The punt was poorly kicked, worrying about getting a touchback. Chris caught it at the 14 and darted forward, splitting the first two of his pursuers up the middle, running them into one another. For the third Shamrock, he juked outside, dodging away from a wild lunge, and as more blockers caught up, forming a shield around him, he skirted past to the outside, bending up and straightening along the sideline. Arching his back to avoid another desperate swipe, he was in the clear; the only Shamrock ahead of him was the Punter, who scrambled back with widened eyes, hemming Chris against the sideline.
One more person to beat. Chris pushed forward, keeping tight to the sideline, then cut in as he crossed half-field. The Punter leaned out, then stumbled before diving in. Chris was too slow to jump, his legs were clipped tipping him forward. He curled around the ball, landing in a roll.
He came to a stop at the 35-yard line, but the officials marked him down back above the 40. He stared up at the lights and thumped the ball down. All he needed to do was get past the Punter and the game would've been tied without the offence even having to stop foot on the field. How could he fuck up something so simple?!
He sighed, taking the hands offered to him, jumping back to his feet. There was no use beating himself up over it. The Punter had made a good play. Besides, Chris still had his chance to lead the team to the end-zone and tie the game.
The Dons came out, determined to even the score. Passionate pleas came from the crowd, willing them on, though the voices quietened as the Dons prepared for the first snap.
The Shamrocks met them, jittery and nervous as they shifted about like the walls were closing in on them and they were searching for any possible escape. Chants of "dee-fence" were quiet even with the silence from the rest of the crowd.
Jay took the snap, turning towards Chris. The D-Line flared out wide, sealing off the edges as Chris took the ball on a Strech. There wasn't a gap between the Tackle and Benny, but there was between Tackle and Guard, which is what Chris shot for. As he emerged through it, Jordy hammered him from the side, spearing him into the turf.
Chris clung to the ball tightly, wincing as he was pulled back to his feet. All of Jordy's considerable weight had been behind that tackle. Worse than that, the play only gained 2 yards.
He was still massaging his side when he made it back to the Dons' huddle.
'You good, Chris?'
'You alright, man?'
'Holding up okay?'
Concern came from every side of the Dons' huddle. Chris was fine if a little winded, but he'd be alright for the next play.
He looked out across the field. The Shamrocks had made adjustments up front. Their four Linemen were now stacked more heavily on the strong side of the Dons' line, favouring where Benny was instead of keeping an even spread. Maybe another counter could work, but that had to wait for another time.
With such a small gain on first down, the Dons would have to look to the air for the next play, but Chris could still provide an outlet.
Jay dropped back, scanning the field. Braxton and Stephen were still even. Was he slowing yet? Or was him tiring false hope? Benny couldn't open up the other side of the field, and even Cole and Amon's underneath routes were covered. Chris was in the flat. Maybe he could make someone miss.
Jay flipped the ball over, and Chris caught it cleanly, but it was as if the Shamrocks were waiting for that moment. Others peeled away from their previous objectives the moment the ball left Jay's hand, and were soon surrounding Chris, keeping him contained, and keeping the gain to only another 2 yards.
The Dons would have to look elsewhere for a saviour.
They had another few minutes to find him, as time trailed down and the third quarter ended, bringing the game to its final break.
A strange energy settled over the stadium as the teams retreated to their sidelines. Both fanbases were on the edge of their seats, chewing their nails. Could the Shamrocks withstand and hold onto their lead? Could the Dons break through and tie the game? Would it even matter? Wouldn't the Shamrocks score again and take back the lead anyway? Would Tyrese slay the giant once more and give the Dons the chance to win it all?
Ty was one person seemingly unaffected by the many unanswered questions hovering over the game like an ominous cloud; he was completely at ease, sitting back on the bench with his hands resting behind his head.
Bella paced nearby, glancing at him occasionally. Though he wasn't watching her closely, she was still front and centre.
'You've got this, right?' she asked.
'Of course,' he answered.
'Of course you'd say that.' She stopped, her back to him as she looked across the field. 'It'd be too much for you to drag us all this way, just to get stumped by him of all people, right?'
Chills coursed through her as if ice had suddenly spread along her back. He held her pinned by his gaze. 'I'm not going to lose.'
