All Lined Up

“Tonight is our night, gentlemen. They may call it homecoming for the alumni and the tradition and the festivities, but for us today that grass is your home. It’s yours to protect, yours to control. Today is the day where we put that number three behind us, and bring home win number four. Today we let go of the past, and move on to our future. Today, I expect you to leave absolutely everything you have on that field. If we have to drag each other back into this locker room, bloody and exhausted and in pain, that’s okay. Because we’ll be dragging that win in with us.”

He steps over toward the exit, and I notice a tarp hanging over the door that wasn’t there before. We all remain where we are while Coach reaches up and tugs the thing down.

In clean black letters just above the door, it reads:

“No Easy Days.”

“Today, we start a new tradition, gentlemen. It’s time we let go of the old Rusk. We’re no longer one of the weakest teams in the conference. We’ve been put through the fire, and we’ve come out stronger for it. Now who’s ready to prove it?”

We surge to our feet with a roar, and I let myself be carried away by the energy of the group. Our bodies crash into one another as we raise our hands up and scream.

As we line up and file out the door, each player reaches up and slaps a hand on the phrase above the door.

And I know as I stare at those words that it’s the hard days that end up being the most important in the end.

Four fifteen-minute quarters. That’s all we’ve got.

I can lay it all out there for sixty minutes, and I trust that my team will do the same.

We gather in the blow-up tunnel that leads from our locker room out onto the field. They’ve got the fog machines going, so that it’s hard to see anything that isn’t right in front of us.

The crowd is deafening outside, and I make my way up to the front of the team, and Silas is there waiting for me. I’m still a little unsure how to feel about the guy, but he’s undeniably the other leader of this team.

We’re nothing alike. Where I’m all about discipline and focus, Moore is pure heart. I wouldn’t trust him with a thing off this field, but on it, I know he’ll always have my back, and he’ll give it everything he’s got.

When everyone is inside the tunnel, huddled close, I shout, “Are we ready?”

The team roars back.

Silas shouts, “Will today be easy?”

The returned “No” drowns out even the crowd.

I yell, “How many wins are we leaving with today?”

“Four!”

Silas and I turn to face the end of the tunnel, and the team howls behind us.

When we burst out of the tunnel and out onto the field, my ears ring from the noise, even through my helmet.

I don’t let myself look at the stands, knowing I wouldn’t be able to find Dallas in the masses even if I did.

Coach catches me before we head out for the coin flip. He places his hand on my helmet. He does this before every game. Usually he looks past my face guard, into my eyes, and asks, “You got this?”

It’s become our routine.

Today, though, it’s different. He looks at me for a few long seconds, and then in lieu of his normal question he nods and makes a statement instead.

“You’ve got this.”

From the start, luck is on our side, and we win the coin flip.

We receive, and Brookes catches the opening kick and tears up the field. Moore sticks with him, blocking as they run. Brookes goes down just past the fifty, and then it’s my turn.

The stadium is loud right up until the moment I take the field, and then it all just disappears. There’s no nerves, no fear, no nothing. Instead it feels exactly like Coach said . . . like I’ve come home.

I’ve spent hours and days and years preparing for this, so now I can just turn off everything else and do what I know how to do. I run, and I pass, and I hand off, interspersed with hits and misses.

But I just get back up. I keep going. We’re a team, and the more we play, the more we begin to click together, each person doing their part to move the overall machine.

When I’m not on the field, I walk the sidelines, checking in with the other players. I talk them up when they need it, listen when they tell me what’s working and what’s not.

One quarter passes, then another.

Halftime is a blur of coaches and plays and analyzing what’s happened so far.

When the final buzzer sounds, and we’ve won by six, it almost doesn’t feel real. Not even with the team surrounding me, screaming. Not even when Coach is in front of me, his hand back on my helmet, reminding me that I can take it off now. I pull it off, and all the noise rushes back in.

It takes me a few seconds to tune in to what Coach is saying. I miss all of it but the end.

“You did good, son.”

The field is flooding with students decked out in red, and the team is making their escape back into the locker room. I follow, a smile tugging at my face as it all starts to settle in.

Win number four.

I don’t know what’s coming next. Our hardest games of the season are still ahead of us, and I don’t know if we’re good enough yet, but I know we’re better than we’ve ever been.

I know I’m better than I’ve ever been.

And when my eyes land on Dallas waiting for me near the entrance to the locker room, wearing one of my workout shirts with my number and name written across the back . . .

Well, things just keep getting better.

She throws her arms over my shoulders, lifts up onto her tiptoes, and kisses me. And once again, all the other noise disappears.