Free Hail Mary by C.C. Galloway

in order to work off their tension and contain as much heat as possible. Most wore their long team coats over their uniforms to ward off the snow and the chill. It was the kind of chill that seeped into your bones and did not let go until you were underneath a long, hot shower. Or a soft, willing woman.
    In order to prevent his hamstrings and quads from tightening up, Michael refused to sit; instead, he roamed up and down the sidelines as the Tide’s Special Teams went in for yet another punt. He hated the fact he could only control what happened when he was on the field and couldn’t do a damn thing about Johansen’s mental breakdown.
    He stood off to the side and behind the other players and coaches, fully avoiding Murray and Johansen. His two teammates were a train wreck looking for a place to happen. It didn’t look like any fists would be raised but with those two, anything was possible. Including a knock-down, drag-out brawl on the sidelines. He hoped like hell that Murray and Johansen could keep it together for the last thirty minutes. If they were going to go at it, he wanted them to wait until the cameras were off. Fucking press would have a field day with an intra-team fight between their struggling quarterback and defensive captain.
    “Sack up, Johansen. Get your fucking head in the game and get a fucking first down. Remember first downs? It’s where you move the ball at least ten yards in three plays,” Murray criticized the Tide’s veteran quarterback.
    Johansen spit out his water, glared at Murray, but remained silent.
    “What? You forgot what a first down looks like?” Murray continued. “My guys are fucking exhausted. If you want us to have any hope of holding them from here on out, you’ve got to score and take some time off the clock.”
    Murray was right. The Eagles offensive line was starting to manhandle the Tide’s defense, a defense that was exhausted due to the numerous three-and-outs Johansen and the rest of the offense had put up. The team’s last first down had come late in the first quarter. Johansen needed to engineer a comeback that started with at least a six minute drive down the field. It was the only way they’d be able to catch their breath in order to terrorize the Eagles’ offense.
    None of the players were meeting each others’ eyes. The half time break hadn’t been great since they were behind and had gotten there because they were sloppy, slow, and sluggish. In addition to Johansen and the offense not having a first down since late in the first quarter, the defense had given up over three hundred yards in the first half alone, a stat that mortified Michael. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d allowed that much yardage this early. They were lucky the score wasn’t worse, like sixty-four to zero, but it was bad enough. If they mimicked their actions from the first half, they were sure to head home with a big, fat, loss, something everyone wanted to avoid and more importantly, needed to avoid.
    Michael and Murray prepared to run back on the field and lead their defense when Murray left Johansen with a parting shot.
    “It’s time you fucking earned your paycheck,” he proclaimed, punctuating each word with a jab to Johansen’s chest. Johansen’s restraint impressed Michael. If Murray had been riding his ass like that, there would have been blood, regardless of the fact that they were in the middle of the game. While he agreed with Murray’s sentiment, he wasn’t sure about the timing of his advice. Johansen seemed like a man on the edge the last few weeks. In the five years Michael had played with him, his signature style was to play with his emotions close to the surface. In the past, he’d typically fired up the sidelines with his fire. This season, he had about as much fire as a vacant church lot.
    Still, in the face of Murray’s attack, Johansen kept his cool. Anyone watching at home would only see the Tide’s defensive captain giving words of