'No. Why would you?' She could trust him. The more worrying thing was her own judgement. Maybe she'd been wrong about the Shamrocks' stamina issues. They were holding out much longer than she expected. Ty stopping Jeremiah wouldn't accomplish much if the Dons' offence couldn't complete the comeback.
She glanced along their own sideline. Chris stood before Coach Norman. She hurried over, not running, but taking long, swift strides.
'That was a nasty hit you took,' Coach Norman said. 'How are you feeling?' He looked Chris up and down, as if assessing someone before an interrogation.
'I'm not that fragile,' Chris answered, a little more snappishly than he should've. 'Sorry. But I'm fine. Promise. I've had worse hits than that.'
Coach Norman nodded, expression softening. 'Good. I was a little worried when you marched up to me with that look on your face.'
"What look?" 'No, nothing bad, I just had an idea.'
'Let me hear it.'
'What if we tried another Counter. I mean, they're begging for it, aren't they?'
'They are overcompensating a little. It could work, but we'll have to save it for first or second down. Even if the Counter works, a run working, and a run getting six yards is a little different.'
Chris's lips pursed as if he'd just bit into a lemon, but what else should he have expected? '...I understand.'
'You're doing well, Chris, just keep working. Rest up now, this last quarter is ours.'
Chris's expression was still sour as he took his seat.
Bella sighed. Why was she worried over the offence? They knew what they were doing, and they wouldn't give up until the final whistle; they were as unlikely to let her down as was Ty.
The break, though brief, felt like an eternity to the offence who wanted to get out there and do their job. Every second felt like another step that extended the Shamrocks' lead.
Stephen took his spot in formation. The crowd had come alive again, though their cheers were more urgent, desperate, lacking the steady confidence and calm they'd had before the break. Just as the opposing chants were reinvigorated, having a stronger, denser call, lingering longer in his ears.
The plan was simple, and one he'd knew would come eventually. As much effort Chris was pouring into the game, Stephen knew it'd come down to him. All he had to do was overcome Braid Bitch. If he couldn't, the Dons were done.
"That WON'T happen." It didn't even matter Braid Bitch was the biggest piece of garbage he'd ever faced. Stephen wasn't going to be responsible for the Dons' premature ending no matter what.
The two locked eyes. Neither backed down. It was a fight to get off the line, slapping and scratching as well as pushing at one another. Stephen eventually broke free long enough to get into his rhythm, sprinting forward. Braxton turned with him, running alongside him. Was he a step slower, or was that only Stephen's hopeful imagination?
Stephen leaned into Braxton, then pushed outside, cutting hard towards the sideline. Jay fired the ball over, high and wide, where Stephen needed it; where usually only he could reach. But Braxton hadn't been shaken loose, he was still there … except a half step behind.
For the entirety of the game, he'd been as close as Stephen's shadow. Finally he had some space. This was the moment. He just needed to get hands on the ball first, and keep his feet in.
Stephen lunged, and Braxton dove, cutting in front of him, stretching across him. Long fingers grazed the skin of the ball, poking it an inch off-line. Stephen's fingers snapped back as the wildly spinning ball crashed through them. He couldn't secure the grab, and the ball fell to the turf behind them, as he stumbled into the Shamrocks' sideline.
He held himself up against the bench as the Shamrocks gathered around Braxton, helping him to his feet. They were celebrating as if they'd just won; Stephen felt as if he'd just lost the game.
The Dons had been stopped. The end-zone was well out of reach; a field-goal was their consolation prize, though even then it was going to be a hard ask, needing to nail one from over 50 yards away.
The Shamrocks thought they didn't deserve even three points. Jeremiah turned to Coach Bean and said: 'I'll block their kick, Coach. Put me out there.'
Coach Bean didn't think twice. He slapped Jeremiah on the back, pushing him towards the field. 'Block that kick. Then win the fucking game, Big Byrd.'
Jeremiah laughed, sauntering onto the field. 'I'll be damned if I lose to these people.'
Murmurs spread along the Dons' bench as they watched Jeremiah join the special teams unit on the field. When both sides had lined up, Jeremiah loomed over all, standing just behind the middle of the Shamrocks' Line.
Dread jumped from one boy to the next. Even out on the field Dons stiffened, wary eyes locked on Jeremiah as he grinned back at them like a predator knowing its prey had no more room to run.
