Free The Birth of Super Crip by Rob J. Quinn

tapping on
the parts of the bleachers that were empty.
     
    “Great,” he heard Pete mutter.
     
    Red tried to turn his attention back to the game.
Taking possession on their own 20-yard line after the punt had been
ruled a touchback, the Lions didn’t move the ball at all on first
down. While the wave was coming with ease, Red barely feeling it
recede when there was a break in the game, getting the results he
wanted was proving to be much more difficult than he expected.
Helping Penn Valley on defense wasn’t too hard, especially with
pass plays on a windy night. Running plays were a bit more
challenging. He figured pushing running backs to the ground without
a defensive player making at least some contact would raise
questions. The same was true on offense. There were only so many
times a defender could inexplicably fall down. And more than a few
plays had proven that he could only do so much on a pass play.
     
    Finally, the quarterback dropped back on
second-and-long. He had a receiver wide open for a first down. The
pass rush closed in, and he was hit as he threw. Red pushed what
would have been a wobbler into the ground right into the receiver’s
chest only to watch him drop it.
     
    “What the hell!” he screamed. “Do I have to catch it
for you?”
     
    Pete looked over at him with a blank stare.
     
    Realizing what he’d just said, Red tried to cover his
tracks. “What?” he said. “I’m just sayin’ catch the damn
thing.”
     
    Pete struggled to hear him over the wind. Red leaned
closer and repeated himself in a shout.
     
    “Yeah, and you could do better,” Pete shouted back
before turning to watch the game.
     
    Happy his friend seemed satisfied with the response,
Red didn’t risk a comeback.
     
    Instead, Red started to think a fluke play on the
punt might be the best way to get the home team into scoring range.
Nothing else was working, and he didn’t know how many opportunities
were left.
     
    His eyes shifted to Pete, then quickly away. Does he
know? he wondered. Red looked at the clock again. With just seconds
left, there wouldn’t be another snap in the third quarter, and
there was no guarantee Penn Valley would even have a reason to punt
again. Besides, they would be going into the wind in the fourth
quarter. It made his plan for a long punt that he hoped to make
sure was mishandled by Folsom and recovered by the Lions all the
more implausible.
     
    At the snap of the ball, Red instantly knew there was
nothing he could do short of pushing down the entire defensive line
as three Raiders converged on the running back in the backfield.
Instead, he stole another opportunity to help the left end pancake
Chuck, pushing him to the ground with the wave as the defender went
around him.
     
    “C’mon!” Pete yelled after the third-down draw play
went nowhere. “How many times is Chuck just gonna fall to the
ground?”
     
    “I know,” Red said, continuing to look straight ahead
for fear of laughing. “He sucks!” Watching Chuck pound the ground
and then walk to the sideline as the coach laid into him, Red felt
just a little guilty. He decided Chuck had taken enough for one
game.
     
    Penn Valley called time-out with a second left in the
quarter to be able to punt with the wind.
     
     
    Scott came running up the bleachers moments after the
whistle sounded for the time-out. He motioned for Red to meet him
at the railing. Moving carefully, Red kept his head down as the
wind had suddenly picked up and was sending a now-steady rain
almost sideways. Each drop that found his face felt like a little
pellet bouncing off him. The sound of the crowd’s latest song
selection, “Who’ll Stop the Rain,” barely reached them. Red looked
over Scott’s shoulder to see what seemed like every student on the
Penn Valley side standing and chanting as much as singing the final
line of the Creedence Clearwater Revival classic.
     
    “You want to take off?” Scott screamed louder than
necessary to be heard