Taking A Risk by Karen Monroe
Analise
I’m not sure how I got here. Well, that’s not true. I took the same route to campus I normally take, and I parked in the structure I usually park in. Then me, Nate, and Shelby caught a ride on the shuttle to the stadium. We picked up our tickets at Will Call, then made our way to our seats. That’s how I got here.
The more appropriate question was… why was I here?
I didn’t have an answer. I wasn’t William’s girlfriend. He was a one-night stand that turned into a continual hook up. This was especially true since Tildee started playing matchmaker. She volunteered to watch Nate and Shelby on the days I had to work at the library this week so William and I could spend more time together.
We’d hung out a lot over the past few days, primarily in his bed. He’d even purchased a TV for his room after I complained about him not having one. He’d teased me about the luxury of having your own television when I told him Nate, Shelby, and I each had our own boob tube.
He’d grown up with one TV—that was cracked on the side—between ten people. I sometimes forgot how hard his life had been. It made me reevaluate my own misfortunes.
Our families had a few things in common. His father was a drunk and a drug addict who struggled to maintain a job. His mother kept the family somewhat solvent, but times were always hard. The money he could earn from professional football was a necessity. It would give him an immediate pathway to help his younger brothers and sisters. He wanted to support his 18-year-old sister, Michelle, who was a senior in high school, and provide a better life for his younger siblings, Peter, Caleb, Isabel, and Elizabeth. I learned “Beth” was only ten years old.
William was inspiring in his dedication, but I had to tame my feelings for him. I refused to fall in love with someone who would leave me. I kept my feelings tightly controlled. The only time I let go was during sex, because I couldn’t help it.
This… thing between us would end soon. It had to. William was headed to the NFL, and he talked constantly about the upcoming combine and draft. He hoped to go in the first round because that’s where the real money was made. He worked out nonstop and was truly dedicated to his craft. I wish I had that sort of energy and determination, but I wouldn’t dare stand in his way. Whatever was going on between us had a finite timeline. Eventually, the season would end and he’d start preparing for the draft. After that, this… whatever would end.
But, here and now, amongst tens of thousands of screaming fans, all I could think about is how proud I am of him as I watch him run out the tunnel with the rest of his teammates.
William stands out. His gigantic size and exuberance make him easy to spot. When the team congregates on the sidelines, I’m easily able to glimpse him amongst the sea of orange jerseys. He stands head and shoulders over most of his teammates.
“This is so exciting,” Shelby croons, drawing the smiles of a few spectators near us. Even Nate seems thrilled. He hasn’t said a word since the Tigers took the field. His gaze is transfixed on the players below.
I’m the oddball out. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a football game. I feel a little out of place amongst the cheering crowds. I’m part of the student body, but I don’t feel like I’m one of them.
I try to pay attention to the field, but my gaze is arrested by William walking around on the sidelines. He gathers with three other players, then they walk out on the grassy field. I’m confused what’s going on until one official talks aloud through the stadium’s surround speakers.
“The home team has elected to receive the kickoff.”
During the kick, I take a moment to text Tildee.
Me: The game just started.
I add a bunch of weird emojis before pressing send. My phone pings back immediately and I smile at the eggplant, peach, and sweat emojis Tildee sent back.
Tildee: U can drop the kiddies at my house
She adds several more eggplant and peach emojis. I swear, she’s like a freakin’ teenager. My baby sister is more circumspect.
Me: He’s not coming home with me
Tildee: Sure…
I don’t respond. A surge of energy sweeps through the crowd as the offense takes the field.
Nate perks up beside me. “That’s Griffin Mackenzie,” he says, pointing at the field. “He’s the quarterback.”
My gaze easily finds the target of Nate’s fascination. I’m familiar with the name, if not the person.
Griffin Mackenzie is William’s roommate. I’ve never met the guy. His door is always closed, and William said he spends most of his free time with his girlfriend. Curious, I flip through the program we purchased to the roster of Tiger players. Most of them have short bios and tiny black and white headshots that look like prison ID photos, but there is a section called “Senior Stars” that features full-color pictures and more extensive bios.
I notice William’s name amongst a group of six and immediately flip to his section first. There’s a clear color photo of him in a suit at the top of the page. His hair is slicked back, and his face is clean shaven. He looks younger, which makes me wonder when the picture was taken.
The accompanying bio reads more like a list of stats and football accomplishments. I note last year he won the Chuck Bednarik Award and the Bronko Trophy. Though, the section marked “Personal” only mentions he’s “majoring in Economics with a minor in Business Administration”. There’s nothing about his family.
I turn next to the section about Griffin Mackenzie. I have to admit he’s handsome in a pretty boy sort of way, but I prefer William’s outright manliness.
