A fury colder than any winter chill blazed within Ty's core. He'd studied Jenkins' tape extensively, yet came away with no hint of how to beat the boy. Pressure didn't faze him, he just scrambled away and out ran them. The D-Line wouldn't be much help.
He made almost no mistakes through the air; obviously there was a reason he'd set completion percentage and touchdown to interception ratio records. There didn't even seem to be a defence he struggled with, or a pass he couldn't make.
Double coverage? Didn't matter, the ball was placed in an area only the WR could reach. If it was zone coverage, he'd look off defenders and fire a no-look pass to his actual target.
It would be hard, if not impossible, to bait him into a bad throw. But it wasn't like he was overly cautious and careful with the ball; he'd be hard to scare off, too.
Did all that matter? An extensive film catalogue was well and good, but Colby Jenkins had never come across a DB like Tyrese Samuels. "Let him challenge me," Ty thought as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. "I'll show him the meaning of fear."
Even in the late morning, the air was still frigid, and waiting around for the rest of the team at the pick up point meant there was nothing to do but stand prey for the cold.
Eventually the others arrived, and the team piled onto the bus one by one, though it wasn't much of a sanctuary from the cold. Coach Hoang, first on, sitting near the front, stopped Ty and gestured for him to take the seat across the way.
'Let's talk, Samuels.'
Ty sat sideways in the chair, leaning towards Coach Hoang; the boys trailing him squeezed past, glancing at the pair.
'Learn anything interesting during the week, Samuels?'
Maybe there was ONE hint, he'd picked up regarding Jenkins, though he wasn't sure how much use it'd be in a game. It was minute enough to miss the first couple of times on the film. He had no idea how he'd pick it up in the frantic flow of a real game when he was so far away from Jenkins, and with who knows how many bodies between.
'There might be something,' Ty said.
'It's better than nothing. Spill. I'll share it with the rest of the defence before the game.'
'His throwing motion, he takes a big step with it, gives himself a sturdy platform to throw from so he can really rip those passes. Once it's in the air, his passes fly the fastest I've seen. But that means he's a little slow to release—funny for the Cobras—but more importantly, it shows when he's pump-faking. He doesn't lift his leg at all on pump fakes.'
Coach Hoang's jaw was clenched tight. Clearly he'd wanted more to come from Ty's study, and he was worried what it said about Jenkins that this was his biggest weakness. 'We can work with that.'
Ty grinned. 'It's fine. I know why you're scared of this guy. He was good his freshman year, and what few weaknesses he had then, he ironed them out near completely since. But it's fine. Maybe he'd be scary if he was throwing to the number one Receiver, but he isn't, he's throwing to that piece of shit.'
'Watch it, Samuels. I don't care about arbitrary rankings. Howard is a threat you need to take seriously.'
'Don't worry, I watched him, too. He's nothing special. Second rate. You might think it's an arbitrary rating but I know it describes him perfectly. It's an inescapable fact about Richaun Howard, part of his DNA. There's another reason you don't have anything to fear about Jenkins.'
'Enlighten me,' Coach Hoang said, gaze challenging Ty, warning him he better not spout some bullshit.
'Because for as good as he is, he's never faced me.' Ty grinned. His face was twisted with malevolence. 'I will etch this smile into his nightmares. After this game, every time he throws a ball, it won't matter if it's in another game or just practice—even if he's throwing a piece of trash into the bin—he'll see this smiling face, lurking in the shadows.'
Coach Hoang let out a breath, his body shaking. 'You're talking a big BIG game, Samuels. If you don't follow it up with a record-breaking performance, I'm gonna make you run until you fall over and can't get back up.'
'Fine by me, Coach.' He leaned closer. 'FYI—I won't be running after this.'
He was confident. Good. Well, he was always confident, that wasn't usually the issue. And Coach Hoang didn't know Ty to be delusional, no matter what crazy shit he said. He meant every word, and could usually back it up, too. Also good. Because if he was talking like that, he must've seen SOMETHING in all that footage to tell him the Cobras weren't just beatable, but they could be embarrassed as well.
Come to think of it, any loss for them would probably be embarrassing. Definitely if they didn't even make the finals.
