Page 45 of Quarterback Crush
“Wow, you sound so wise, Dad,” Maya had joked at the time.
But that’s what I was thinking about now, my teammates were all dressed up and ready to go out and play, but my physical journey had ended, yet I was still here, part of the team.
“Okay, last words,” Coach Gregor said, and he gestured to me, “We’re mighty sorry you aren’t playing tonight, Oliver, and we’ll miss you out there, now...”
I cut Coach off, knowing he’d babble for too long. “Hey, guys, we got this. All the way now! Owls play with heart...”—I thumped my fist against my chest—, “play with pride, play fair. That’s how we do it. Let me hear it!”
The boys shouted along with me, “Owls play with heart, play with pride, play fair!”
And for a moment, my heart was heavy—yeah it sucked that I couldn’t be there facing Preston Park in the final, but my disappointment evaporated when Connor Richmond, the new starting quarterback came up to me.
“You got this,” I said, bumping his fist.
“Thanks man, I won’t let you down.”
“The team,” I said, “don’t letthe teamdown.”
Maya and I had joked about sitting together on the sideline, but I really did need a wheelchair. The doctors preferred I stayed in the hospital another night, but there was no way I could watcha livestream from the hospital bed. George pushed me down to the sideline and though I couldn’t move, I could cheer and motivate. And look across the field to where Maya was with the cheer squad. She’d ditched her crutches but was still wearing a boot, and she was waving a placard while sitting down.
For the first time, I got to view the game from the sideline. It was so different from being on the field and now I understood how Coach got so frustrated. The first half was a hard watch, with error upon error. I wanted to scream at Connor, at the offensive line, at the defense. Yet, we’d always prided ourselves on the second half, and being only seven points down, I hoped the boys could keep their composure and not panic.
“Stay together, play together, play fast and good things will happen,” Coach said, trying to rev up Connor, who had been kinda shell shocked for the first half.
“Yeah, boys we’ve done the prep, we’ve done the hard work. We got this!” I chipped in.
But it wasn’t until the fourth quarter that we broke through to tie the score at 7-7 with Connor’s pass falling beautifully into the hands of CJ, our wide receiver. From then, we seized momentum. Our defensive line made some big tackles, and with only five minutes on the clock, Connor stepped up again and we took the lead with a 6-yard touchdown pass to a leaping Darwin in the back corner of the end zone.
It was then a matter of everyone on the sideline crossing their fingers and counting down, waiting for the final whistle to blow.
Total chaos ensued as everyone celebrated. Connor, Darwin and CJ were hoisted in the air, heroes of the day. From my wheelchair, I couldn’t do much more than yell and clap and beam with pride.
“Would’ve annihilated them if you’d been out there.” Dad appeared at my side with a clap to my shoulder.
“I think Connor did a great job,” I said.
Dad snorted. “We should’ve gotten at least three more touchdowns.”
“We didn’t need them,” I said, my hackles rising.
“It should be you out there getting the glory,” he scoffed, his voice a tad too loud. “Owls wouldn’t even be in the final if it wasn’t for you.”
“Dad, we’re a team,” I said, rueing the fact that I couldn’t hurry away. I wanted to tell him there was no ‘I’ in team, but figured it was pointless—he didn’t want to hear it. He was still in the mindset that I was a victim of a hapless tragedy and the perpetrator deserved no less than some form of medieval torture. Hung, drawn and quartered was mentioned.
“It’s an outrage,” Dad muttered, his eyes set on Connor who was being paraded around like a hero.
“Shut it, Dad,” I hissed, looking around for George, wishing he could take me away, but he was off catching up with old friends. But across the way, I saw Maya watching me, and without hesitation, I beckoned her over.
“Hey, you doing okay?” she asked shyly, glancing at my Dad who was striding around with his hands in his coat pockets.
“I am now,” I said, holding out my hand for a high five. “Can you get me out of here?”
“Where do you wanna go?”
I gestured to my Dad, who’d cornered Assistant Coach Clarkson and was waving his arms around, “Away from him.” I released the brake on the chair. “Ah, can you push it? How’s your ankle?”
“It’s fine, I can do it,” she said and she directed the chair away from the grass and onto the track where it was easier to push.
“Great game, huh?” I said.