Quickly, I peruse through Mackenzie’s bio. It reads like a saga of football royalty, but Nate's sudden shout draws my attention back to the field.
I really should pay attention to the game. I don’t know what’s going on, but it looks like the offense has progressed further down the field.
Putting the program back in the souvenir bag it came with, I nudge my shoulder against Nate’s. “Having fun?”
He nods while bouncing in his seat. “Yeah!”
I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time. It’s a welcome sight. Leaning back, I focus on the field, but my gaze is really on William.
* * *
William
I’d bethe first to admit the defense is playing like shit. We’d given up 27 points to the Panthers by the end of the first half. If they hadn’t missed the extra point, the score would be tied. Coach Gary is not a happy camper.
“I’d like to know if any of you were paying attention in practice this week?” He asks as the D-line huddles around him in the locker room. “Because you’re all out there playing like a bunch of fucking junior varsity assholes!”
I splash a bit of water from my Gatorade bottle on the back of my neck and drop my head. Coach Gary’s just getting started.
“It’s real fucking simple! You pick up your assignments, or you sit your ass on the bench. I don’t want to see anymore cowboy heroics. 209 yards! That’s what you guys gave up in the first half. Two hundred and nine fucking yards! 110 yards on the ground alone. That’s all on y’all. Not the fucking DBs!”
“Gilmore!” My head pops up to find Coach Gary’s laser like gaze. “Twice on the last drive you missed your assignments because you couldn’t, or wouldn’t, pull your head out of your ass. You were so damn busy chasing the damn quarterback you ran right by the person you were supposed to be fucking blocking!”
Coach directs his fury next toward Lucas Pinckney, the other starting defensive end. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re out there doing, but it’s not what you're supposed to be doing.”
Everyone gets a roasting, even the backups who aren’t playing. Coach Gary doesn’t break us down when he’s done, which means he’s really pissed. Monday’s film study is going to be one long screaming session.
The trainers walk amongst us, handing out water bottles and energy bars until it’s time to go back on the field. Then the stadium handlers herd us into the narrow stadium tunnel leading to the field. We’re packed shoulder-pad to shoulder-pad like a bunch of canned sardines.
I spot Griff a few bodies away. As usual, he’s surrounded by his offensive line. Those guys take their jobs seriously—on and off the field.
I want to give him shit after the tongue lashing I just received, and I call out, “Hey Mack! You planning on throwing another interception?”
Griff smirks over his shoulder. “The ball was where it was supposed to be. The receiver fucked up his route.”
“Fuck you, man! That was pass interference and you know it,” Jax hollers from somewhere in the crowd.
“Hey Gilly,” Javon’s deep voice rings out. “Your balls still attached to your body? I thought I heard Coach Gary ripping them off.”
There’s a round of deep laughter, but I take the joke in stride. You got to have thick skin to play football.
The handlers start frantically waving their arms, signaling for us to run out the tunnel. The echo of loud cheers rings across the stadium. I doubt there’s an empty seat in the house, but I’m looking for one person.
My eyes roam over a section of bleachers. Somewhere out there is Analise. I try to spot her flaming hair, but she’s lost amongst a sea of orange.
I promised I’d text after the game, but she’d been reticent about making plans since her brother and sister would be with her. But just the thought of her sitting in the stands fills me with determination. This is her first college game and the first time she’s ever seen me play. I want our team to win. Losing isn’t an option today.
Pinckney sits down next to me on the bench.
“Let the shit Coach Gary said roll off you,” I say as soon as he seated.
He grunts. “I’m tired of his shit. He dumps on the line when we’re the only ones doing our job. They’re shredding the secondary, but the D-line’s being blamed for their failure.”
“Fuck him! We’re the ones out on the field.”
Lucas leans back, letting the mist from the Dragon seats wash over him. “Let’s hit‘em on the next drive. Their QB is a weak piece of shit. We need to lay his ass out.”
I nod, and we both ignore Coach Gary when he sits in front of us with his whiteboard. What we’re planning might land us on the bench, but we’re seniors. After this year, college football will be in our rear view. The season’s almost over. Lucas and I are declaring for the draft. We have to take every opportunity to shine.
When we take the field after the kickoff, we follow the coach’s game plan for the first two plays. It’s now 3rd and five, and we’re on the Panthers 37-yard line. They’re going to pass. I can feel it in my bones. Pinckney and I nod at each other before we take our stance. I’ll need to rocket by any blockers, and my muscles tense with anticipation as I stretch out my left arm, ready to take on the tacklers who will face me. The goal is to be quicker and faster than them. If I can get to the quarterback before he throws the ball, our offense will have great field position.
