Free The Extra Yard by Mike Lupica Page B

started to drop, Teddy thought he had no shot at it, that it was going to hit the ground, incomplete, play over. But somehow he managed to get to it in time and clearly get his big hands underneath it.
    That was the good news.
    Bad news?
    The play had taken way too long to develop, and a whole bunch of defenders were about to be all over him. As Teddy turned back toward the line of scrimmage, so he could get himself going in the right direction, it looked like there were suddenly two Bears to every one Wildcats blocker.
    But what the defenders from the Bears didn’t know, because how could they, was how long Teddy Madden had waited for a moment like this.
    He didn’t know whether the first guy with a shot at him was a defensive tackle or linebacker. No time to check the guy’s number. But Teddy thought, Take a number, bud . Teddy straight-armed the kid and broke to the outside at the same time.
    The next kid tried to hit him high. It would have done the job once, with the old Teddy. But not now. Teddy shrugged off the hit and kept on going.
    Somebody—Jake?—cleared out a linebacker. Teddy was at the ten yard line by now, Gus right ahead of him, trying to pick out one of the two guys in front of him to block.
    Wait for it, Teddy told himself.
    Gus took the kid on the outside. Teddy broke to the inside, seeing the Bears’ safety with a clear path to him, thinking he had Teddy lined up.
    And he did.
    He came in low with his front shoulder, catching Teddy above the knees. It should have made for a good, solid tackle.
    Except it wasn’t a tackle if the guy with the ball wouldn’t go down. Teddy Madden wouldn’t go down.
    Somehow he kept his legs driving. The safety had grabbed hold of Teddy’s right leg. Still Teddy wouldn’t go down, dragging the kid along with him toward the goal line.
    He was at the two or three by now, feeling himself start to fall, taking one more giant step and reaching out with his right hand as he did, the ball firmly in his grip; reaching out the way his man Beckham did with his own big hands sometimes.
    Right before either of his knees touched the ground, the ball crossed the plane, he was sure of it.
    The ref was right in front of Teddy, yelling “Touchdown!” even before he got his arms up in the air.
    Wildcats 19, Bears 14.
    Teddy just got up and handed the ball to the ref, even though he wanted to do one of those Rob Gronkowski spikes. He let his teammates pound on him briefly, before they all collected themselves and lined up for the conversion. The guys on the O-line blew everybody off the ball, and Brian could have walked the ball into the end zone.
    Wildcats 20, Bears 14.
    The guys on defense knocked down four straight desperation passes from the Bears’ quarterback, and it was over.
    David Madden came running down the sideline, got in front of Teddy, grabbed him by his shoulder pads, and yelled, “Was that a great call from your old man, or what?”

TWELVE
    T eddy just said, “Yeah, great call,” to his dad, even though he was amazed that his father would rather talk about the play call than the play Teddy had made.
    Then Teddy broke away from him and walked over to where his mom was standing. As happy as she’d looked watching the game, she looked even happier now, like one of her favorite expressions: over the moon.
    â€œCan’t we just call it a season right here?” she said after she’d hugged him, not caring about the dirt on the front of his uniform.
    â€œPretty sure we’ll keep going,” he said.
    â€œLike you kept going with half the town of Hollis Hills trying to tackle you?”
    â€œCoach always tells us that if you keep your legs moving, good things will happen in football.”
    â€œOr great things.”
    â€œNot so great about Jack,” Teddy said. “Have you heard anything about how he’s doing?”
    His mom turned Teddy slightly and pointed. “Why