Page 26 of Hard Count
Football might be a fall sport but not in Alabama. It’s still eighty degrees outside even with the sun hovering on the other side of the stadium. I wouldn’t be surprised if the stadium wasn’t designed with the sun’s movement in mind and in favor of keeping the home team in the shade for most of the game.
Nash breaks their huddle and gets everyone lined up. Once the ball is snapped, he fakes a pass and hands it off to Adrian for a gain of five yards. It isn’t much but we’re moving the ball.
They repeat the play. This time for a gain of eight yards and a first down. The chains get moved and Nash signals for the next play. “Dammit,” I mutter, when I notice the shift in the defense. They’re going to blitz. I stand and start swaying back and forth.
“Why are we standing? What’s going on?” Frankie asks, oblivious to what’s happening on the field.
“They’re going after Nash.”
“Isn’t that the point? He gets pushed around every play.”
She’s right. He isn’t going to leave the field without some cuts and bruises. “He’s going to throw down field and the defense is going to rush him. If he hesitates at all he’s going to get sacked.”
“How do you know?” the guy beside me asks. I spare him a quick glance before going back to the game.
“Because I do,” I answer with slight irritation. He and his friends have left us alone most of the game besides the occasional bump of an elbow. They aren’t as obnoxious as some of the students sitting a few rows in front of us.
Sure enough Nash drops back and takes a second too long to find someone near the end zone and gets sacked. I don’t breathe until he’s standing on two feet again.Come on, Nash. Shake it off. He calls everyone into a huddle and then they line up in the same formation.
Biting down on what’s left of my thumb nail, my eyes bounce from the jumbotron to the field and back again. The ball gets snapped and Lucas takes off down the sideline.
“Come on. Come on. Come on,” I chant. Alabama’s defense loves it when Nash steps back on his left side. They know it’s where he’s weaker and takes his time with the ball. He’ll usually end up throwing it away or allowing an interception. One or the other happens fifty-six percent of the time.
They won't be getting that version of Nash today. Not this time. He's been working too hard. We took a play they've been practicing since the summer and adjusted it to work no matter what spot he throws from. I saw the play for the first time I showed up at their camp. Instead of having Lucas stay on the left side of the field, he cuts a hard right at the ten yard line. It’s risky because the timing has to be perfect.
Nash doesn’t wait for him to get into position. He steps back and launches the ball to an empty spot near the ten yard line trusting Lucas will get there in time. The guys beside me curse and Frankie gasps as the ball soars through the air.
Lucas slides past their cornerback and speeds up his run just in time for the ball to drop into his arms. The crowd erupts, cheering for him as he runs into the end zone. Themarching band starts playing the Newhouse U fight song and Frankie starts singing and dancing, making me laugh.
I can’t stop smiling and clapping as Nash, Lucas, and the rest of the offense celebrate the touchdown. That’s the Nash Pierce I know. Pure fucking magic on the field. I have to hold back tears. The game has always made me emotional. Seeing someone you care about play well and live their dream heightens everything I’m feeling inside.
He removes his helmet as he runs toward the sideline. He points to me and smiles bigger than I’ve ever seen. I shake my head and point back to him. That wasn’t because of me. It was all him and he knows it.
“Definitely looks like there’s nothing going on between the two of you to me.” She nudges my shoulder with hers. “Are you going to sit down?” Frankie asks.
“I don’t think I can.” We might be up by ten at the moment but it isn’t enough of a gap. Not when you’re playing one of your rivals. They aren’t going to let us take the win without a fight.
“Sit.” Frankie pulls my arm and forces me into my chair. “You’re making me edgy with the way you keep bouncing around. They’re playing well. They got this?” Her statement comes across more like a question.
“They are. They do.” I’m afraid to say anything else out loud and jinx it.
Frankie leaves to get more snacks at the end of the third quarter. It seems she’s a nervous eater. I don’t blame her. I should consider eating real food instead of my fingernails.
When Eli sacks the quarterback near the end of the fourth quarter to force a fumble, I finally feel confident that we have this game won. Frankie and I both start jumping and screaming as soon as the ball is recovered by Trey.
He snatches the ball off the grass and takes off toward the end zone. Eli and a few of the other defensive players make some key blocks to open up a running lane. The jumbotron replays Eli’s sack but my eyes are glued to Nash as he congratulates his best friend and the rest of his teammates. He even finds enough comradery to slap and shake hands with Trey.
He catches me staring at him but I don’t care. I scream and cheer louder. I want him to know I’m here for him. He’s the only person that could get me to walk into this stadium. I’ve celebrated with my old team in Florida but it never felt like this.
Winning a game back home was like checking a box on your to-do list. You felt satisfied with the accomplishment but it was simply a thing you needed to do in order to move on to the next item.
Watching Nash win is a rush. It always has been. Except now he’s more than just a player on the field. He’s the man I’m starting to like. Probably more than I should. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to get to know him better. Who is the man under the helmet? What’s he like when he’s not playing football?
The Alabama quarterback throws a last ditch hail mary to a receiver waiting near the sideline. He makes the catch but theclock runs out just before one of our guys brings him down. Even if they were able to get a touchdown, it wouldn’t have been enough. I can’t blame them for trying. That seventy yard reception will look nice on their stats at least.
Students start storming the field and celebrating with the team. I jump into Frankie’s arms and give her a victory hug. When I let her go, I lock eyes with my dad. I didn’t tell him I was coming. I’m not sure I wanted him to know. I give him a curt nod and a smile that almost feels real. He nods back and walks toward the middle of the field to shake hands with Alabama’s coach and do a post game interview.
“What do we do now?” Frankie asks, as we gather our stuff.