As the bus eased onto the road, and Coach Hoang settled in for the journey, he glanced back at Ty. He was sitting with Bella, more like she was sitting with him. Nothing unusual there. A concentrated look was on his face, but the confidence was still there underneath it. Bella respected his concentration, not doing anything to distract him from it.
However, there was a niggling concern in the back of Coach Hoang's mind; an itch he knew he'd never reach to scratch—what if they'd never even SNIFFED the Cobras' true potential?
When the Cobras' bus finally pulled to a stop, a wave of relief pulsed through Richaun Howard. He relaxed, flowing from his seat comfortably, and swaggering from the back of the bus to the exit at the front.
He'd been tense ever since that morning, first with a trip to the airport, then the long flight from Miami to Vegas, followed by another annoying bus ride from the airport to the stadium. But finally they were at their destination, and the coliseum was laid bare before him.
Its scale didn't intimidate him, nor excite him. It simply didn't matter. A true gladiator would fight in a back alley with no spectators other than the rats who waited to feast upon the loser. That's not to say he didn't enjoy an audience.
But the relief came from the open doors. He was like a tiger that had finally been let out of his cage, and he could smell a juicy meal not too far away. Fat, succulent, and ripe for his pleasure.
His tongue swiped across his jagged teeth as he stepped off the bus and was met with a sea of cameras. But no flashes illuminated him. Richaun's grin wavered.
'Outta the way, numero deuce,' Colby Jenkins said, his voice full of mirth and venom. He pushed past Richaun, and finally those cameras started snapping like piranhas in a feeding frenzy.
Richaun yanked Colby around. 'If you fucking touch me—'
'Get your hand off me!'
The two glared at one another, stares hot enough to melt steel between them. The flashing lights sparked off the anger in their eyes.
'Keep moving, bitch. Nobody's here to see a shiny piece of shit when a number one star is right in front of them,' Colby hissed.
Richaun's eyes flashed. That stupid fucking moniker. Shit this, number two that. He couldn't fucking stand all these worthless motherfuckers throwing his ranking back in his face!
A firm hand landed on his tense shoulder, pinching a nerve before he could cock back and take Colby's head off with a nasty hook.
Coach Swan was a delicate looking figure, shorter than just about every boy on the team, but her grip was an inescapable talon, and she had the commanding presence of someone twice her size. She pushed Richaun past the line of journalists and reporters, a tight smile on her face as she shoved him into the underbelly of the stadium.
Once the doors swung shut behind them, Richaun shrugged her hand off, rounding on the short woman. Cold grey eyes looked up at him, unperturbed by the icy heat in his gaze. The tribulations and stress of moulding unruly, young bulls like Richaun and turning them into champions were etched on Coach Swan's face in various creases and wrinkles, and a streak of grey shot through her short black hair.
'Do you hear what they're sayin' about me?! It's fuckin' bullshit'
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. 'I've heard it; it's spread like wildfire, Richaun. It's on everyone's tongue. But do you know who started all that shit talk?'
Tyrese Samuels. The name was the source of the flames engulfing his very being.
'NOT Colby Jenkins,' she reminded him, a finger wagging in his face. 'If you even think of laying a hand on him, so help me.'
'He thinks he's better than me!'
'So does the rest of the world. Use it! Let THAT motivate you.' She poked his chest, her finger like a needle. 'But you know who you have to take it out on?'
Tyrese Samuels. The supposed number one. Richaun snarled. He'd dominate that little bitch and prove he wasn't number two.
'If you want everyone to see you for what you really are, this is the game to do it. This is the game that will set the foundation for the rest of your life, Richaun. Are you the true star? Or just second best?'
'I'm the best! I'm number one.'
'Then show me! Show the world!'
He turned away, stalking through the hall. He'd show them. Show them all! After he destroyed Tyrese Samuels, everyone would have to acknowledge him as the number one. They'd know just how much of a fraud that daddy's boy Skywalker really was.
The locker room door crashed loudly as he kicked it open, almost leaving a dent in the wall.
