Chapter 23
Fin
It was Saturday afternoon—game day in Crystal Light.
The Buffalo Bills vs the Lexington Coopers and the first scheduled game of the divisional championship round.
With my left shoulder and torso wrapped, beneath my pads and uniform, I looked like a mummy.
I didn’t care as long as I was listed as active.
Last Thursday, I spoke to Coach Pratt about the Bills’ defense, telling him the similarities I saw from my experience with the Falcons. He had the same lightbulb moment. In seconds we were discussing strategies and plays.
Over the last six days, we’d studied every aspect of the Buffalo Bills. We knew every strength and every weakness. The Coopers were as ready as we could be to take on our opponent.
I wouldn’t see my parents until after the game. Nevertheless, I knew they were high above in the Hubbard family suite. As AC/DC’s Thunderstruck blared from the sound system and lightning zig-zagged in the fog-filled tunnel, the team ran behind Coach Tilson and onto the field.
The booming voice of the Big Hurt, the Coopers’ hometown announcer, reverberated through the stadium. “Ladies and gentlemen, your Lex-ing-ton Coopers.”
The crowd above was in a frenzy. The Coopers amber filled the stands from the first row to the very top.
From the field, it appeared as if we were surrounded by an amber bowl.
The retractable roof was closed, giving us a comfortable and dry playing field.
Outside it was a balmy forty-eight degrees.
Just like in Green Bay, the winter weather didn’t keep our fans from showing up.
According to Vee, they turned out en masse for the Coopers’ pregame celebration last night.
Vee came home glowing with success. Earlier today, I saw her picture on the team’s website as she proposed a toast to all the season ticket holders in attendance.
There were also pictures of her in her coat, scarf, and gloves mingling with the fans outside.
If I didn’t love her for her, I would love her for her dedication to the team and fans. According to a few sports sites, Maeve Hubbard was stealing the hearts of football fans everywhere.
I caught a quick glimpse of the woman who stole my heart years ago, standing on the sideline in her cowboy boots, flowy long amber skirt, and a black scooped-neck blouse covered by a blue jean jacket.
Her brown hair was pulled back in a low ponytail.
And even though I haven’t been able to kiss her since yesterday—damn hotel togetherness the night before a game—with only seeing her from afar, I can hear the soft noises she makes and taste her lips.
A giant American flag was unraveled on the field, held tightly in place by war veterans, the oldest being a World War II pilot, who recently turned 101.
While he was pushed onto the field in a wheelchair, he was still holding the fabric.
The cameraman zeroed in on him; the gentleman’s face showed on the jumbotron. He had tears in his eyes.
Our team stood shoulder to shoulder as a local children’s choir sang our national anthem. My father’s pregame mantra, his directive to accomplish three objectives throughout the game ran through my mind.
Learn something—anything.
Never give up.
Play your absolute best, better than your last game, but not as good as your next.
I added another thought, a message not to my father but Vee’s.
‘I hope you’re watching. Thank you for taking a chance on me.’ Coach Pratt was right when he said there were rumors my career was over after LA. Standing with this team, playing for Vee, it was all more than I dreamed.
“Dennison and Johnson,” Coach Tilson called, “out for the coin toss.”
There was a good chance I wouldn’t see playing time. That didn’t stop the adrenaline from coursing through my circulation. I hopped from one foot to the other.
The official’s voice reverberated throughout the stadium. All five faces on the jumbotron. “Good afternoon, captains. Here is our coin.” He rotated the coin. “This is heads. This is tails. Buffalo, you are the visitors. You will call the toss. What is your call, heads or tails?”
Wilson, the quarterback from Buffalo answered.
The official repeated his answer. “The Bills choose heads.”
The official took a step back and tossed the coin into the air. It landed on the turf near his shoes. “It is tails. The Coopers win the coin toss.”
The fans cheered.
He looked at Troy and Malik. “Do you receive or defer.”
Troy Dennison answered.
The official repeated what was said. “The Coopers will defer. The Bills will receive first. Let’s have a good game.”
The Bills would have the first possession. We would have possession of the ball at the start of the second half. The Coopers’ kicking team ran out onto the field.
I turned to Vee, seeing her check her watch with a smile.