I ignore the tight end in front of me, focusing my attention on the center. A lot of players ignore the center, but his positioning gives me an insight into their play. He’s palming the ball with a full grip, and the quarterback is lined up about two steps behind him.
The sounds on the field silence to a hum. I’m focused on the center and the ball, everything else is just white noise.
We’re in a Nickel defense with four D-linemen. Lucas, the right side DE, handles his side. Jeffrey Dean, the nose tackle, covers the center. I’m on the left outside, and the new guy Shannon Potts is my support to the right.
We’re stacked heavy. The match-ups are in our favor. We just need to get to the QB in about three seconds.
No big deal!
The snap happens. I shoot from my stance like a blast from a shotgun, ignoring the tight end and guard in front of me with two quick up strikes of my arms. My left forearm flares in protest as nails rip into my skin. I hope Potts can take care of these bastards. My eyes are trained on the QB. He’s side-eyeing me, but he hasn’t moved from the pocket.
I’m almost on him when his right arm moves.
Shit! I’m not close enough. I reach out my arms, diving for all I am worth, hoping I can catch at least a piece of him before he throws the ball.
My left hand grabs hold of him with everything I got until I feel him stumbling. Face down on the grass, I don’t know what’s going on. The surrounding cheers might be good or bad.
Someone runs right over me, stepping on the small of my back. Their cleats contact with the section of my body not protected by padding. Shit! It fucking hurts!
With my face buried in the ground, I cough for air, but when I inhale, a clop of grass is sucked into my windpipe. I’ve never been so happy to hear a whistle blown in my life.
Picking the grass blades from my teeth, I spit the remaining dirt in my mouth onto the field. I’m a little dazed, and some shitbird smacks my helmet, which rattles me further.
“Great fucking play, Gilly!”
I guess I did well, but there are stars and birds spinning in my vision. I need to sit down.
The line judge runs up to me. “Take a rest ninety-four.”
I nod slowly. I’ve been stomped on, breathed in dirt, and had my head rattled in the span of fifteen seconds. Sitting sounds like a good idea.
When I reach the bench, Doc Vinson, the team doctor, sits down next to me. “You look dazed Will. What happen on that last play?”
“I got my ass stepped on and ate some dirt,” I answer sarcastically.
I know the concussion protocol like the back of my hand. I will not give him any reason to take me out of the game.
“Do you remember the sack?”
“I was face down in the dirt,” I yell above the din from the crowd.
“Stand up,” he orders.
Sighing, I come to my feet. Doc shines a light into my eyes, then tells me to lean my head back.
“Any nausea or dizziness?”
The thing is, I do feel a little dizzy, but if I say yes, I’ll be benched this game, and possibly the next. I can’t afford that. We’re too close to the end of the season. I’m sure I’ll be fine on the next drive.
“No,” I answer, shaking my head.
Doc doesn’t look convinced. He’s a former college player and knows the type of violence meted out on the field.
“You’re a smart guy, Will. I know that. Just remember football doesn’t last forever. The rest of your life won’t be worth much without your health.”
He’s right, of course, but as a player the game is a series of calculated risks. I pray I am never injured, but I’ve accepted the possibility it may happen. It’s the tradeoff that has to occur for any athlete, but I’m confident in my abilities—I have to be.
“I’m good, Doc.”
Doc Vinson nods over his shoulder at Coach Gary. Damn! I hadn’t even noticed him. Maybe I am concussed.
Vinson walks off and coach takes his place in front of me. He looks mad as hell.
“The next time you ignore a call from the sidelines, I promise you’ll ride the bench for the rest of the season. Don’t fuck with me, Gilmore, or it will be the last thing you do on this team.”
He can’t bench me. That decision can only be made by the head coach. Of course, Gary can make my life miserable for the last four games of the season, and he could spread lies about me to other coaches in the NFL. I have to tread lightly.
“Me and Luke saw an opportunity. We took it. That’s what you are alway saying, right? You’re always preaching to seize the day and seize the play. That’s what we did!”
Coach glares at me, but underneath his harshness I can see a flash of respect.
“Well… you two each got half a sack. Could’ve been a whole one for one of you if you talked to me like a man. That’s what I expect from my D-Line, and that’s what the NFL expects.”
Coach Gary has his faults, but he’s a damn good coach. He could pull motivation from a snail. I’ll never regret my decision to learn from him, even though he gets on my last nerve.
I nod and sit down. My head is still ringing.
Coach Gary narrows his eyes, then pats my shoulder gently. “You’re out the next drive,” he says.
I open my mouth, but he points his ever present whiteboard at me.
“I don’t want to hear any shit, or you’ll be sitting out the rest of the game.”
Knowing better than to argue, I lean back against the cool seats. My gaze flicks to Pinckney, and we both frown as we say in unison, “I should have gotten that sack.”