The door to the Dons' locker room closed softly. A quiet, focused atmosphere filled it as the boys prepared for their latest challenge. Each hurdle was taller than the last, but they were prepared; none quavered at the task before them.
'I'm a broken record, but I need to drill this into your heads—today's going to be all about SPEED,' Coach Long said. Coincidentally, he strolled around the room at a crawl. 'I want you boys to show the Cobras they can't keep up with you.'
The pregame speech had been more of the same. They all knew what to do, but sometimes it needed to be hammered home just a touch more. Now they awaited the beginning of the game to see if their plan worked or not.
A soft knock at the door announced a reporter, who stuck their head in shortly after, asking for Coach Long. Ty leant forward, watching the interaction. His ear prickled as his own name filtered through the noise.
'Sir, if we could just have Tyrese for a quick interview before the game,' the pimple-faced young man said. 'I assure you, it won't take long.'
'I've already told you no,' Coach Long answered, moving to block the reporter's view. 'I don't care if it's part of the tournament and we have obligations to meet, I'll take a fine if I have to, but you won't have any of these boys in front of another camera.'
The reporter, not much older than a boy himself, was sweating. It wasn't up to him, he was just acting on orders from higher up, but if he went back and told them Coach Long refused, the punishment would fall on his head. 'P-Please sir, I promise, this sit down will be much more amicable. There's no intent to antagonise either side.'
Coach Long was about to refuse him again when Ty spoke up, suddenly just behind him. 'I'll go. I'll play nice, Coach.'
Coach Long looked down at Ty, mouth twisted into a frown that looked out of place on him. 'It's not up to you, Tyrese. Sit down.'
Ty's brow furrowed. He didn't see what the problem was. It'd all worked out last week, why would now be any different? He shrugged, moving back to his seat. Oh well, his game would just have to do all the talking instead.
The pimple-faced man had to leave empty handed, though the Dons left not long after him, heading for the field.
Upon emerging, JJ was stunned by the cheers that welcomed them. It wasn't the whole stadium, but still a sizeable contingent, enough to drown any type of support they'd received before.
Running through their lap, the boys were all grins, waving towards the crowd, some urging them on, gesturing for them to get louder. Ty noticed it wasn't all positive, however. The cheers were like a shell, but there was still a clump of boos within it. He had no doubts who those boos were aimed at.
When the Cobras emerged, it was much the same. A healthy coating of cheers and love covered up a rotten core of boos and envy. For them, Richaun was the beacon that drew in the hate. Like Ty, he answered those boos with a grin.
As both teams warmed up at opposite ends of the field, tension grew and spread throughout the stadium. Even the rest of the Dons were full of scowls. Usually, they didn't care about pre-game antics, they were all laughs and smiles. Just because they were opponents for that day, didn't mean they were enemies with the team across the field from them … it was different with the Cobras.
The scuffle on New Year's Eve was fresh in their minds. Ty wasn't alone. They all stood behind him, ready to support him, protect him; they were his shield and spear all in one.
Conversely, the Cobras didn't appear unified at all. Richaun stood alone. No-one even offered to share his burden of hate. No-one stood by his side, ready to charge into hell with him. Perhaps it was a trap. Maybe they were as alert and ready as the Dons, but simply lying in wait, ready to ambush those who charged in blindly, thinking one member had been left out of the pack.
Stephen scratched his cheek. He knew there were at least some in that writhing mass of snakes that'd jump to Richaun's defence; he remembered the sting of their fangs.
Warm-ups were soon finished, and then it was time for the coin toss. Of course, Ty was relegated to the bench. Jay, JJ, and Deshaun were sent out for the Dons.
Coming to meet them from the Cobras, Colby and Richaun jostled for prime position to be the first to meet the enemy. Behind them came a squat, top-heavy figure. Built like an upside down triangle, long arms jutted out from broad, powerful shoulders. As Richaun and Colby continued to argue with one another, he strode forward and thrust a hand out towards Jay.
Jay accepted the handshake. The cobra squeezed him like a python, trying to pop his hand off. He smiled in the face of the man who would be hunting him that game. Bright yellow, snake-like eyes stared back at him. Eager, and full of bad intentions.