Page 142 of Hell Bent
Somebody should say something. Somebody should …
Oh.
I stood up.
“Hey,” Simmons said. Looking up, trying to smile.
I said, “Know what they call people like you and me?”
Simmons said, “No.”
“Overperformers,” I said. “And you know what the most overrated thing in football is?” Everybody had their heads up now, at least.
“I can’t do a quiz, man,” somebody said.
“Talent,” I said. “That’s the most overrated thing. Talent never made anybody great. There’s this cricketer from India, Rahul Dravid. Maybe the best batsman ever to play the game, and a hell of a coach. He had this quote I used to have posted in my locker, back when I played soccer. It’s a little cheesy, but we’ve got thirty minutes to play in the most important game of our lives, so I’m going to tell you anyway. I’m going to tellmeanyway. He said, ‘I think we judge talent wrong. What do we see as talent? We judge talent by people's ability to strike a cricket ball. The sweetness, the timing. That's the only thing we see as talent. Things like determination, courage, discipline, temperament, these are also talent.’”
“OK,” Simmons said. Nobody else looked impressed.
“Nobody expected us to get this far,” I said. “But we did, and not just because you guys run and block and tackle better and Turnbull and I kick better than anybody gave us credit for. We’re not here because of that talent, not really. We’re here because of those other things. Because we don’t give up, even when any reasonable person would say it was over. I was washed up in soccer, and I was almost thirty. Simmons wasn’t drafted. But we didn’t quit, did we? None of us quit. We fought for our spot, and we won it. We worked for it, every one of us here, and we fuckingkeptit. And we believed in each other. That’s what this team has that the Niners don’t. I know that, because I played for them for almost two years.”
They were listening, anyway, so I kept going. “We have so much more than talent. We have each other’s back, and every one of us is an overperformer. And that’s why we’re going to win. Because when somebody else would give up? We double down. How many close ones have we won now? Every single game in the postseason, that’s how many. We were fourteenth out of fourteen.Fourteenth.And we’re still here. We’ve done it for each other all the way, and that’s whatwe’re going to do today. We’re going to set our feet, we’re going to pull out every single bit of courage and determination and fuckinggritwe’ve got inside us, and when we’re done playing today, the Niners are going to know they’ve been in a football game. They want this win? They can pry it out of my cold dead hands, because I’m going to win this game or die trying. And I’m going to do it right beside all of you.”
Simmons didn’t look ashy now. He stood up, pulled his 5’9” frame to its full height, turned to the rest of them, and said, “Stand up.”
One by one, they did it. Man by man, their spines straightened, their eyes focused. Nobody said anything at all.
“It’s time,” somebody said.
I looked at them. My guys. Special teams. I said, “It’s an honor playing with every one of you. Let’s go get this done.”
When we ran out there again, we weren’t losers. We were Devils.
Alix
The second the Devils touched the ball to start the second half, it was a different game. To begin with, the short guy who usually returned kickoffs ran the ball all the way back to the 40, slipping through tackles like an eel, and the Devils fans started to make some noise. That drive didn’t end with a touchdown, but it did end with a field goal. Thirty-five yards, which Sebastian kicked in an almost casual manner, and at least the Devils were on the board. The defense held the Niners on their next two possessions, and their defense held the Devils the same way. Fifteen minutes later, though, the Devils punter pinned the Niners back down at their 10-yard line, and our defense stopped them short of the 20.Another punt, another good runback by the short guy, and this was looking promising.
That drive, though, stalled at the Niners’ 25. Sebastian kicked another short field goal, and it was 6 to 14.
It's the hope that kills you.The phrase floated to me from somewhere. If you don’t expect anything, you can’t be disappointed. But what’s life without hope? A slog, that’s what, and I didn’t want to slog. I didn’t want Sebastian to slog, either. For better or worse, I was going to hope. More than that. I was going tobelieve.
Even if it was stupid, because well into the fourth quarter, the score was still the same: 6 to 14. The Devils fans had stopped making noise, because it was just too discouraging. Especially when, with six minutes to go, the Niners were at the Devils’ 12-yard-line, ready to put the game out of reach.
Ben had his hands over his eyes again. I tried to think of something encouraging to say, but all I could think of was, “Hey, it’s an honor to even make it to the Super Bowl. Thirty other teams didn’t, right?” Or possibly, “Wait until next year!” I didn’t think either of those would comfort anybody, though, so I didn’t say them. I just watched and thought,Sebastian’s been good, though. I can tell him how good he was.And knew it wouldn’t make any difference.
It's the hope that kills you.
The Niners’ main running back, a squat guy named Forrester who didn’t look like he could even run, much less run fast, took a handoff from the quarterback, and I braced for disaster as he stepped, swiveled, juked right and then left, and went for the goal line.
And got met with a smashing tackle from a guy who hadn’t been fooled at all.
We were standing up now, here in the family zone. Clapping. Yelling some. Not hoping, not exactly, but needing something to cheer about.
Third and goal from the 6. If the Devils could hold them to a field goal here, the score would only be …
The score would be 6 to 17, we’d need two touchdowns, and there were five and a half minutes on the clock. But still, it was possible. Theoretically.
Players ran off the field and players ran on, with the Devils lined up almost at the goal line. Ben said, “Passing play.”
