9/17/10
[image=http://www.mghelmets.com/high%20school%20helmets/copiague-ny.gif]vs.[image=http://www.mghelmets.com/high%20school%20helmets/west-islip-ny.gif]
Normally, I never liked being in the trainer’s room during the season. More times than not, I always came out of there with bad news. Freshman year, I sprained my elbow first practice of the year. Sophomore year, I ruptured one of the tendons in the finger of my throwing hand and was on the bench for nearly the entire season. Thankfully, I didn’t spend much time in here last year, even though I had a disappointing season.
However, only now had I realized how great it was being in this room. Our head trainer, Carly Waiseman, had to have been one of the best at what she does. She really cared about the athletes’ well-being and did everything she could to make sure they returned to the field at one-hundred percent health.
I was getting my ankle taped, as it was a little sore from the week’s practice. I could barely sit still on the trainer’s table as Carly was taping me up. I was about to play under the lights on a Friday night; it was something every high school athlete dreams of.
I heard a faint rumble of thunder as coach Warwick came in to check on everyone in the room. He stopped by where I was sitting.
“How’s the ankle feeling son?” he asked, gripping my hand so tight it felt like it was going to break in two.
“I don’t know, feels alright I guess,” I answered with a shrug, shaking my hand to ease the pain. “As long as the big boys up front don’t make me have to run a lot tonight, I think I’ll be fine.”
As another low crash of thunder made its way through the trainer’s room, Warwick let out a chuckle.
“When you’re all finished in here, head on over to the locker room,” the Offensive Coordinator said, halfway out the door. “Horan has something to say to you guys.”
I gave him a head nod and he was out the door. As my mind began drifting to how I hoped tonight’s game would go, Carly snapped me back into reality.
“Alright, Nick, that should be fine for tonight,” she said, in a satisfied tone. “If you feel any discomfort after the game, just place your foot in a tub of ice water for five to ten minutes. It will speed up the recovery and decrease the soreness of the area. And if the pain doesn’t go away within a week or so, I’d recommend purchasing an ankle brace.”
“You’re the best Carly,” I said, rotating the sore foot, then gingerly the foot in my cleat. “I don’t know what we athletes at this school would do without you.”
“Hey, I’m just doing my job,” the female trainer humbly replied. “Just be careful out there and watch out for low tackles.”
“I’ll try,” I said, getting off the table and leaving the room. It felt weird walking with all that tape and bandage on my foot, but I had to ignore it if I wanted to have a great game.
There was another, incredibly loud, crack of thunder that startled me a little before I headed into the locker room.
“Good news guys,” coach said, after having spoken to the person in charge of monitoring the weather. “Looks like the worst has past us. We’ll still be playing in ‘a torrential downpour,’ but there shouldn’t be as much thunder and lightning.”
I didn’t really care much about the weather; honestly, I preferred to play in the rain. It made things more exciting… or maybe I just liked rolling around in the mud. Unfortunately for that prospect, we had a turf field.
“Now look guys,” coach announced. “I know we’ve had our share of difficulties this season, I won’t deny that. And I know I’ve been really tough on everybody for minor slip ups, but that’s only because I feel like you guys are wasting a golden opportunity with the position you’re in.”
He stopped talking to look around at his players. Many of his players, myself included, were seniors, so this was our last chance to accomplish something special.
“I honestly believe we can do something special this year, but it doesn’t mean diddly squat what I believe,” he said, picking up where he left off. “You guys have to believe that. You guys should be the ones who make the lofty goals, not me.”
Coach was right. Although I didn’t want to admit it, I didn’t think we had a real shot to win the Division. I would be more than happy just to make the playoffs, as I have never played in a playoff game (the only time Varsity went to playoffs was when I didn’t start as a sophomore, and we got bounced by Bellport). What if I played in college, would this be how I act towards bowl games? Conference championships?
No, I couldn’t act like this; I couldn’t settle for mediocrity. As of tonight, I was making a silent promise to myself that I would settle for nothing less than the Long Island Championship. If they let Long Island teams play upstate New York teams, my goal would be State Champions.
“So it’s up to you guys,” coach said. “Do you guys want to shoot for the top, or would you rather be an above-average team? You decide.”
Coach left the room, leaving us alone to prepare for the game.
It was third and three, ball on Copiague’s twenty-seven, and about four minutes left in the second quarter. The rain was pouring pretty hard right now, and the field was close to flooding.
