Date: November 17, 1989.
Location: The Stadium (Playoff Round 1).
Event: Medford Wolves vs. Tyler Lions.
They say you can't coach speed. They're right.
The Tyler Lions didn't look like football players. They looked like track stars who got lost on the way to a meet and accidentally put on helmets.
Kickoff.
Our kicker, a sophomore named Martinez, booted the ball deep. It was a good kick. High, spiraling, landing at the 5-yard line.
The Tyler return man didn't signal for a fair catch. He caught it, took one step, and then—whoosh.
He was gone.
It wasn't that our coverage team was slow. It was that he was operating at a different frame rate. He cut right, made Higgins miss without even slowing down, and streaked down the sideline.
Touchdown. 12 seconds into the game.
Tyler 7, Medford 0.
The stadium went silent. Even Meemaw stopped knitting.
"Well," George Sr. said on the sideline, spitting out a sunflower seed. "That went poorly."
He grabbed my facemask and pulled me close.
"Cooper. Do not let them get the ball back. If we get into a shootout with these guys, we lose. You understand? Bore them to death."
"Yes, sir," I said. "Bore them to death."
***
The First Half: The Tortoise Strategy
We got the ball on the 20.
"Huddle up!" I yelled. "Slow down. Nobody sprints to the line."
In the huddle, Bullard was breathing hard. "Did you see that guy? He was a blur."
"Forget him," I said. "We're not racing them. We're running over them."
First Down: Hand off to the fullback. Dive play.
Thud. 3 yards.
Second Down: Hand off to the tailback. Off-tackle.
Thud. 4 yards.
Third Down: I dropped back. The Tyler defensive ends were fast. They flew upfield like they were shot out of a cannon.
But speed has a weakness: It over-pursues.
Mahomes Vision.
I saw the defensive end run right past me, trying to get the sack. I stepped up into the pocket—calm, quiet—and let him fly by.
I didn't throw it deep. I threw a dump-off pass to Tiny (who was blocking on the edge).
Tiny caught it and rumbled forward. He wasn't fast, but he was 240 pounds of momentum. A skinny Tyler cornerback tried to tackle him and bounced off.
First Down.
We marched. And marched. And marched.
The drive took eight minutes. Eight minutes of grinding, boring, smash-mouth football. The Tyler offense stood on the sideline, shivering in the cold, getting stiff.
We punched it in on a 1-yard sneak.
Medford 7, Tyler 7.
George Sr. nodded from the sideline. "Good. Keep them cold."
***
The Third Quarter: The Mistake
The strategy worked for a while. We kept the game close. At halftime, it was 14-14.
But in the third quarter, I got greedy.
It was 3rd and 8. The Tyler safety—the one George Sr. pointed out on film—was creeping up. He was biting on the run fakes.
He's reckless. Burn him.
I changed the play at the line.
"Blue 80! Blue 80!"
I faked the handoff. The safety bit. He stepped up.
I pumped deep. Higgins ran a post route. He was open.
I planted my foot to throw.
But I forgot about their speed.
The Tyler cornerback, who looked like he was twenty yards away, closed the gap in a heartbeat. As I released the ball, he undercut the route.
Interception.
He caught it on the run.
"No!" I yelled, chasing him.
But I wasn't catching him. Nobody was catching him.
He took it 60 yards to the house. The Tyler band played their fight song at a tempo that sounded like a panic attack.
Tyler 21, Medford 14.
I walked to the sideline, head down.
George Sr. didn't yell. He just looked at me.
"You got greedy," George stated. "You tried to be the hero. We don't need a hero, Cooper. We need a quarterback."
"He was open," I argued weaky.
George stared at me. "Open? Son, that kid runs a 4.4 forty. You threw a 4.8 pass. Do the math."
He pointed to the bench. "Sit down."
He benched me for a series. Kyle Stevens went in. He handed the ball off three times and punted.
***
The Fourth Quarter: The Last Drive
With four minutes left in the game, the score was still 21-14.
Tyler had the ball. If they got a first down, the season was over.
