1.

 

The dopey offensive tackle is shaking and has the yips. He can get it any way he wants. I got so many tools in my bag—swim, spin, rip, anything. I get down in a three-point stance and smile at him, but he won’t look at me. The ball gets snapped, and I move my inside arm like I’m trying to hook him and get around the edge. His feet move sideways then I drive right into him—bullrush—and put him on his ass. I step over him, and I’m on the QB’s blindside. He sees me at the last second, but it’s too late, and I explode through him. The ball comes out. It’s worth the risk of a flag when you’re trying to knock the ball out and change the game. That’s what Coach Gregory always said. That’s what it means to be a playmaker.

 

I’m basically Charles Haley from the Cowboys. You can double-team him, throw three guys at him, but he’s still gonna find a way to be disruptive. The only difference is he’s playing on Sundays at Texas Stadium, and I’m down here in Corpus. Imagine the two of us together, one on each side.

 

The QB still hasn’t gotten up, and everyone is crowding around him. He’s athletic and has a good arm, but he’s soft. I tell him to get up. He’s in full pads, and I’ve just got on sweats and a t-shirt. Someone starts yelling Daytona from the other side of the field, and I don’t even have to look to know it’s Coach Juarez. I knew it wouldn’t be long. He’s had it out for me since seventh grade, since I first stepped onto this field. Then he tried sabotaging me with Coach Gregory at Tuloso. I know he told him I’m a bad kid.

 

Now Coach Juarez is saying he’s calling the police, that he’s not bluffing this time. He starts walking inside. He’s probably not gonna call anyone, but it’s not worth the risk. I tell him I’m leaving. I walk off the field and onto the sidewalk along the guardrail by the road that goes up to Granny’s neighborhood, Cactus Basin. If Juarez was a man he would’ve done something about it himself instead of calling the cops. He’s mad because he knows the kids really listen to me and respect me. They know he’s just some old burnout. The game has passed him by. I walk past where the trees start and get out of sight. I can see them, but they can’t see me. Juarez doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything.

 

I could play in the NFL if I wanted to, but it’s not my calling. The thing with football is you could be the best player God ever put on Earth, but if the man next to you doesn’t do his job, you could still lose. The running back could fumble. The receiver could drop the ball. I don’t wanna rely on anyone but myself.

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