We were in the Shotgun formation, with three receivers to the right and Marshall alone on the left.
“RED 90 KILL! KILL! GREEN 18, GREEN 18 HUT… HUT!”
Carmine’s snap was too high and went clear over my head. I hustled to pick up the loose ball, and before I could recover and look for an open receiver, there were about three Eagle defenders swarming towards me.
Panicking, I scrambled to the left to get out of the pocket and throw the ball away. However, it wasn’t until it was too late for me to see the weak-side linebacker quickly taking a good angle and coming after me. I didn’t react quick enough and was punished with a bone-rattling tackle from him for a seven yard sack. And in this weather, with us going into the wind, there was no way we could kick a field goal. Therefore, we were left with no option other than to punt.
As I came off the field, with Tyson and the special teams running on, Horan didn’t even say anything. He just gave me a look that let me know there was nothing I could do.
Sitting on the wet bench, I took off my helmet, tried to pull any little rubber beads off of me, and let the rain cool me down. We were losing 6-2, after Copiague scored on a thirty-seven yard option play to the half-back – but missed the extra point – and Roe sacked the quarterback in the end zone for a safety. All of this in the first quarter.
I sat and watched as our defense strolled onto the field as Copiague started at their twenty after the touchback by Mandau.
Copiague didn’t have the best offense, not even close; that honor belonged to Newfield, mainly because they are almost all freshmen and sophomores.
The Eagles offense converted a few first downs before their offense stalled in our territory. They brought out the field goal unit, which surprised me because I hadn’t seen any film on the range of their kicker, it had to be difficult for any kicker to make a thirty-nine yarder in this kind of weather. But they were kicking into the wind, so anything was possible.
I got off the bench and walked to the front of the sideline, expecting the kicker to come up short on the long field goal. The snap looked good, the hold looked pretty textbook, and the sound of the kicker’s foot hitting the ball sounded like a cannon shot. I think even without the wind, he would’ve cleared the cross-bar by about ten yards. Regardless, the field goal attempt was good, and I was shocked.
“Holy shit,” I exclaimed. “Coach, who is that kid?”
“I don’t know,” Horan said, as surprised as I was at the kicker’s leg strength.
He checked the Copiague roster on his clipboard.
“His name is Delgado Ramirez,” coach said, reading the name off the roster. “And he’s a freshman!”
“Get out of here, coach,” I said, in disbelief. “A freshman? There’s no way a freshman could kick that hard and that accurate in this weather.”
“Well, he is and he just did,” coach said, watching the kickoff go into the end zone for a touchback. “Now shut up and get on the field.”
…
It was first and ten, ball on our forty-five yard line with about a minute left in the half. The rain was intensifying again, as I approached the line in the I-Formation, with Lockhart and Rayne on my left side. Rayne was positioned on the inside of the two receivers in the formation.
“BLUE 22, BLUE 22….”
I saw the safety creeping in, so I audibled.
“KILL, KILL! KILL, KILL! CHECK SERPENT, CHECK SERPENT! RED 62 HUT!”
I hiked the ball and faked the hand-off to Allen, who ran to the left, while I bootlegged to the right. I was about to cut up-field when I saw Pendholt wide open on a short post to the right. I zipped the ball to the athletic tight end, who then proceeded to catch and rumble for twelve yards before being tackled by a group of Eagle defenders.
I checked over to the sideline to see what Horan wanted. He made the hand signal for the no-huddle offense. I shouted at everyone to get to the line of scrimmage, and called the play Warwick was relaying to me.
“DELTA FOUR-SEVEN! DELTA FOUR-SEVEN! GREEN 22, GREEN 22 HUT…. HUT, HUT!”
I took the snap, and dropped back three steps before firing to Rayne, who made a quick slant and fell forward for a five yard gain. We hurried back to the line, as forty-two seconds remained on the game clock.
“DELTA ONE! DELTA ONE!”
As I said this, the formation shifted from a two-wide receiver I-formation package to a standard Strong-I Formation package. I sent Pendholt in motion to the right, to line up as a wide receiver and to check what the defense was doing… they were in man.
“BLUE 19, BLUE 19 HUT!”
I dropped back to pass, making the secondary drop into coverage, only for me to hand the ball off to Allen in a draw-play. Seeing as how we ran back-to-back pass plays, I don’t think the defense expected a run play, because Allen ran right up the middle and almost went to the house had Lovell not made a shoe-string tackle at the three yard-line of Copiague.
