Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
BO
We arrive by buses at the stadium two hours before game time.
Then we make our way down the Walk of Champions from the entrance of the field to the stadium gates.
On our way in, I have my headphones on so I can keep the noise of the fans lining the walkway from distracting me.
Casey’s by my side, but I see him veer off to say hello to his parents, sister, and Noelle.
I wave when they look my way, and I think Charlie wishes me luck, but I just nod and keep walking.
I can’t really talk to anyone before we play.
I like to be mentally prepared and usually walk through plays in my mind, and I can’t do that if I lose my concentration.
I don’t even look at my phone until after the game.
I always let my playlist run until it’s time to get dressed.
Even then, I’ll set my headphones on the shelf and leave them running.
Once I get to my stall, I sit and start to take my dress shoes off.
We’re required to wear suits on game days, which I don’t mind, but I can’t wait to get these shoes off.
Then I stand and pull out my warm-up gear from the top shelf of the locker and set it on the bench.
I’m unbuttoning my shirt by the time Casey comes in.
Coach enters the locker room and whistles to get our attention. I remove one side of my headphones to listen.
“You all have about ten minutes to be ready for warm-ups. Get moving.” He claps his hands a few times.
My teammates turn back to their lockers and start moving a little faster. I do too. I get my pants off then pull up my gym shorts. I grab my cleats and prop one foot on my bench and loosely tie the laces, then do the other foot.
I look over at Casey when I’m ready, and he nods. I still have one headphone off, which he knows means he can talk to me now.
“After we stretch, you wanna throw the ball around?” he asks.
“Yep. Let me get my arm and shoulder worked out and stretched first. I’m definitely in the mood to launch some rockets today, so I hope you’re ready.” I hold out my fist, and he bumps it with his.
“You know it. Let’s do it.”
Once on the field, I run through my stretches and drills until I feel loose. Phil Collins is in my ear, banging on the drums, singing about what’s coming in the air tonight, and I’m feelin’ it. I air-drum along with him a few times and sing a little too. Not too loud though. My voice is shit.
I see the coaches and some of the other guys start to head back into the locker room, so I toss the ball I’m holding to one of the equipment managers and jog toward the locker room.
I look up at the Jumbotron and see myself, so I lift a hand and smile, which causes some cheering.
I hold up my index finger just before I enter the tunnel and hear more cheering.
Being a leader on the field and really in the eyes of the nation can hold a lot of pressure.
When I first came to Walker, it all felt pretty intense, but having Liam Pitz as a mentor helped me keep things in perspective and reminded me why I was here.
And I remind myself of it every time I walk into the locker room.
It’s my job to get out on that field every weekend and have fun and win some football games. Plain and simple
It’s about twenty minutes until game time, and we’re all feeling the energy in the room.
“Thunderstruck” is blasting through the speakers, and I nod my head along to the beat.
Coach has already given us his speech, so it’s my turn.
I start clapping my hands to get their attention and walk into the center of the room.
“I want you guys to think about one thing today. Think about what you had to do to get here. The drive, the determination, the work ethic—all of it brought us to this day.” I look around the room at my teammates.
“And today is our fucking day!” I clap my hands.
“This is our field! The eighty-five thousand fans sitting in the stands are ours!” I pace the circle, looking at each player as I pass.
“They came here to see us win! This is our time! And this is our motherfuckin’ house! ”
The locker room erupts in noise. My teammates are jumping up and down, getting hyped.
“Who are we?” I yell.
“STALLIONS!”
“I said, who are we?” I hold my hand to my ear and bend forward.
“STALLIONS!”
“Whose house is this?” I hold up my hand.
“OUR HOUSE!”
“Let’s go take what’s ours, boys!” I clap my hands. “Bring it in.”
Everyone huddles around me and each other.
“Stallions on three. One, two, three, STALLIONS!”
We break up and grab our helmets from our stalls, and run out to the tunnel leading to the field.
Game day at Walker is unlike anything else I’ve ever seen on any other campus.
Our stadium sells out for every game. The noise of our eighty-plus thousand fans, the band, the announcers over the loudspeakers—it’s enough to get your blood pumping.
I make my way through my teammates until I reach the front, standing behind Coach. Casey comes to stand next to me, and then Silas stands on my other side.
“Let’s go, QB1!” Silas hits my helmet.
I rock back and forth on my feet and roll my neck, ready to get out there.
The horses that run out onto the field at the beginning of every game are in position.
The banners on either side of us are flying.
The smoke machines are already smoking. As soon as the band starts playing our fight song, we get the signal and run onto the field behind Coach.
I put my helmet on as I run to the sideline.
“Testing,” I say into the microphone inside my helmet.
“All clear, six,” my offensive coordinator says in my ear.
The plays are called to me into my helmet from the coaches and offensive coordinators in the booth.
“Stay light on your feet today, Bo. They’re gonna try to blitz every chance they get. Watch, look, and listen,” one of them says.
“Got it.” I take a ball from one of the trainers and start tossing it to one of the coaches to stay loose.
After throwing a few back and forth, I look up at the clock and see we only have a few minutes left until the game starts.
I toss the ball one more time to the coach and jog down to the end zone.
A few guys—including Casey, Silas, and the Griffith twins—join me.
I take a knee and remove my helmet and set it next to me.
I drop my head, close my eyes, and do what I need to do to get my mind right.
Then I tap my chest with two fingers, kiss the tips, and raise them toward the sky, looking up.
Now … I’m ready to win.
