Chapter 7

The kickoff for the scrimmage was scheduled for seven. A line started forming an hour before the front gates opened at six. Unlike the regular season, seats for the Black and White game, were first-come, first serve.

There was a buzz in the air, even for a scrimmage between teammates. The parents and relatives wore black or white shirts, depending on which color their favorite player wore.

The players dressed side-by-side, just like any other practice or game. But there was not the usual horseplay or joking. As soon as they dressed, the players divided up and met with their coaches.

The teams went through their warm-ups on different ends of the field. Cole used an officiating crew, just like a real game.

Usually in the Black and White game, the younger players were a little intimidated from taking on older players who were more experienced, bigger, faster and stronger. This sophomore class was not the usual group, however. Stub was a little surprised to hear his guys talk about winning the game, not just being competitive.

This group was not used to losing and did not see any reason why this game should be different. There were a bunch of reasons, of course, but nobody bothered telling the sophomores.

After the warm-ups were completed, the captains met at the center of the field for the coin toss. The stands on both sides were almost full. There were just as many people standing at the concession areas and along the fence that ran behind the Petros sideline. This was where most of the guys stood, old Panthers who visited with friends and former teammates, instead of sitting in the stands with wives and girlfriends.

The White team won the toss and deferred until the second half. The Black team decided to take the ball. As his team huddled around him, the players wondered why Stub was smiling.

Stub told his team what to do. The players looked around at each other like their coach should probably be committed, but nobody questioned him, at least out loud.

They lined up in kicking formation, the same way Petros had done for years. Lucky would kick for the Whites. The officials instructed him to proceed and he slowly approached the ball, but instead of trying to hammer the ball, Lucky gently tapped it, sending the ball bouncing slowly down the field.

The Black team’s front row of blockers had already turned and was running down the field in the opposite direction, not hearing their teammates holler for them to turn around.

Lucky ran behind the ball, waiting for it to go ten yards. When the football finally crossed midfield, he fell on it, making sure the ball could not squirt free. His teammates started celebrating, both on the field and the sidelines. A small portion of the stands also cheered and clapped loudly while the majority of the fans looked at each other, trying to figure out how that happened.

Ichabod had not let loose with an obscenity in some twenty years, but had to bite his tongue to keep from letting one fly.

The other coaches knew Stub was not afraid to do some strange things and that he would probably be a good gambler if it wasn’t against his morals. Knowing the odds were stacked against him, he decided to roll the dice again.

Stub knew how good the Panthers’ starting defense was and that if the defense did not loosen up, it would be a long night for his offense.

He sent the play in to Lucky, who relayed it to his teammates. The play started off normal enough. Lucky took the snap, pitching back to D.J. going to his left, following behind Happy. Richard Wyatt was lined up on that side of the field as flanker. As the ball was snapped, he took off toward the middle of the field.

Richard took the handoff from D.J. and sprinted toward the other side of the field. Suddenly, Richard pulled up, raised the ball and threw it downfield toward where Lucky was waiting. He had snuck deep into the secondary after pitching the ball back to D.J. After he got behind everybody, Lucky had the secondary burned by at least fifteen yards when Richard released the pass. It wasn’t the prettiest pass the citizens of Petros had ever seen, but it looked good to the White team as Lucky waited for the ball to reach him, grabbed it and took off.

Lucky sprinted, not that it was necessary as the closest defender was twenty yards behind. He was still running full speed while crossing into the end zone, holding the ball high in the air. His White teammates and their fans jumped up and down.

The reaction on the other side of the field was not good. The Black team was more than a little peeved, of course. This was a proud defense and the Blackshirts never liked giving up a score to anybody, especially a bunch of sophomore reserves.

Stub was grinning from ear-to-ear, mainly from the touchdown, but also from seeing the stricken look on Ichabod’s face. Ichabod’s face was red as a tomato. He wanted to holler at somebody, but knew that would not do any good.

He had hoped to give Stub and the sophomores a good beating. Now, Ichabod wanted it even more, to rub Stub’s nose in the ground and make him like it.

Ronnie Jones, one of the Panthers’ best linemen, broke through on the extra point and blocked Lucky’s kick, leaving the White team ahead, 6-0.

The White team was still celebrating until it was time to kick off again.

“Knock it off,” Lucky hollered. “You better get ready. We’ve stirred up a hornet’s next and you’re gonna get stung.”

Lucky kicked the ball through the end zone, not giving Skip a chance to return it.

The Black team’s offense took the field, still dazed after the White’s touchdown. Taking advantage of its experience and size, the Blacks slowly drove down the field, picking up good yardage on most plays.

Skip scored the tying touchdown on a dive play over the left side, hitting the hole so fast he looked like a blur.

Jeremy Toll added the PAT to give the Black team a 7-6 lead.