Horan quickly called a time-out, our last of the half, and we jogged over to the sidelines. Along the way, I gave Allen a ‘good job’ smack on the helmet, as well as to the O-Line for making the blocks that gave the sophomore the running room.
…
“DOWN, SET…. BLACK 77, BLACK 77 HUT…. HUT, HUT!”
I took a three step drop and lofted the ball towards Pendholt, who ran a quick slant to the back right pylon. I put too much arch on the ball, though, as it sailed just out of A.J.’s reach. Another incomplete pass, and it was quickly third down with twenty seconds left. As we headed back to the huddle, I cursed very loudly for missing an easy throw.
“Chill out, Kap,” A.J. said, trying to reassure me. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I should’ve made that pass,” I said, still steamed. “I can make that in my god damn sleep!”
Still angry at myself, I looked over at coach as he signaled the play. As he was signaling, I saw Danny Tremaine, the sophomore back-up guard, run onto the field. Looks like we were calling a run play.
“Alright, Bruiser Dive on two.”
…
We lined up in our Goal-Line formation, with Abdullah as the half-back and Tremaine as the fullback.
“DOWN… SET! RED 18, RED HUT, HUT!”
I handed the ball off to Abdullah, who followed Tremaine through the hole into the end zone for a much-needed touchdown. I pumped my fists as hard as I could, and I gave Rashid a good head-butt as a way to say ‘job well done on scoring the touchdown.’
…
It was late in the fourth quarter, the rain was finally starting to let up, and the score was still 9-9. Our defense continued to do its job of not giving Copiague anything to work with, while the Eagle defense was more than holding its own against our offense.
There was three minutes left in the quarter, and if we didn’t score on this drive we were most likely headed for overtime. The ball was on our thirty, and we had all of our timeouts left. In the huddle, I got the play from Allen, who thankfully remembered it this time.
“Alright, Slot Zero Attack on one.”
We broke from the huddle and jogged to the line. We were cold, wet, and tired, and so was the opposition. I definitely didn’t want this game to go into overtime; I didn’t know how much my teammates had left in the tank.
I stood under center, watching out for any potential blitzers and checking the coverage. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I set up in my stance.
“DOWN, SET! GREEN 11, GREEN 11… CHECK, CHECK! RED 90, RED 90 HUT!”
I dropped back to pass, pump faked to the left and launched a bomb down the right side of the field. I watched as the ball spiraled, Lockhart tried to keep up with the ball as it sailed out of bounds. Had that stayed inbounds and Lockhart caught it, he had a clear path straight to the house. I silently cursed to myself and got the next play from Horan: an option to the right out of the Ace Trips formation.
…
“DOWN, SET! RED 80, RED 80 HUT!”
I took the snap and immediately started running right; I pitched the ball to Allen, who almost dropped the ball. Luckily, he regained control and scampered for a five yard gain.
….
“BLUE 37! BLUE 37 HUT, HUT…. HUT, HUT!”
I took the snap from Carmine, and a five-step drop. I was waiting for Janus to cross the middle on an In route. As he made his move inside, I fired. The ball bounced off his hands, Janus got leveled by the linebacker, and the ball hung in the air for what felt like an eternity.
I wanted to try and catch it, but I wouldn’t be able to get through the line in time to either stop a defender from intercepting the ball or catch the ball. Thankfully, though, the ball fell innocently to the turf just before the free safety Carson Asver could get his hands underneath the ball. That was too close for comfort.
“Dude, you gotta catch that,” I said to Erik in the huddle. “That should’ve been an easy reception.”
“Relax, Kap,” he said, reassuringly. “I’ll get the next one. Trust me.”
I looked at him for a few seconds, noticing that smug smile on his face. Sometimes I wondered if he really cared about football.
But I had to move forward, forget about the previous play, and focus on what had to be done: breaking this tie.
…
“DOWN… SET! YELLOW 19, YELLOW HUT!”
I dropped back five steps and began reading my progressions. Marshall was double covered on a post route, Lockhart was blanketed on a curl route, and A.J. wouldn’t get enough yards. Janus, however, was open on his quick slant and I fired it to him. The pass was a little high, and all Erik had to do was jump and he would’ve made the catch.
