Free Crackback by John Coy Page B

men?”
    â€œChampions.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œChampions!”
    â€œWhat? I can’t hear you.”
    â€œCHAMPIONS!”
    Stahl jumps off the bench and leads us onto the field. Sepolski used to shake our hands, then walk out behind us. I miss him more than ever.
    In the first half, both defenses shine and both offenses struggle. Coach Stahl is protecting Fox by calling running plays. Twin Falls knows this, so they’re stacking nine guys on the line, daring us to throw.
    On defense, we’ve shut them down and quieted the crowd. They’ve been three plays and out on every possession, and we’ve given the offense good field position. Fox hasn’t done anything with it.
    In the locker room at halftime, Coach Stahl sends the Gatorade jug flying. “This town is the scum of the earth.These guys are the scum of the earth, and you’re tied with them,” he shouts. “What does that make you? Scum of the earth.”
    Sweat drips off my face. I wipe it with a towel as Stahl barks at the defense. “If the other team doesn’t score, we can’t lose. It’s that simple. Hold them to zero. Anything more, you give them a chance.”
    I’m stunned. Rather than tell us we’re playing well, Stahl’s raising the standard to perfection. What about the offense? What’s he going to tell them? That no matter what they do, it’s still the fault of the defense if we lose.
    â€œI don’t care how bad you hurt. I don’t care what’s the matter with you. Go out and rip the heart out of them,” Stahl’s yelling. “Leave everything on the field.”
    I look down at the diamond pattern on the floor. Did the men who built this room ever think it would be the site of such stupid speeches?
    â€œHold them to zero, men, and we won’t lose. What are we holding them to?”
    â€œZero,” guys shout.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œZero!”
    â€œWhat? I can’t hear you.”
    â€œZERO.”
    I’m sick of this rah-rah crap.
    Halfway through the third quarter, our punting team runs onto the field. Twin Falls loads two guys on the end. They’re going for the block.
    â€œDown, set, hit.” Number 31 runs in untouched. He stretches out and blocks the punt. The ball bounces right to a teammate who grabs it and runs in for a touchdown. The crowd bursts into cheers. Just like in practice. Nobody blocked the end. Extra point is good, too. It’s 7-0. Defense hasn’t given up a point and we’re still behind. Our special teams suck.
    Stahl throws his headset down and screams, “Adams, you’re done. Monson, you’re the new punter.”
    In the fourth quarter, Twin Falls plays conservatively, protecting the lead. On third and three, their pulling guard leads a sweep my way. I race up to fill the gap. I remember Dad saying, “Go low. Go underneath him.” I hit the guard at the ankles and come up underneath. I put my helmet into the ball carrier and rip at his arms.
    â€œFumble.” Krause picks up the ball. Tyson flattens the quarterback. I cut the running back at the ankles. Somebody grabs Krause’s jersey, but he shakes loose. He cuts back and zigzags into the end zone. Touchdown.
    â€œWe’re back in this.” Brooksy slaps my helmet.
    I smack my fist into my palm as I run to the sideline. Dad stands along the fence clapping. I’m glad he saw that.
    â€œWay to go, Man,” Jonesy yells. “We needed the D to score.”
    â€œTie game,” Stahl shouts. “Hold ’em again, defense.”
    â€œWatch it deep,” Jonesy warns. We’re playing threedeep zone, so my responsibility is the right third of the field. I check the wind. The flag hangs limp on the pole.
    Three downs gain four yards, and Twin Falls prepares to punt. I line up outside.
    â€œHut one. Hut two.” I rush off the line and try to slide past the blocker. He stays with me, though, and