Jeremy had the tough decision on the kickoff to either kick to D.J. or Lucky. He had seen them play enough to know they were both dangerous. Jeremy decided to see what D.J. could do and kicked in that direction.

D.J. got the ball inside the ten, took off straight up the field, veered to the outside and was finally tripped up by Skip, the last player between him and the end zone.

The White team was outweighed a good 20-30 pounds per player across the line. The Panthers’ starters usually faced this and it was one of the reasons Cole used an offense with quick-hitting plays. A lineman only had to control his defender briefly for the play to work. This style of offense did not require the dominant type of lineman who could hold a block for several seconds.

The players on the White team were as familiar with the offense as the players on the Black team were. Aside from one of Stub’s trick plays, the Black team could read the play quickly and respond.

The Whites eventually picked up three first downs before the drive stalled after a holding penalty. Lucky’s punt pinned the Black team on its own 5. Stub knew Ichabod would be conservative so he told his team to blitz.

Gary read the blitz and audibled to a pass. He took the snap, faked a handoff and dropped back. Just before the defense reached him, he tossed the ball downfield.

Petros’ best receiver, Harry Dean, caught the ball ahead of two defenders and was off. He was the fastest senior, a small player who made up for his lack of size with heart and guts.

Harry looked like he would score easy with a big lead on the defenders. Slowly, Lucky and D.J. began cutting down the lead, gaining ground with each step.

D.J. was the first to catch up, grabbing Harry’s jersey at the fifteen. D.J. slowed him down long enough for Lucky to arrive and bring the receiver down.

It looked like the Black team would score easily and everybody expected it, but the White team stiffened behind Happy and Lucky and kept the offense from getting another first down.

Jeremy came in to try a field goal. His kick from 32-yards out barely cleared the crossbar, giving the Blacks a 10-6 lead.

After his team got the ball back, Stub called a bootleg pass on first down, giving Lucky the option of running or throwing after faking the handoff.

Derwin had run this play and seen it many times so he wasn’t fooled. He read the play perfectly and forced Lucky to stop. Andy Tolbert had just checked in for the first time and was cutting across the field, his tall frame easy to see.

Lucky fired a pass 20 yards downfield, just high enough Andy could grab it but none of the defensive backs were able to reach it.

Andy caught the pass going full speed. He faked out one defender then took off, finding lots of room. His long legs chewed up the yardage and left most of the defense lagging way behind. Only one player could stop him. Gary came across the field and used the angle to reach Andy, bringing him down with a diving tackle.

The first quarter ended two plays later. The drive ended when Derwin nailed Happy in the backfield on fourth and short in a collision that rattled both players.

The Black’s offensive line started opening some good holes again for Skip and Derwin to blast through. Sophomore cornerback Art Miller, weighing all of 150 pounds, actually stopped the drive, blitzing in from his cornerback spot and hitting Skip hard enough to knock the ball loose.

The Whites recovered the fumble. Neither team moved the ball the rest of the quarter and the halftime buzzer sounded with the Blacks holding a narrow 10-6 lead.

Scoop was only a few feet away from Cole in the first half but had left him alone. That ended as soon as halftime arrived. He seemed to be deeply distressed.

“This isn’t good,” Scoop stated.

Cole really did not care to talk at the moment, preferring to write down some notes from the first half. He was going to send them down to the coaches with suggestions for the second half.

“I just don’t like this,” he muttered, sliding his chair closer.

“What’s wrong?” Cole finally responded, continuing to write.

“The Black team only leads by four points!”

“And?”

“They should be ahead by three touchdowns!”

“Why does that bother you?” Cole asked, the pen still moving furiously over the piece of notebook paper.

“It makes me wonder if our boys will be any good,” Scoop added, shaking his head in distress. “They’re playing a bunch of sophomores! I can’t go through another year like we did last year.”

Neither can I, Cole thought, but did not bother to add.

“You ever thought the Black team might be struggling because the White team is fairly good and know all the plays?” Cole asked.

It was like a light went off in Scoop’s head. He had not considered that, but Cole’s response had him smiling and acting like he did not have a care in the world.

Stub was fairly pleased with the first half. His team only trailed by four points and he thought about how good the chicken fried steak would taste Monday, courtesy of his good buddy Ichabod.

Thoughts of food had to be chased away as he entered the gym and found his boys sitting on the bleachers. Stub expected to find them celebrating, or at least in a good mood. After all, they just played the starters virtually even, only allowing ten points in the first half.

But the only noise he heard was small talk among several groups, talking about ways to correct the mistakes. Stub hoped to see them a little happier, then realized these guys would not be happy unless the game ended and they had more points than the opponent. They were used to winning and would not accept defeat.