Unfortunately, Janus didn’t jump –all he did was stretch a hand up – and the ball was picked off by Asver. I just stood there, watching the safety get tackled by Carmine. I couldn’t believe that I, in all likelihood, just ruined our chances at winning this game.
I felt a tear run down my cheek as I walked off the field. I kept my head low until I was off the field, and I quickly wiped the tear away. I got a consoling pat on the helmet from Horan, and walked over to the bench. I couldn’t even watch our defense play, as I had a horrible feeling all the momentum shifted to Copiague.
I looked over at Janus, who didn’t look like he was feeling as bad as I was, drinking a cup of Gatorade and laughing about something. It made me so mad that I was seeing red. I went over to where he was to confront him.
“Hey Janus,” I said, angrily. “What the hell was that?”
“What do you mean ‘what the hell was that’,” he asked, either playing stupid or really not knowing what I was talking about.
“What the fuck do you think I mean,” I asked, even angrier. “If you jumped on that pass and actually made the effort to make the catch, that pass wouldn’t have been picked off and we’d still be on the god damn field!”
“Whoa, whoa… chill the fuck out, kid,” Janus said, trying to calm me down. “You and I both know I would’ve gotten killed on that play, regardless of whether or not I caught that ball.”
I was shocked at how nonchalant the junior receiver acted. It was almost as if he didn't care about the team.
“That’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever heard anyone say to my face,” I said to him, getting in his face. “If you cared one iota about this team, you would’ve sacrificed everything to make that catch.”
“Get out of my face, Kap,” he said, sounding very calm.
“No, dude, I’m not,” I said, trying my best to keep my emotions under control. “You’re dogging it out there! And if you think I’m the only one noticing it, you’re a fucking dumbass!”
Out of nowhere, Janus shoved me, and I was about to shove him back when Warwick got in between us.
“Now is not the time for this shit,” he said, holding me back. “Get this sorted out after the game!”
I stared at Erik for a few seconds, and he stared back at me before turning to walk away.
I sat back on the bench, not even wanting to see how our defense would do. I just wanted to be left alone, so I shifted over to the far end of the bench, away from all the coaches and players. I took off my helmet, placed a towel over my face, and zoned out.
More or less than a minute passed by, and then the sideline erupted. I took the towel off my face to see what was going on. Everyone was shouting ‘ball,’ as I moved to the front of the sideline. There was a massive pile-up in one area, the refs were trying to make their way through the pile.
“What happened?” I asked one of our volunteer managers.
“Burns forced a fumble,” the freshman said. “The running back was in the clear for a touchdown, then Burns came out of nowhere and popped the ball out.”
I was on edge as the refs got closer and closer to finding out who had the ball. What made it worse was that the fumble happened on the opposite side of the field, away from our coaches. So who knows what kind of influence the Copiague coaches are having on the referees.
The referee came out from the pile and signaled West Islip ball! Holy shit, we actually recovered the fumble! Our sidelines exploded as the junior corner Gerald Irwins came out from under the pile with the ball held up high in the air.
Putting my helmet on, and having gotten the play from Horan, I ran onto the field with the rest of the offense and gave Noah a bear hug for making the turnover.
“Alright boys, there’s a buck-fifty left in this game, and I don’t feel like going into overtime with these guys,” I told everyone in the huddle. “So let’s put these guys away now. We’re going Shot Spread Deuces Out on two.”
…
I set up a few yards behind the center, with Allen to my right, and four wide receivers on the field.
“DOWN, SET! RED 80, RED 80 HUT, HUT!”
I received a good snap from DurMont and dropped back to pass, and began going through my progressions as the offensive line blocked. Rayne was doubled, Lockhart was covered on an out-route, Janus was bracketed on a curl-route, and fourth receiver Grant Stephenowski was blanketed on a short post. Seeing no one open, I decided to run for the first down.
I weaved through traffic, avoiding tacklers and I almost had a first down when I felt someone grab my bandaged foot and wrench it around, bringing me down. I grabbed the foot immediately and cried out in pain. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced this kind of pain before. I didn't hear a pop or anything, nor did I feel any tendons rip, but that didn't mean my foot didn't hurt. I lied on the turf, holding onto the ankle while I saw the trainers come off the sideline towards me. I would most likely have to come out of the game for a few plays, but there was no way I was going to leave the game in the hands of some inexperienced sophomore.
