Speed Kills

I backed off. Not because of any fear or any doubt, but because I wanted to see what was so special about 88, if anything. I thought that there surely had to be something that made this douche feel arrogant enough to warn me of all people.

He was fast off his mark. I should've expected as much from a supposed track athlete. I watched his hips as I backpedalled; he had no intention of slowing down or stopping—this wasn't going to be a curl or a comeback.

Shit! This guy wasn't doing anything. He had no thought in his mind of even trying to fake a curl or make any kind of double move. He wasn't looking to cut inside or outside, he was just sprinting ahead like he was in a fucking race.

I turned my hips but I was already slow and late to react to him. I could only watch as he started to edge past me as we were neck and neck. He'd gotten a step on me and I couldn't catch up.

He was fast.

I took my eyes off him and looked back to find the ball. It wasn't in the air coming our way, but the QB wasn't even looking at us. His focus was on the opposite side of the field.

When he flung the ball that way, my eyes scanned the field to see who his target was and what the coverage was like over there.

He was targeting what was probably the smallest Receiver on their team—number 17, who was still six feet tall from what I could guess—but the guy was wide open. Deshaun was still trying to turn himself back around as he'd already committed to covering the streak down the sideline.

17 had stopped on a dime and was patiently waiting for the ball nine yards past the line of scrimmage.

It was an easy catch. But by the time the ball was in 17's hands, Deshaun had recovered and was in a great position to make the tackle, even as 17 whirled around and did his best to get around Deshaun.

When 17 was dragged to the ground it ended up being an eleven-yard play, and just like that, the chains had been moved on the Monsoon's first snap of offence.

Both teams huddled up to go over their next play. Deshaun was cursing himself, but JJ gave him a pat on the shoulder and told him to keep his head up.

The mood of the rest of the players was a bit tense, but they all offered some supportive words. I kept quiet, and Deshaun didn't look my way—he probably thought I'd be sneering at him and eager to kick him while he was down.

JJ had his focus on our sideline, watching the signal from Coach Huong. When he got the message, he relayed it to the rest of us to make sure we understood our assignments.

We ended the huddle with another cry of 'Crush!' before we made our separate ways over to our spots on the field. Once again I was lined up in front of 88.

This time, I knew the rest of the team wouldn't be covering a man themselves. I was the only one who was still assigned to shutting down a single target, whereas everyone else would be dropping back to cover a part of the field in a Zone.

In the build-up before the snap of the ball, I looked over to our sideline. I couldn't help but smile at Coach Huong. He seemed to know what he was doing at least and already knew how to utilise me best.

'I had you last time. You still wanna be this close, pipsqueak?' 88 asked me. I looked up at the smug douche standing in front of me and flashed him a grin. I stayed right where I was—close enough to touch him.

Douche shook his head, grinning down at me. Our staring match was short-lived, the calm before the storm was eviscerated by the sharp call of 'Hut!' from their QB and then everyone burst into motion.

I was more prepared for Douche's speed this time and backed off further, watching him like a hawk. But he didn't rush forward this time, instead, he took off at an angle, slanting towards the middle of the field straight away.

My eyes lit up. I knew that my teammates would be there to cover me, namely JJ, and I couldn't wait to see what would happen if Douche ran straight into a brick wall like that.

I covered him, but stayed on his outside hip and just a step or two behind him, even bumping him forward more as I led him right where I wanted him.

My eyes flashed to the QB, he was staring down Douche and his arm pulled back to make the throw. I changed my trajectory and undercut Douche. The ball was let loose.

My eyes narrowed; right away I could tell I wouldn't be able to make the catch. I had stayed just too far behind in my attempt to bait the throw so I wasn't in the right spot to intercept the pass when I sprang my trap.

Douche had his eyes locked on the ball—he was completely blind to the hulking brute barrelling down on him.

At practically the same time that I swatted the ball from the air and spiked it into the turf, JJ crunched Douche with a hard hit, smashing his shoulder square into Douche's chest.

Douche crumpled and slammed into the ground with a thud. He curled up and writhed around, trying to regain his breath.

