First and Goal

“With one second left on the clock, the Hounds call time out. What play do you think they’ll call, Jim?” the play-by-play announcer asked.

Darrin Houghton ran his hands through his hair and sat on the edge of the couch. Dolly, his tri-colored, basset hound puppy sat next to him. She stared at the TV screen, shifting from one paw to the other, and whined as if she understood what was going on.

“Well, Ted, the Hounds are on the twenty-seven yard line. A field goal will do them no good, they’re down by four. They need a touchdown. They haven’t gotten the running game going at all, so my guess is it’s got to be a pass,” Jim, the play analyst replied. “They’ve got two pro-bowl receivers in Benson and Hill. They’ll probably go with one of them.”

“Right, Jim. Here they come. The Hounds have an empty backfield, with two receivers wide right, and two wide left.”

Darrin crossed his fingers and muttered, “Come on, come on.”

Dolly stood up, her tail thumping the back of the couch.

“Here’s the snap…and there’s a penalty flag,” the announcer said.

The referee ran up, consulted with his fellow officials, then faced the camera and, rotating his fists around one another, called out, “Prior to the snap, False start, number eighty-eight, offense. Five yard penalty. Repeat fourth down.”

Darrin clasped his head with both hands and stood up. “Brad! No! Brad!” he groaned.

Dolly lay down, head between her paws.

“That backs them up to the thirty-two. Here they come up to the line. This time they have three receivers left and the tight end, number eighty-eight, Grabosky, out to the right.”

Darrin started pacing, rubbing his hands together. Dolly watched him, her head following his every move, her long ears swaying with the motion.

“There’s the snap. None of the receivers are open. The quarterback is scrambling. Looks like Thomas is going to be sacked. That’ll be the game.”

“Shit!” Darrin shouted.

Dolly stood, threw her head back, and gave a deep basset bay.

“Wait, he dumps it off on a screen to Grabosky. The pass is complete. Grabosky takes off. He breaks a tackle, and another one.”

“Go Brad!” Darrin yelled, jumping up and down.

Dolly barked in excitement.

“Grabosky is tiptoeing down the sideline, trying to stay inbounds. Harris is closing in. Grabosky is on the five. He dives for the pylon! Touchdown! What a play! Hounds win! They’re another step closer to a division title and home field advantage in the playoffs!”

Darrin screamed, “Yes!”

He danced around the room. Dolly jumped off the couch and ran in circles, barking wildly. Darrin watched as his boyfriend was mobbed by his teammates. When Brad emerged from the pile, he did his victory dance. Darrin laughed. Brad had begged Darrin to teach him some sort of dance to use for touchdown celebrations. All the players did that, he’d explained. Darrin, a trained professional dancer, tried his best, but while Brad Grabosky might be a fantastic football player, as a dancer he sucked, big time.

“Guess we’ll have to work on that a bit more,” Darrin said to Dolly, who cocked her head.

When Brad was done with his victory performance, he took the ball and handed it to a little boy in the stands. The camera followed him as he trotted off the field. The female sideline reporter called him over. She began the interview by asking how he felt about scoring the winning touchdown

Darrin chuckled as Brad politely answered the question. Darrin knew what Brad really wanted to say. Darrin had heard him here at home many times, “What the fuck! Those dumb questions the airheaded reporters ask. Someday I’m gonna say, ‘How do I feel about what? Oh, you mean the touchdown? Well, Tracey, my balls itch so bad from this tight jockstrap and sweat right now that the only thing I can think of is givin’ ‘em a good scratch. Ya want to help me out with that?’”

When the interview was done, Brad blew a kiss into the camera and jogged off.

Darrin knew that kiss was meant for him. He blew the kiss back.

“We won, Dolly. We won.” He pulled the little dog to him and hugged her. She responded by licking his nose.

Switching off the TV, Darrin took a deep breath and let the adrenalin rush subside. As he walked to the bathroom for a shower, he shook his head. If anyone would have told him a year ago he’d be an avid football fan, he would have laughed his ass off. He’d cared very little about sports most of his life, channeling his substantial athletic abilities into dance. But that all changed when Brad Grabosky came into his life.