I waved the trainers off the field, stood up and walked towards the huddle. Every step I took, pain shot up, but I had to bear through it. The trainers kept coming, though, so I had to shout at them to get off the field and that I was fine. Thankfully, Horan didn't call a timeout and he called off the trainers, also signaling the next play and sending in subs.
…
We were still in the shotgun formation, but this time Abdullah and Pendholt were on the field, and Janus and Stephenowski were off. With a minute and ten seconds left, and the ball still in our half of the field, we had to move quickly to at least get into Mandau’s range.
“DOWN, SET HUT!”
I received the ball from Carmine, faked the handoff to Rashid, and dropped back. The entire offensive line shifted to the left as Allen ran out for a screen. With the defensive line crashing down, I flung the ball to Allen, who turned up-field behind his blockers. As the lineman pancaked defensemen, Allen ran behind them until he was tackled after a nine yard gain.
Coach burned his first time out, with one minute and five seconds left in the game, and the ball on the forty-nine.
…
We were still in the Shotgun, with Pendholt in as the tight end and Janus in the slot, along with Lockhart, all of them on the right, with only Rayne on the left.
“DOWN, SET! GREEN 19 HUT!”
I took the snap, pump faked to Rayne, and threw to Pendholt, who made a quick curl. He was immediately tackled for a five yard gain, prompting Horan to call another timeout. Now, with only a minute left, we had to go at least thirty-something yards to get within field goal range.
…
“DOWN, SET! RED 80, RED 80 HUT… HUT!”
I took the snap and handed the ball off to Allen, who scampered through the line. He made it past the first down marker, and quickly went do so to not waste any more time after gaining an additional five yards. We all hurried to the line, while I received the play from Warwick.
“DELTA TWO! DELTA TWO! SET, GREEN 7 HUT!”
I received the snap and quickly fired to Lockhart, who was running a bubble screen. He caught the ball and quickly ran for twelve yards before being tripped up.
As the clock stopped, with thirty seconds left, we hustled to the line as I received the call from Warwick.
“DELTA FIVE! DELTA FIVE! SET, BLACK 90, BLACK 90… HUT!”
I received the snap and the play clock began ticking down. As I looked for an open target, time kept melting away. A defensive lineman was starting to break through the line, so I scrambled left. As I got out of the pocket, I saw Rayne break away from his man on a flag route and I fired on the run. The ball hung in the air like a float, and just as Rayne came down with it, he was knocked out of bounds, gaining twenty yards and stopping the clock at fifteen seconds.
Coach called our final timeout. As the team jogged over to the sideline, I smacked Rayne in the helmet to congratulate him on the catch.
“Alright, what do you want to do Kap?” Horan asked me.
Why would the head coach ask his quarterback what the team should do? I was in no position to demand that I get the ball. But he asked for my opinion, and I felt that I should have the ball in my hands so that I can make the decision on who gets it.
“Kap, you in there?” he asked, wondering if I was lost in my thoughts. “I asked what do you wanted to do.”
“I want the ball,” I answered, with authority. “I want to end this now.”
“I thought you’d say that,” he said, with a smile on his face. “I want that ball in the end zone with someone on this offense holding onto it. I don’t care how you get in, just get in that end zone! Hands in!”
Everyone brought their hands in the middle.
“LION’S WHAT?” Coach asked, shouting over the music being played to pump up the crowd.
“LION’S PRIDE!” shouted the entire team, before running back onto the field.
As we were running back on the field, Bill Conti’s ‘Going the Distance’ began playing over the PA system. I don’t know about everyone else, but it certainly got me pumped up. We were going to line up in the goal line formation, with Rayne in at tight end, and Tremaine in as the fullback.
“OK, Bruiser Fade Strong on two, on two,” I said, upping my volume so I could be heard over the crowd.
…
“DOWN, SET! YELLOW 29, YELLOW 29…. HUT, HUT!”
I faked the handoff to Allen, who dove over the pile, and I bootlegged to the right. I was looking around for someone to throw to; both tight ends were covered, and Rayne was doubled. Knowing the clock was counting down, I was about to run for the touchdown myself when I saw Rayne cut back to the left and was calling for the ball. I threw the ball with all my might and…
[I want to know what everyone thinks about me putting up the helmets of the teams playing]
![[face_cry]](https://cdn.statically.io/img/www.ignboards.com/styles/ign/ign/smilies/classic/cry.gif "Cry [face_cry]")
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