Page 131 of Blitzing Emily

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” she said. “Win.”

“Back to you, guys,” the female reporter said, and then to her: “Thanks, Emily. Catch you on the field after the game.”

The media hurried away, and Emily walked back into the suite.

The second half started with a vengeance. The Sharks would make a good run or get better field position, then the Minutemen’s defense would force a fumble, or Seattle couldn’t convert third down. The defense did their part. Damian picked off a pass and ran it into the end zone to score. The Minutemen’s quarterback spent a lot of time sitting on the turf as Brandon and his teammates sacked him repeatedly. The Sharks fans were doing their best to pump the team up, but as the minutes ticked on, hope was fading fast. Seattle was still down by six, and Emily folded her hands under her chin. They couldn’t get this far to lose the game.

Emily rubbed her fingers over her lips. Thirty seconds left on the clock. The Sharks were driving on their forty-five when disaster struck. The Minutemen’s cornerback intercepted a pass from Tom, the Sharks’ quarterback. She heard the cries of disbelief in the suite; she went cold inside. He continued to run, only to be shoved out of bounds by Tom. Tears blurred her eyes.

After listening to Brandon’s football tutorials, she knew what was going to happen. The Minutemen would line up for a play in what he called the “V” formation, protecting the ball at all costs. They would run out the thirty seconds left on the clock by snapping the ball from center twice. The game would be over, without any chance for the Sharks to recover the ball in time. The Sharks would lose, and Brandon had played his entire career to lose the biggest game of it.

All the Minutemen’s quarterback had to do was take a knee when the ball was snapped from center. The teams trotted back onto the field. Emily couldn’t see exactly what happened on the snap, but she saw what happened next. The ball bounced off the quarterback’s foot, and flew into the air. Time stood still as bodies crashed into each other, but the ball landed in a pair of hands wearing electric blue gloves.

Brandon tucked the ball into his arm, and took off for the end zone.

“Go!” Emily called out, jumping up and down. “Go, baby!”

The crowd was on its feet, cheering him on. The suite was a cacophony of shouting. All she could see was Brandon, and he was still running. He’d made it past the secondary, he was feet from the end zone, and she was still shouting, “Run!”

He couldn’t hear her over the noise of 100,000 people. Maybe he’d feel it. One of New England’s players threw himself toward Brandon. He grasped Brandon’s ankle, and Brandon stumbled. He took a few more steps. The guy hung on. It seemed like it took forever, but it was only seconds in reality. Brandon fell, but he landed in the end zone. The official held his arms straight up in the air—touchdown.

The crowd went wild. Emily put both palms on the windows of the suite. The noise from the stadium concussed against them like a cannon firing. As quickly as the noise started, though, it stopped.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she heard John say.

Nobody moved. A flutter of yellow fabric hit the turf. Flag. The crowd was silent. All Emily could hear was the television commentators.

“Wait. Let’s see what it is. There’s no preliminary indication of a penalty, and there’ll be a booth review ...”

John stood up from his seat, walked over to the phone, and punched in a few numbers. He listened intently to whoever was on the other end.

Brandon was on his feet. He still held the ball. The coach signaled for a time out; the defensive players clustered around him in a knot. Everyone waited. Emily buried her face in her hands. If the waiting was awful, this was worse. She had no idea what she would say to him if the penalty meant the score was disallowed.

“Here we go,” John called out. The official emerged from beneath the replay camera hood, and made his way onto the field. He switched on his microphone, and stuffed the flag back into the waistband of his pants.

“After a booth review, the clipping penalty against the Minutemen has been reversed. No penalty. Touchdown, Sharks.” He held both arms straight up in the air.

The crowd’s roar started slowly. It bounced off the windows of the suite. The suite was full of people who patted each other on the back and smiled, but the game wasn’t won yet. They all held their breath and waited for the same thing: the point after. If the kicker made the extra point, the Sharks would win the game.

The kicking team trotted out. Tom ran out on the field to hold the ball. Ryan the kicker lined himself up, took three steps to one side, two strides forward, and kicked. The ball rose. The noise rose as well. Emily’s heart was in her throat as she watched the ball soar perilously close to the crossbar. Time stood still while a football passed through thin air.

The ball headed toward the left column of the uprights. Ryan shook his head. Tom threw both arms into the air. At the last possible second, the ball made a slight correction, it soared through the uprights, hit the net, and Emily let out a cry. They won.

The final whistle blew. Confetti rained down on the spectators. Emily followed the people racing down the hallway to get to the underground tunnel, and onto the field. It took a few minutes, but the noise in the stadium was still deafening.

The players drenched the coach with the Gatorade bucket. The guys pulled him up onto their shoulders, threw new “Super Bowl Champions” hats into the crowd, and all she could hear was the roar of almost 100,000 people in the stands. There were hundreds of celebrating people around her, and the confetti was so thick it was hard to see.

The rolling stage was making its way across the turf. New England’s players headed back to their locker room after shaking hands and exchanging a few words with Sharks players. She looked for Brandon, but she couldn’t find him.

Damian emerged from the confetti. He picked Emily up, twirled her around, and said, “He went into the locker room for a few moments, love. He’ll be back for the trophy presentation.”

“Damian, you had such a great game. You got an interception!”

“Just another day’s work,” he teased.

“How’s your girlfriend?”

“She’s here somewhere. I’ll find her. I’ll see you soon.” He moved away.

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