"Defense!" the crowd chanted. "Defense!"
Our defense was tired. They had been chasing track stars all night.
Tyler ran a sweep. Their running back turned the corner. He had open grass.
Then, out of nowhere, Bullard (our Senior Captain) shot through the gap. He didn't just tackle the guy; he exploded into him.
CRACK.
The ball popped loose.
Fumble!
A pile of bodies dove for it. When the refs unpeeled the pile, Bullard was at the bottom, cradling the ball.
"Medford ball!" the ref signaled.
The crowd went insane.
I stood up. George Sr. looked at me.
"You learned your lesson?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Then go win the damn game. Four minutes. No hero ball. Execute."
***
The Drive
We started on our own 40.
I didn't look for the deep ball. I took what they gave me.
Out route to Higgins. 6 yards.
Run up the middle. 3 yards.
QB sneak. 2 yards. First down.
We chipped away. The clock ticked down. 3:00... 2:30... 2:00.
We reached the 10-yard line. 0:45 seconds left. No timeouts.
"They're dropping eight guys into coverage," Kyle Stevens yelled from the sideline. "The endzone is flooded!"
I looked at the defense. They were terrified of the pass. They had three safeties deep.
But the middle of the field? Empty.
I instinctively signaled for a timeout.
The ref shook his head. "You're out, 14!"
"Shoot!" I yelled. "Hurry up! Everyone to the line! Empty set!"
The team scrambled. They looked confused.
"Trust me!" I yelled. "Hurry!"
"Hut!"
The receivers ran deep, taking the defenders with them. The defensive ends rushed upfield.
The middle opened up.
I took the snap. I paused one beat to let the rush go by.
Then I took off.
Speed 55.
I wasn't fast. But I didn't need to be fast. I just needed to be smart.
I ran up the gut. The linebacker—the only guy left—stepped up to hit me.
I planted my foot and spun.
Agility Check.
The linebacker grabbed my jersey. I spun out of it.
I stumbled forward. The goal line was right there.
I fell. I stretched the ball out.
The ball crossed the white line.
TOUCHDOWN.
Score: Medford 20, Tyler 21.
The stadium held its breath.
George Sr. held up two fingers.
We weren't playing for overtime. We were going for the win.
***
The Two-Point Conversion
"Two points," George told the huddle. "One play. Season on the line."
We lined up. I looked at the defense. They were bunched tight, expecting a run up the middle.
I looked at Tiny.
"Tiny," I said. "Shift to Tight End. Report eligible."
Tiny's eyes went wide. "Me? But who snaps?"
"Shift the line," I said. "Davis, you snap. Tiny, go to the end. Nobody covers the center."
Tiny lumbered over to the Tight End spot. He told the ref, "I'm eligible." The ref nodded.
"Ready... Break!"
We lined up in an unbalanced formation.
"Hut!"
I faked the handoff to the running back. The entire Tyler defense crashed the middle, ignoring the fat kid who had shifted to the edge.
I rolled right. A defender was in my face.
I floated the ball over his head.
It hung in the air for an eternity.
Tiny was standing in the endzone, all alone. He looked like he was waiting for a bus.
The ball fell into his big, padded hands. He squeezed it so hard I thought it would pop.
Medford 22, Tyler 21.
The clock hit 0:00.
***
The Aftermath
Tiny spiked the ball. It bounced three feet high.
The team mobbed him. I limped over, smiling.
George Sr. met me at the 50-yard line. He looked like he had aged ten years in two hours.
"Tight End Eligible?" George asked, shaking his head. "You have a death wish, Cooper."
"He was open, Coach."
"Yeah," George smirked. "Fat guys usually are."
We survived Round 1.
But as I walked off the field, I saw the bracket posted on the fence.
Round 2 Opponent: The Carthage Bulldogs.
My stomach dropped. Carthage wasn't just a team. They were a dynasty. And they hadn't lost a game in three years.
[Quest Update: The State Path]
* Status: Round 1 Complete (Win).
* New Rank: Bi-District Champions.
* Next Opponent: Carthage (The Juggernaut).