'Come on, boys,' Coach Long said, hands pressed together. 'You can do this. Lord please let them kick this.'
He was a beacon of hope, fighting against that overwhelming dread. Most of the crowd held its breath, though that small section of Westfield fans screamed vitriol.
The ball was snapped, and all was quiet as everyone watched and waited, as if the world hinged on this one play. The holder secured the ball, planted it down firmly, and the kicker stepped up. It was a thumping kick, the impact echoing around the stadium. A second impact came shortly after, as Jeremiah's long fingers flicked back, deflecting the ball, sending it wobbling off course. It bounced well short of the goal-posts, and tumbled out of bounds.
The kick was no good, the score was still tied, and with a little over five minutes remaining in the game, the Shamrocks had the ball with a chance to seal the game.
The Dons' supporters were deadened by the deflating kick. Rabid cheers came from the section of Shamrock supporters, once again growing, if marginally.
Jeremiah lorded over the field, gesturing to the crowd, a hand against his helmet, begging for more cheers. He met Ty with his trademark sadistic grin.
It was a strange feeling that pulled the Dons' defence onto the field. Disappointment mixed with determination and despair. They'd stop the Shamrocks again, if they could, but was there any point? Ty wasn't worried, however. He tilted his head, staring up at Stringbean with mock confusion.
'You act like your team won't be scared to throw at me again,' he said.
'Scared?' Sadistic glee switched to insecure rage in a heartbeat. 'Who the fuck would be scared of someone like you?!'
Ty forced his hands to stay lax at his sides. Stringbean only had one weapon, just like his game—he was a one-trick pony. Clinging to calmness, he glanced across the Shamrocks' Line and stared at Trevor, drawing Stringbean's eyes to the QB as well; Stringbean's jaw clenched.
The ball was snapped, and just like Ty expected, Trevor was still too worried to glance in their direction. Unfortunately, Braxton found space on an Out. The ball found his hands safely above his head and Deshaun couldn't dislodge it before they trailed out-of-bounds. The catch was good for 9 yards.
A simple run up the middle got them a few yards, bringing the Shamrocks to a new set of downs, and across half-field. The Shamrocks were creeping towards a field goal of their own, however, Ty wasn't worried as he lined up opposite Stringbean once more.
'See what I mean?' Ty said. 'They won't even look at you.'
'Just because we can beat up on ALL of you worthless niggers.'
'And they don't trust you can beat me.'
Stringbean lashed out with another clobbering blow, but Ty danced back. He didn't need to stick close, especially as they were targeting Deshaun again. Braid Bitch tried a Curl, but Deshaun was sitting on it, knowing he had Sonny waiting over the top, there was no need to worry about getting beat deep.
Trevor's eyes darted around, no other openings could be found. Even Jeremiah seemed more focused on pushing Ty around than actually running a route of his own. Maybe Randy was coming open if he could just find a gap within the zone and—
His feet suddenly weren't under him anymore. He was parallel with the ground, which rushed up to meet him. Donte spiked Trevor into the turf with a crunching sack. The ball remained stuck between the grass and Trevor's body, though the Shamrocks lost 6 yards on the play.
Jordy hurried over, and Donte scrambled aside, watching to make sure Trevor was okay as he backed off to the Dons' huddle, soon enveloped by hollering teammates.
'That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, Donte!' Deshaun yelled.
'Good shit, big D.' Zayden said, clapping him on the back. Deshaun side-eyed him, but others chuckled.
'Sorry I didn't do that earlier,' Donte sheepishly said.
'Aye, don't worry 'bout it. Let's keep up that pressure.'
Second down went only a little better for the Shamrocks. Trevor wasn't sacked, but the only open target he found was Shannon in the flat. Even then, he could only scramble ahead for 5 yards, not even bringing the Shamrocks back to their starting position.
The Dons' zone was oppressive, worthy of the title of number one. Nobody could break through. Except maybe one man, yet Trevor was acting as if he didn't exist. Jeremiah pulled him aside in the huddle.
'What the fuck are you doing, Trev?' Jeremiah snapped.
'I'm sorry, Jeremiah, it's just, nobody's getting open.'
'I'm ALWAYS open. Just because that little fuck is clinging to my legs, you think I'm not open? He can't stop me.'