Stub knew his players were getting a little beat up. He hoped they could keep going and stay close. A win might be asking too much, but he wanted his team to cover Cole’s spread.

He suggested a few minor adjustments, nothing real drastic. Stub knew the best way to move the ball against Petros’ defensive scheme and also the best way to slow down the offense. But his guys were a little overmatched.

In the locker room down below the seats, Ichabod let his guys get some fluids in their system and relax before talking to them.

This had been a real nightmare. After the way last year went, the older guys on the team needed to gain some confidence before going into the season, not struggle to beat a bunch of sophomores.

Ichabod was not exactly a chatty person to start with, and was at a loss for words. He did not need to say anything inspirational. Everybody knew the guys were giving their best and nobody was more upset with the score than his team.

He finally got everybody’s attention and stood in front of his players.

“That first half’s over,” he advised. “Just wipe it out of your heads and concentrate on playing better during the second half. We’ll win this game. Now go kick some tail!”

It was a fairly emotional speech by an unemotional person.

Both coaches read the notes Cole sent down right before the second half started. It was mainly stuff the coaches had already seen and corrected, but he did have a couple of messages that would assist both teams.

The White team got the ball to start the second half. The Blacks shut down the offense, only allowing three yards and forcing a punt on fourth down.

After fielding a good punt, Skip nearly broke one on the return but was tripped after picking up five yards. The Black offense took the field. The White had kept Skip from breaking a long run in the first half, knowing that was the key to staying in the game.

With Cole’s notes still in his head, Ichabod instructed his offense. The offense settled for what was available and slowly moved down the field, picking up decent yardage most plays.

Gary barely picked up a first down late in the drive, then caught the Whites napping on a play-action pass, throwing a pass to Murray Perdue, who caught the ball falling backward into the end zone for the score.

Ichabod started to feel a little better, especially after seeing Stub’s reaction. He did not cause a scene, but his shoulders slumped a bit and his steps just didn’t have the same bounce.

Stub knew his guys would lose, but really wanted to keep the score respectable. After the touchdown, it was time to pull his final rabbit out of the hat.

Ichabod knew Stub was getting a little desperate. He had a good idea what was coming and told his players what to look for. His intuition was rewarded.

Lucky took the snap and fired a pass to Art, who caught the pass, backed up a couple of steps and started to throw the ball downfield. But just as his arm started forward, Gary hit him in the chest, causing the ball to flutter straight in the air. Skip flew in from the secondary, caught the ball in full stride and sprinted the final thirty yards for the score.

Stub wanted to do something silly like throw his hat on the ground, he was that frustrated. But Stub knew that would give Ichabod too much enjoyment so he stood with his arms crossed, acting like nothing was wrong.

Stub knew that was probably not a good call, but also knew if his team was going to win, they had to take some chances.

Jeremy’s PAT upped the score to 24-7.

As Stub looked at his players, he knew they were starting to lose some confidence. Stub wished there was something he could do, but these guys were just facing a much better team.

On the kickoff, D.J. brought the crowd to their feet, nearly breaking it before getting pushed out of bounds at the 43.

The White offense was determined to get something started. Stub wanted to go with what his team knew best and that was their usual offense, the dives and option.

Slowly, the offense began driving. Ichabod grew anxious, knowing how hard it was to stop this offense, even if his team had superior talent.

The Whites reached the Black’s 8 just as the third quarter ended. Ichabod and the Blacks were frustrated. He had tried stunts, slants, blitzes and stacking the line but could not slow down the offense. Ichabod knew Lucky was reading the defense and changing to a better play on practically every down.

Stub’s offensive line was having some trouble, but opening up small enough gaps for the backs to squeeze through. As the final quarter started, Lucky walked up to the line and surveyed the defense. He saw the Blacks had all eleven players stacked at line. He changed the play, using a simple audible system he and Stub devised before the game.

Lucky took the snap, faked a handoff to D.J., twirled around and lobbed a pass to Bobby Murdock, a talented sophomore tight end. Bobby brought the ball to his chest, just before two Blacks delivered a vicious hit.

The ball popped out, but most of the players on both teams thought he scored. One official threw his arms up to signal a touchdown but a second official rushed in, overruling the first, indicating the pass was incomplete because the receiver did not hold on long enough.

The Blacks celebrated, not caring that it was a bad call. None of the Whites protested or said a word to the officials, letting Stub handle that.

He protested long and hard, but the officials would not change the call. As soon as play started again, Ronnie Jones stripped the ball away from Lucky, forcing a fumble the Blacks recovered.

Lucky felt terrible and wanted to slink away. He had to make up for this mistake so he would not let his team down. On first down, as the ball was snapped he flew forward a little too quick, leaving a gap Skip flew through.