The first half of the game went by fast, with us scoring three easy touchdowns.
One was a pass to Casey for a forty-five-yard touchdown.
The next one was with one of our running backs who took over for Beck, Jake DiAngelo.
The third one was to Ace Griffith, who is a tight end.
He’s got the size of his brother Archie, but Ace is faster on his feet.
It’s the fourth quarter now. The Kansas Jayhawks came back from the half at full force, and they’re hungry for a comeback. Their defense has been all over me, and we can’t make any progress. We’re at third down on their twenty-five.
“Okay, boys. Let’s make something happen.” I hear the call in my ear and repeat it to my team. “O Near Sixty-Two F Angle Ohio.”
We all clap and line up on the line of scrimmage.
When I get into position behind our center, I scan the defense to look for any break or change in their formation. I glance over at Casey briefly to let him know he’s getting the pass.
I call out my all-go call-sign signal. “Red thirty-two, red thirty-two, set, hut.”
I catch the ball, and I have seconds to throw before a lineman tackles me. I see Casey juke and run his route, looking over his shoulder for the ball I send spiraling toward him. He catches it over his shoulder and brings it to his chest just as I get tackled, so I don’t see where he landed.
The whistle blows, and a flag is thrown because of the late hit I took, which gives us an automatic first down, even though we got it with Casey’s catch. We move to the two-yard line.
“We’re going Mario on this one. Break.” I clap, and we break.
Mario is our call sign for a tush push, which places my linemen behind me once the ball is snapped and they shove me through the Hawks’ defense and into the end zone.
“Red thirty-two, red thirty-two, set, hut!”
When the ball snaps, I grab it easily from my center, and my teammates shove me through their line for the touchdown. I hear the whistle blow, and the crowd erupts.
Once my teammates pull me out of the pile, we run over to the cheering sideline.
Coach Pettys grabs my helmet as I come to stand next to him. “Helluva game, kid!” He smacks my helmet and laughs.
Our kicker and special teams go out to the field, and we secure our win.
I run out onto the field as the clock winds down and shake their quarterback’s hand, along with a few other guys I’ve gotten to know over the years.
Then our media manager comes over to me and takes my elbow. “Bo, we need you over here.” She leads me over toward the camera crew near the tunnel.
“Congratulations on your win, Bo. You had an amazing fourteen out of seventeen passes completed in the fourth. What was clicking for you that late in the game?” the reporter, Holly, asks me, microphone in hand.
“Thanks. Yeah, I just felt like everything was working for us, and I hit a good stride to finish it out.” I lean down when she starts to speak again because I can hardly hear her over the crowd noise.
“You have a lot of pressure this year to get another title. How are you managing it?” she asks.
“I’m just taking it one game at a time, Holly.” I give her my best media smile and nod.
“Thanks, Bo.” She shakes my hand and drops the microphone, and the cameraman turns the camera off of us. “I look forward to watching the rest of your season.”
“Appreciate you, Holly. See you soon.” I give her a two-finger wave as I walk away and into the tunnel.
When I get into the locker room, everyone is celebrating the win, and music is blasting through the speakers.
Our media manager comes over to me at my locker. “You have ten minutes to get undressed and into the press room.”
“Got it.” I nod and start to pull off my pads.
Coach Pettys comes in and gives his speech. He hands the game ball to Casey. He had seventy-two yards today and two touchdowns. If Casey averages the same yardage in each game, he’ll be a first-round draft pick for sure.
I set my pads on the ground in front of my stall and then grab my phone from the top shelf. I haven’t looked at it since early this morning. There’s a new text from my dad and one from Chelsea. I look at hers first.
Chelsea: Congrats on your win!
Bo: Did you catch any of the game?
Chelsea: I didn’t, sorry! We just got back from the airboat ride. I’ll watch some of the highlights though.
Bo: My number is six in case you forgot.
Chelsea: Oh, I know. Star of Walker University.
Bo: Ha! Casey was the star today. Wait till you see some of those clips.
Chelsea: Awesome! I bet Noelle is excited. I’ll text her.
Bo: I have to run to press now, but talk later?
Chelsea: I’ll be here.
My name is called before I can reply, so I set my phone back on the shelf. I really need to change my shirt at the very least. I’m soaked. Sarah, one of our trainers, walks by, and I reach out to her.
“Hey, Sarah. Can you see about getting me a fresh T-shirt quickly?”
“Sure thing. Give me a sec.” She hurries away and comes back a few minutes later and tosses me a fresh T-shirt.
“Thanks. You’re the best.” I wink at her, which only makes her roll her eyes, making me laugh.
I pull my phone out again and look at my dad’s text. He’s been blowing up my phone with texts lately about staying focused on my future and not getting distracted. It’s strange in a way. He’s never been this persistent before.
Dad: Great game today, son.
Dad: I know you’re busy, Bo, but it’s important that I speak with you as soon as possible. This isn’t negotiable.
If he had left it at the first text, I probably would have at least replied with a thank-you. But I’m not in the mood for a lecture about staying focused after a win like this, so I’ll pass.
I put my phone back on the shelf and shake off thoughts of my father, refocusing on what I need to do next.
When I walk into the press room, I see the reporters all holding their phones in their hands, notepads on their laps.
I take a seat at the table and adjust the microphone. “Hey, everyone.”
Murmured hellos are returned.
“Let’s get this started so I can go catch my shower. I stink.” I run a hand through my sweat-soaked hair. “All right, who’s up first?”