Page 31 of Player
The entire teamgathers in the locker room, getting ready. I feel the typical pre-game pressure building. This is just a non-conference game, and really should be a cake walk, but I couldn't care less. As far as I'm concerned, I always step onto the field with domination in my sights. And that's probably even more true tonight because I'm new to the Jaguars and need to live up to my reputation. No way am I letting anyone catch me off guard.
"We play games one at a time, regardless of whoever they are and when they’re on the schedule. We don't think about what comes next or tomorrow. All that matters is now!" Coach Adams thunders. "I know you have what it takes to win, and I want to see you give it everything you've got. No holding back, no half measures."
His booming voice fills the locker room, bouncing off the metal lockers, amplified by the acoustics of the space. All the players are huddled around him, shoulder to shoulder, each dressed in their uniforms. The jerseys are still clean, but they won't stay that way for long given the state of the field that's been soaking up rain for days.
Playing in mud, in hot or cold weather, means nothing tome. All that matters is discharging the rage that smolders inside me and often threatens to overwhelm me. Daily purging is as necessary to me as the oxygen that fills my lungs with each breath I take.
"I want you at one hundred percent execution of our game plan," the head coach continues. "Nobody sleeps! If I see anyone slacking off our there, they'll end up on the bench faster than they can blink. You make yourselves respected from the first snap, is that clear?"
A deep roar bursts out from all directions in response. The sixty dressed members of our team are all on edge playing for a coach whose reputation precedes him. Some call him The Ogre because he chews up his players, but he's also nicknamed The Dragon because he practically breathes fire when he's on the sidelines during games. Whatever you call him, it's best to avoid being in his crosshairs.
I think this game will have more impact on our season than he's letting on. This is a rare Friday night game, which means guaranteed television time. A win gets media attention, which gets us in the polls, which increases our chances of a good bowl game. Of course the conference champ gets a guaranteed big bowl, but every win matters.
I know other teams will be watching our game, along with media who are going to dissect everything about our offensive and defensive gameplan for viewership. And of course our future opponents are going to get game tape, just as Coach Adams will analyze those of our opponents. That's how you win the big one, by knowing the strengths and weaknesses of your competitors, but also by being aware of your own.
Sure, I'm not a coach, but quarterbacks are expected to be on-field generals, and game analysis is part of that. In fact, the game is determined by whatIsee... but also by what Idon'tsee. And that's where Emery comes in. So far, my big blindsidetackle has never let me down. We're friends off the field, and partners on it. My safety depends on his power, his quick feet, and his massive body. His role is to protect me from some nasty motherfuckers intent on doing me harm, he's the one who takes the hard jobs so that I can look good out there.
"Offense with me," Coach Hacket, our offensive coordinator, calls out.
The team splits in two as the defense goes to the other end of the locker room with Coach Saglione, the defensive coordinator. I stay in my place, focused on the chaos that will soon erupt in Jaguar Stadium. In a few minutes, the die will be cast. Either our new team works, or… not.
"Okay guys, this is where it all happens," Hacket begins.
I study this man who is in his forties and has been coaching the Jaguar offenses for almost a decade. His passion for football is written all over his face as he reviews the game plan one last time.
"O-line, remember. Protect ourquarterbackno matter what."
I can't hold back a bitter grimace. If there's one thing I hate, it's being treated like some fragile flower that needs babying.
"We have no room for error, and you know what will happen if the opposing team injures Player."
I catch a few sidelong glances from my teammates. Chauncey, the Jaguars' startingquarterbackis still injured and the doctors haven’t cleared him to play. He had a setback even, and won't be stepping onto the field for another three weeks, so our non-conference success rests fully on my shoulders.
Dax, meanwhile, isn't ready to lead an entire game yet. He’s older than me but just doesn’t have the same level of skill that I’ve got. He never will either, he just doesn’t have ‘it’ like I do. Modesty isn't one of my qualities, but in this case, I think I'm being objective, and the on-field tape doesn’tlie.
I stay focused on the game that's about to begin. Pulling my helmet on in the tunnel before we run out onto the field, I enter the zone, that bubble of concentration that allows me to be fully present in the game. Only then does the rage ebb a little. I manage to channel it for the four quarters that the game lasts, but as soon as I'm back in the locker room, when I've taken off my uniform, it will find me again, like a faithful friend. A destructive and perverse companion, but one that always shows up.
The huddle breaks,and the noise dims slightly as the Jaguars friendly crowd gives their team’s offense the best chance to read the defense. Truth is, Green Mountain State isn’t a big threat, the athletic department scheduled them first for a reason. Truthfully, Emery and I probably played some high school teams better than the Green Machine.
It doesn’t matter. The storm’s coming, and before it’s over, I’m going to use it to sweep them away. We had to take a touchback to start the game, so we’ve got a long way to go, but that’s no problem. What is a problem are the Green Machine linebackers, who are the most dangerous part of their defense. They’re not so much athletic as they are smart and sneaky, and I’m going to have to read them accurately.
“Red thirty-eight! Red thirty-eight!” I call as cadence, lifting my left foot. Kyle, who’s playing slot receiver this play, starts into motion, jogging slowly from my right to left. As he moves, I see two things. One, the GMSU defensive backs are in a zone coverage, not following Kyle as much as shifting. Two, the linebackers don’t move at all.
They’re not part of the coverage, so they’re coming to tryand get quick pressure. That’s okay, I know you, and I have your ass now.
“Break! Break! Gold eighteen, Gold eighteen!” I call, changing the play on the fly. I’ve got to trust the offensive line to adjust their blocking scheme and the receivers to run the new routes, but it scrambles the Green Machine, and they start to adjust. But before they can finish, the ball’s snapped, and everything becomes the dance.
That’s what football is, a dance of eleven men on eleven men, all of them doing a separate job, but all part of one intricate mechanism. If we do our jobs right, we’ll have them.
I roll to my right, away from the blitzing linebacker, my eyes checking my receivers. Kyle’s the primary route, and he cuts in on the dagger route before cutting back upfield. He’s got a step on his defender, who’s out of position because of the play change, and I have the opportunity to strike deep.
Sensing pressure, I duck and cut back, just avoiding the reaching hand of a defensive end, and scramble back the other way. In front of me, Emery senses me and adjusts, our years of working together paying off as he pivots his block, giving me a clear two yards of space. I step, fire, and thirty yards downfield, Kyle looks over his right shoulder just in time to stick his hands out and catch my pass as it drops into his hands like magnets were in his gloves.
After that, it’s all up to Kyle, who goes another fifty yards on his own. The crowd’s going crazy, and as we jog downfield to congratulate him, Emery claps me on the shoulders. “Not wasting time, are you?”
“I don’t get paid by the fucking hour,” I reply back, and Emery laughs.
On the sidelines, Coach Adams is over the moon. "Damn! That's good stuff, guys! Engage with violence and furious precision! Keep it up, don't let up! Point after team!"