I slapped JJ on the helmet. 'Great hit, man!' I grinned down at Douche, leaning down a bit. 'You good down there, 88?' I laughed but JJ ushered me away to our huddle as some of Douche's teammates ran over and helped him back onto his feet.

JJ received more admiration and praise for his hit from the others. Deshaun even muttered something about my pass break-up just loud enough for me to hear. We went with the same formation and the same Zone.

When I got in front of Douche again he was still rubbing at his chest a bit and sucking in air. I looked over to the QB, keeping quiet before this snap.

But when everyone else jumpstarted into motion, 88 stayed right where he was. It was a run. The Shorty RB, number 32, took the ball and jammed straight up the gut of our defence, following his Line as they pushed forward with all their strength.

They were breaking through, but our LBs were quick to respond, JJ once again leading the charge as he rushed forward and plugged up the gap in our broken Line, and the next wave of defenders was able to take down Shorty after a seven-yard run.

We met in the huddle again, the message this time was that we needed just one more stop before our job was done and we could let our offence take over.

But they didn't have much further to go now, and that first run added another threat to look out for. All they needed was three more yards and then they'd get a fresh set of downs to try again and do whatever they want.

As such, we came out of our soft, backed off Zone, and put more bodies closer to the line of scrimmage so as to cover the run; Coach Huong obviously saw that as the greatest threat at this distance.

I was still matched up with Douche, but he was still huffing and puffing like crazy.

'Maybe you should stay in your lane. Go back to running laps if you can't handle one little hit,' I said.

He glared at me and grit his teeth but didn't say anything in retaliation. How boring.

Again the ball was snapped and again Douche didn't make any move. It looked like it'd just be another run as the coaches expected.

But this time, when the QB and Shorty broke away from one another, the QB still had the ball. Play Action? That's a lot more interesting.

I shot backwards, Douche already in motion now and going to sprint right past me. Man, are Slants and Streaks all this douche can do?

I knew I had help in the middle, but even he seemed to have learned that lesson too. Maybe he isn't as dumb as he looks. He was fading to the outside, pushing closer and closer towards the sideline as he ran by me.

I ground my teeth against my mouthguard. He was a step ahead of me, again, and breaking away further thanks to catching me off guard. How was I tricked by something so simple?! While I mentally berated myself I tried my hardest to catch up, fully turning around to chase after him.

I looked over my shoulder, and this time the ball was already on its way towards us. It soared through the air as 88 looked back at it as well and readied his hands to catch it over his shoulder.

It was out of reach for me, but I thought something was odd about the pass, it felt like it was too far past us. If I couldn't reach it, it had to have been overthrown and there was no way Douche could reach it either.

I could barely believe my eyes when the ball dropped into his hands and he pulled it tight against his chest, securing the catch. I shoved him down, and he hit the ground hard, but he held onto the ball.

But relief washed over me—he was out of bounds, and from the signalling of the officials nearby, he had been out when he made the catch. It was ruled incomplete, and the hopes of the Monsoon's first offensive drive had been snuffed out just like that.

It had been overthrown. Maybe he and his QB had learned another lesson after that play—the sideline is the 12th defender in American Football.

I made our way over to our bench, sitting down and drinking a mouthful of water. The coaches all encouraged and praised the defence for our efforts. I looked to Coach Long and then I watched who went out to return the other team's punt.

Again it was another shorty, one of our RBs this time. Some scrawny white kid who was only a bit bigger than me and wore number 23. I hadn't paid much attention to him during practice and I couldn't even remember his name.

The punt was decent, and not much happened with the return, he only went forward several yards before he was swarmed and taken down.

Then it was time for our offence to take the field for the first time that night. With it being a home game, there were plenty of cheers from the excited crowd to see their boys open the scoring with a touchdown.

I sat back, I still felt fresh, even with all the sprinting trying to keep up with that speedy douche. But my eyes stayed focused on our offence, I wanted to see how well they'd do in an actual game.

It wasn't anything impressive, but I still never took my eyes off them. That hippie-looking QB of ours, Jay, was pretty relaxed in the pocket. From what I saw of the first drive, we usually went with a formation that made use of two RBs coming out of the backfield as they flanked Jay who was back waiting for the snap in Shotgun.