The game was on. Like the well-oiled machine the NFL was, everything was on time.
The kickoff landed in the end zone. The Bills would have the ball on their thirty-five-yard line.
It was time for our defense to go to work.
Marquette Wilson, their QB, had a solid long and short game.
I knew for a fact that our defense had studied his every move.
A smile curled my lips. If Marcel Pickett studied enough film, he would know every one of Wilson’s tells.
The Bills got a first down on our forty-six-yard line.
When the Bills were third and inches, the crowd was deafening.
Whistles blew, and yellow flags flew. The call was a time-clock violation, resulting in a five-yard penalty and replay of third down.
Now, they were on our forty-eight-yard line.
Once again, the crowd was on their feet.
The stadium was even louder with the roof closed.
Wilson stepped back with the ball.
Our defense was tight.
As Wilson checked his progressions, Tyler Wood, our nickelback, made it around the offensive line. Wilson tucked the ball and tried to deflect. Wood pulled him down with a loss of yards.
A sack.
The crowd erupted.
It was fourth and twenty-two. The Bills were forced to punt.
By the end of the first half, the Coopers were up 14–10. Dennison and the offense scored two touchdowns. The Bills made one touchdown and one field goal. The locker room vibrated with testosterone and nerves. The officials were calling a tight game.
“I don’t want penalties,” Coach Tilson said. “I know it can be loud. Our fans want this win. Do you?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Do you?”
Louder. “Yes, Coach.”
“Then go out there and get it.”
Back on the field, I stood near Coach Pratt as our kick return team caught the ball near the ten-yard line. Our kick returner made it all the way to the twenty-seven-yard line. I slapped Dennison’s shoulder pad as he ran out onto the field.
I heard Pratt’s call to Troy.
Our team was huddled.
With a clap, they dispersed to their positions.
The hometown crowd was quieter for our offense.
Spencer snapped the ball from shotgun formation; Dennison caught the snap and shuffled his feet. He sent the ball flying. It was a long pass. JD Downing was open. He turned as he hit his spot and caught the ball. He was wide open.
The crowd was on their feet as JD ran into the end zone.
“Touchdown, our Lex-ing-ton Coopers,” the Big Hurt roared.
Fireworks shot from the corners of the stadium.
Up on the jumbotron, I watched the replay. Dennison didn’t hesitate. He threw the perfect spiral. He and JD were hugging and jumping after the play. With the extra point, we were up 21–10.
The Bills scored a touchdown in the beginning of the fourth quarter.
After their score, the Bills’ coach sent their offense back onto the field for a two-point conversion.
It was a smart move. If they only scored one point, the score would be 21–17, a four-point differential.
If they score two points, the score would be 21–18, a field goal away from a tie.
I held my breath as the Bills’ offense lined up.
Wilson handed the ball off to his fullback. Our defense came forward. Their fullback tucked the ball and ran a lateral route.
“The ball is out,” Pratt screamed.
Marcel Pickett scooped up the ball and started running. Garnet Warner blocked to Pickett’s side.
Big Hurt was calling the play in real time. “Pickett is at the fifty, the forty, the thirty…”
The entire stadium was on their feet.
“…the twenty, the ten. He’s in the end zone. A Lexington Coopers’ defensive two-point conversion.”
Everyone was slapping Pickett’s shoulders as he came back to the bench winded.
The score was 23–16.
I watched the replay on the big screen. The ball slipped from their fullback’s grasp. It was Pickett’s quick reaction that got us two points.
The Bills’ kicking team was on the field.
By the end of the game, the Bills scored one more field goal.
The Coopers won 23–19.
As the final seconds ticked off the clock, I searched for Vee. Clenching her clipboard, she stood, staring up at the jumbotron. Under the bright lights, her tears glistened on her cheeks. “We did it, baby,” I whispered.
Even though I hadn’t played one play during the game, I was elated with the win.
“No playing time,” Josh Jackson said to me.
My smile was unrestrained. “Front row to a hell of a great game.”
He nodded with a grin.
We headed toward the tunnel. Vee was standing near the entrance. “Great game, Ms. Hubbard,” I said with a wink.
“Fantastic, Mr. Graham.”