tension coiling in my chest.
Next phase—another big carry from their number eight, barreling through our line, dragging two defenders with him before he’s finally brought to the ground.
Then their scrum-half plays it fast, catching us on the back foot again.
Another break.
Another desperate tackle from Zane, stopping them just outside our twenty-two.
“Where the hell is the urgency?” I snap, half to myself, half to Brandt, who’s standing a few feet away.
Brandt exhales sharply. “They’re flat. No energy. No edge.”
He’s right.
Something is missing.
And Utah can smell it.
They keep hammering away, controlling possession, making us chase them across the field. Our defense is bending under the pressure, and it’s only a matter of time before it breaks again.
Five minutes later, it does.
A perfectly timed offload splits our defensive line, their inside center slicing through untouched.
He scores under the posts.
The conversion is good.
12-0, Utah.
The stadium erupts.
I clench my jaw so hard it aches.
Brandt curses under his breath.
“We’re getting beaten at the breakdown,” he mutters. “They’re setting the tempo, and we’re playing catch-up.”