We certainly didn't move the ball that fast or that far in one go, but it was like we ground the opposition down bit by bit, taking what we could where we could get it and steadily progressing whether it was through the air or on the ground.

All those short-yard gains from dumping it off to the RBs in the flat or handing it off, or finding a big-bodied Receiver across the middle would pile up, and eventually, the offence made it down to just in front of the Monsoon's goal line. That's when things switched up and there was a different focal point of the attack.

Stephen was left isolated on one side of the field as the only Receiver out there, while another Lineman ran out to further reinforce the tank that was our Line that would slowly chug forward without stopping.

JJ even ran out there as Jay transitioned from Shotgun to being Under Center, ready to have the ball handed straight to him from the snap. With JJ behind him as the Fullback (FB) to lead the way for that scrawny little Christian McCaffrey wannabe.

The stage was set for a simple contest of power, with our strongest players against theirs to see whose Line would win in an all out war. But American Football was rarely as simple as that.

When the ball was snapped and Jay backtracked away from the Center, he never even thought of handing the ball off for someone else to run it in. His eyes were locked on Stephen and the undersized CB left on an island with him.

The ball was lofted high in the air. It wasn't a perfect pass, but it was good enough—it was thrown up to where Stephen, and Stephen alone, could catch it.

They made the touchdown look so simple, and the kick for the extra point attempt afterwards went off even more smoothly. Just like that, we were up 7–0.

It was our kickoff again, and their Shorty was back to return it again. This time he avoided JJ's side of the field and was able to squeeze out a few more yards from his shifty run, letting his team start at the thirty-four-yard line.

As I got up and went to make my way out onto the field, Coach Huong stopped me again.

'Samuels. Be careful out there. I don't want to have to give you help over the top, but don't get beat deep. You were lucky it was thrown just out of bounds last time. But remember, giving up ten yards is a lot better than a touchdown.'

I clenched my fists but didn't say anything—it wouldn't be good to shout at one of my coaches for being a fucking idiot in the middle of the game. I stormed out onto the field and took up my spot, we were back in our run-stopping formation.

Douche was lined up in front of me again, a determined look on his smug, punchable face.

'I had you, again. I'll get you this time, bitch,' he said with a snarl. I glared up at him, staying silent. I was going to let my game speak for me now.

The ball was snapped, and this guy really was a one-trick pony. He ran straight ahead, still no feints, still no other thoughts behind those vacant, dumb eyes of his.

I ran with him, turning my hips and putting my back to the ball to keep up with him as he continued straight ahead. It was just me and him running down the sideline shoulder to shoulder, with nothing in front of us except green grass.

He was beginning to pull away again. It was unacceptable. There was no way I was gonna lose to this trash. The ball was held a second longer this time—they were going for it all.

When the ball left the QB's hand, his arm was surprisingly strong. It flew out like a rocket and seemed like it'd soar past us both again. But that was when Douche accelerated even further.

I pumped my legs and arms even faster. Our bodies bumped against one another but we didn't get tangled and we both kept running without missing a stride.

He was ahead of me, the ball was going to reach him perfectly and I couldn't catch up. It would be a touchdown on their first offensive possession right after our own touchdown, I could see it clearly.

There was no way I could let that happen. I had to make the possible impossible right then and there. NOTHING was out of reach of my arms.

I kept my eyes on the ball, watching it all the way, and right before it could land right in Douche's waiting lap, I threw myself in its path, my arm outstretched as far as it could go.

The moment I felt the leather of the ball grace my long fingers I reeled it in, my hand and arm clamping around the ball and hugging it tight under my armpit as I crashed on top of Douche who had also dived for the ball.

I bounced and rolled over the top of him, coming to a stop on my knees in front of him. I slowly raised up to my feet, still clutching my prize close to my heart as I stared down at him, euphoria washing over me.

He had such a pleasing look on his face. The kind of look you get when you stare down the barrel of a gun and realise how hopeless your situation is.

A look filled with despair that is only attainable after your greatest pride and strength has been so overwhelmingly crushed that you lose all faith in yourself.

Seeing that look on the faces of my enemies, that is what I lived for.