'But—'
'But nothing.' Jeremiah stepped closer, forcing Trevor to crane his neck back. 'Just throw me the fucking ball.' Jeremiah stalked off to his position, and Trevor sagged. He rubbed his chest, feeling the pads pushing on his ribcage, constricting his breathing; when did football get so stressful? Wasn't this shit supposed to be a fun, quick break from basketball?
Ty had been watching the interaction from the Dons' huddle. He sauntered up to Stringbean, meeting his grimace with a smile. 'You guys are so eager to throw another pick aren't you?'
'Shut the fuck up.'
Ty laughed. Something told him the Shamrocks' chemistry didn't get better when they were standing on the cliff's edge.
"You think you can challenge us when you crumble so quickly at the first sign of resistance?" Coach Long was right. These people were weak. Untested. The first sign of strife sent them spiralling.
The ball was snapped, and Trevor dropped back, eyes settling on Jeremiah, whose release was hampered by a stiff shot from Tyrese. Surely that was illegal, right? But the officials were watching closely and didn't even flinch towards their flags.
Jeremiah's cut was delayed, so what? Trevor would just have to wait. His arm was good, he could throw the pass a little deeper to make up for it. Eyes downfield, he watched Jeremiah shoot out on a Corner route. He cocked back to throw, but hesitated. One of the Safeties peeled away from their zone and Jeremiah's route over the top. That wasn't supposed to happen. But Jeremiah said… Trevor had to have faith. Trevor reloaded and cocked back again. As his arm came forward, a hand slapped his elbow, throwing his motion out of whack. The ball came free at an awkward, ugly angle, tumbling through the air. Trevor's heart was in his throat as he watched it. Thankfully, it fell to the turf instead of ending up in a Dons' hands, but that still meant it was an incompletion, and the Shamrocks were on fourth down.
Jeremiah turned his head, searching for the ball against the backdrop of the ceiling, finding nothing. He looked around, confused, and saw the ball sitting alone on the turf; saw Trevor's hung head, and the rest of his team's exasperated expressions. They'd failed—TREVOR had failed.
Ty clicked his tongue, standing beside Jeremiah. 'Shame. I would've had that one too.'
'Fuck outta my face.' Stringbean shoved Ty, who stumbled far, but kept his feet, laughing as he did so.
'Hey fuck you!' Zayden lunged, shoving Stringbean hard in the back, who staggered a few steps, then whirled around.
Officials rushed between them, whistles shrieking, flags hitting the turf. Cries came from the crowd, excited by the conflict, thirsty for further blood.
Ty cut through the scrum of officials between Stringbean and Zayden, plucking Zayden from the mess, dragging him over to the Dons' sidelines.
The flags were for off-setting personal fouls, and thankfully didn't give the Shamrocks a second chance after their embarrassing failure. They'd still have to punt, and the lead remained one touchdown.
'You're lucky, Richardson,' Coach Hoang said, greeting Zayden and Ty. He was clearly unamused by Zayden's after-the-play antics.
'He started it,' Zayden said, standing close to Ty, 'and I'm not gonna let someone push my teammates around.'
'I don't need your protection,' Ty argued. 'I've got that dumbass right where I want him.'
'Don't be a jackass, Samuels. Just thank the guy for sticking up for an asshole like you. Good work out there, both of you. I'm glad you didn't screw it all up with your attitudes.'
Zayden frowned as Coach Hoang rolled away. He turned to Ty. 'I wasn't trying to steal your moment or anything … besides, not like we really did shit. That was all Donte.'
'Hmm. Right.'
Ty glanced across the sideline, finding Donte in the midst of the team, getting congratulated by Coach Long among others. Even out of earshot, he could tell Donte was trying to deflect the praise. Yet Zayden was right, Donte had been the hero of that stand.
The game balanced on a knife's edge. Any play could be a decisive, game-winning outcome for either side.
Chris waited for a punt that never reached him, spiralling out-of-bounds at the 6-yard line instead, pinning the Dons deep in their own territory. The offence marched onto the field, looking undeterred. It didn't matter if they had to start on their own 6-yard line or the Shamrocks', their goal didn't change, and it wouldn't change how important that goal was.
It was now or never. Their fate rested on this drive. If the game wasn't tied after it, they were lost. No-one was ready for that.