It turned into a footrace between Skip and D.J., two of the fastest players on the team. Skip had the ball and a short lead while D.J. appeared to gain ground. As the race for the end zone shortened, D.J. cut further into the lead. Skip could see, hear and feel D.J. coming hard and turned the speed up a notch. He faked cutting back to the inside in a move that created enough distance for him to get into the end zone, just before D.J. caught up.

The Whites knew there was no way to overcome a 31-6 lead in less than a quarter. There was a sense of disappointment among them, a group that had never been beaten like this.

Stub saw the disappointment among his players and tried to encourage them. Lucky felt worse than anybody. He was used to making big plays to help his team, not making mistakes that cost his team a swing of fourteen points because of his fumble and being out of position on defense and allowing Skip’s touchdown run.

Stub gathered his team around him, removed his hat and got everybody close.

“That play’s over,” he advised. “Now it’s time to show your character and get it back. That’s the difference between winners and losers.”

Stub’s comment hit home with his players. Lucky was now more determined to overcome his mistake and started encouraging his teammates.

Ichabod was eyeing the scoreboard, quite happy to be winning but knowing the score was not enough to cover the spread. There was still plenty of time left and he hoped to keep the Whites scoreless and add at least one score.

D.J. returned the kick to the 33, almost breaking it again.

As the offense huddled, all eyes fell on Lucky. He looked around at the ten sets of eyes looking at him, the sweat pouring down their faces, mixed with dirt, and grime. He put his hand out in the middle and the other players followed him.

“We aren’t gonna win this,” he stated. “But let’s go out in style. Everybody thinks we’re gonna lie down and quit. Let’s show them what we’re made of and go score.”

For the Whites, it did not matter the defense lining up against them were teammates and a better team. There was such a determination the Whites would not be denied.

Happy got the drive off to a good start, taking a handoff over the right side and breaking three tackles before getting brought down by a gang after picking up eight yards.

They ran the same play on second down, only this time Lucky pulled the ball back, saw the end was waiting for him and followed Happy into the hole. Lucky cut back inside, picking up nine more yards.

Lucky ran the same play again. This time, he faked the handoff, went down the line, saw the end crashing and pitched back at the last second to D.J., just before getting creamed.

D.J. caught the pitch without slowing and turned the corner, streaking down the field and gaining twenty yards before getting tackled.

The Blacks continued to crowd the line. Lucky saw this and he changed the play. As he took the snap, it looked like the same play as Lucky faked the handoff to Happy, followed down the line, but then pulled up and took a couple of steps back. He saw Art sprinting down the field and threw a perfect pass. Art juggled it for a brief second, then hauled it in and sprinted down the field, finally getting caught and tackled by Skip at the 15.

Lucky used Happy on the next three carries, pounding into the defense for nine yards, leaving the Whites facing fourth-and-one from the six. On fourth down, Happy got the call again, hitting the line with a full head of steam. He was met by two defenders before getting back to the line but Happy lowered his head, kept his legs pumping and moved the defenders back just far enough to get the first down.

On the next play, D.J. took a pitch from Lucky, sprinted to the outside, cut back and dove into the end zone for the score. Stub decided to go for two points. Lucky brought his team to the line and read the defense. The Blacks were in a goal-line defense so he went with the called play, an option to the right.

Lucky put the ball in Happy’s stomach, reading how the defense reacted. Seeing the defense was more concerned with him, he left the ball with Happy, who barged through a small hole, carrying two defenders into the end zone with him.

The score was now 31-14. Looking at the scoreboard, Ichabod started to panic, knowing there probably was not enough time to score twice and cover the spread unless they threw the ball. But he knew that wasn’t the right thing to do against these sophomores that had played so hard.

He expected an onside kick from Stub and had his team line up for it, but got a normal kick instead. Skip fell on the bouncing ball at the fifteen, just before the Whites reached it.

Ichabod decided to go with the basic offense and run the clock. His team would win and he would be happy, even though it meant buying lunch for Stub all week and hearing about it for the next year.

His wallet would be a little lighter in the coming week, but seeing the performance by this group of sophomores was encouraging.

The Blacks had just crossed midfield when the buzzer sounded to end the game. The Blacks weren’t sure if they played poorly or the Whites played good. There was a slight sigh of relief from the one side as the game ended. The players and coaches met at the middle of the field, teammates again instead of opponents. Stub was smiling and prancing around like his team just won a state championship.

He finally reached his fellow assistant and shook his friend’s hand.

Ichabod expected a comment about not covering the spread, but something else was making Stub happy.

“We have a chance to be pretty good,” Stub stated.

“Yes, we can,” Ichabod answered, as the two coaches starting walking toward the dressing room.

“Make sure you bring your wallet Monday.”

“I’ll have it,” Ichabod responded. “Just bring your appetite.”

Chapter 8