Week 40 - Football Homecoming

The sun had fallen below the far mountain range behind the football stadium, leaving a deep purple sky emblazoned with red clouds. A dull roar from the crowd could be felt as much as heard, with revelers wearing as much black and green as they could cram onto their bodies. The air was filled with the smell of cheap popcorn and suspect hotdogs while hundreds of cars filled the parking lot at the bottom of the hill, many with flags, streamers and window chalk all signaling the importance of tonight; It was the Homecoming Game. 

Sports has supplanted church as the chief reason to gather in central Appalachia over the last few decades and if football is the principal denomination of this new religion, then the Homecoming Game is Easter Sunday. This is a multi-generational affair, with everyone from toddlers to grandparents getting in on the act. There are dances and dinners, expensive outfits to buy and convertible cars to rent/borrow. For those in the “Panther Bubble” it is one of the most important days of your life. And for those looking in, it’s an oddly elaborate set of traditions that may seem antiquated. 

For the girls taking part in Homecoming, it’s the social event of the season. For the boys, it’s a must win football game. Quarterback Graham Carter had never lost a Homecoming Game as the starter for the Panthers, and held no intention of doing so tonight. His team found themselves undefeated heading into the second half of the season, with their toughest test coming tonight in the form of the Johnson Central Eagles. 

Jake Watts tied a bandana around his head, keeping his long black hair out of his face. This had been the final stage of his pregame ritual since he first started playing the game in the third grade. Graham looked up at the much larger boy, grinning. “You know they got a D1 nose guard, right?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“You know I’m a badass MF’er who ain’t gonna let no-one near your scrawny ass tonight, right?” he replied with a smile. 

Gareth Bennington, a boy almost as wide as he was tall, smeared some black shoe polish under his eyes. “War paint, a-holes!” he screamed into the void of the locker room, pumping himself up. He reached the jar of polish to little Crawdad Jenkins, freshman backup QB who was still trying to find his place on the team. The little guy took a pinkie and smeared a streak of black under each eye before looking up to Gareth for approval. The much larger teen smashed down with both arms onto Crawdads shoulder pads, almost knocking the boy to the ground. “Game time, baby!” he yelled as he ran back into the rows of lockers. 

A cannon boomed in the distance, signaling an hour to kickoff. The girls and their escorts would be walking across the field any minute now, anxious to hear who this year’s Homecoming Queen would be. The Peril County Football Homecoming Queen was second in the social pecking order only to the Dumplin’ Darlin’, and thus a highly sought-after position. Graham popped his head out of the locker room to take a look at his classmates lining the field. He remembered Brittany standing there last year in a royal blue dress, looking beautiful. She was the Homecoming Princess, and was named most photogenic. Graham was proud of this because he’d taken all of her pics in the portfolio she submitted. 

“You ready, QB?” a booming voice said from behind him.

Graham turned to see Coach Simpson, holding a black and green clipboard with a large Panther logo on the back. He was wearing brown slacks and a grey Panther Football sweatshirt. “Fifteen ’til pregame,” he said, smiling. 

“Can I ask you something, coach?” Graham said, closing the locker room door. 

Coach Simpson put the clipboard under his armpit and looked at the teen almost worried. “Sure, pal. What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothin’ wrong, coach. Just always wondered why the players don’t participate in Homecoming here at Peril County like at other schools. 

The old ball coach chuckled to himself a little and pulled up a small wooden bench sitting by the door. He eased himself down, favoring a knee he’d injured thirty years ago. “I know some of you boys are disappointed you don’t get to walk your girls down the sideline. And lord knows the amount of mommies that have cussed me over the years not letting their little Jimmy's and Johnny’s walk Mary Sue and Tracie Lynn in Homecoming. Graham, you’re the best football player I’ve ever coached. Hell, maybe the best I’ve ever seen at this level.”

Graham blushed and tried to say something before the coach cut him off. 

“No, I’m serious. You’re a heck of a ballplayer. And you got a good head on your shoulders. Now, why do you think I don’t want my boys walking in Homecoming? Is it because I’m an asshole?” he asked with a smile.

Graham knew Coach didn’t really cuss and that the word going around was that the ‘Asshole of a Coach’ was keeping the kids from walking. “Well, my guess is you don’t want us distracted.” 

Coach nodded his head. “Your guess would be correct. And why would I not want you guys distracted?” 

“Because that’s when mistakes happen,” Graham repeated what was clearly a team axiom. 

Coach nodded his head and gave his QB a supportive pat on the shoulder. “We’re heading down in ten.”

The team finished suiting up and completed any last-minute pregame rituals they may have. Out on the field, Graham, Jake, and the other captains led the boys through stretching and warmups. Coach Simpson gave them some final words of encouragement and it was time to kick it off. 

The first quarter went entirely Peril County’s way; with Graham throwing two touchdowns and the Panther defense stopping the Eagles three times. Wide out Braxton Collins had been flagged for celebrating after running sixty-two yards for a TD and Coach Simpson had given him more than an ear full for it. But the Panthers were up going into the second quarter.

The Eagles of Johnson Central roared back soon after as Panther defensive tackle Gareth Bennington got tricked on a counter sweep that saw the Golden Eagles run eighty-two yards for their first touchdown. A rare miscommunication between Graham and his receivers led to a pick-six and the game was tied up going into the half. Johnson Central’s star nose guard, Bilford, was inches away from sacking the QB before Jake recovered and smashed into him, saving Graham from a terrible hit. 

“We’ve played twenty-four minutes and settled nothing. That just means that we have got to win the next twenty-four!” Coach Simpson was pacing around the mound of players who were slumped in the end zone. 

The Panthers started the third quarter with the ball and Graham and his team marched down the field quickly and forcefully to score. Jake and Bilford battled every play, with the center doing all he could to keep his QB safe. A quick slant route to Braxton in the end zone saw the Panthers back on top. But the Golden Eagles of Johnson Central threw the ball all over the field on their next drive to tie the game up once again. This time, the visiting team decided to go for 2 successfully, so the third quarter ended with the Panthers down by one. 

Tired and battered, Graham collected his team in a tight huddle as they prepared to go back out on the field. “Boys. All ‘a those long workouts in the gym. All ‘a those hot days this summer. All the stuff we gave up doin’ to play football. It all comes down ta this. We’re better than they are. We want it more than they do and that’s why we’re gonna win. In twelve minutes, we’re walking out ‘a here winners. Panthers on three!” 

The team chanted “PANTHERS!” and headed back out onto the field. Both teams failed to score on their next few drives and as time was running low, the black and green squad saw their opportunities for a win slipping away. 

Graham looked up into the stands to see his father, pulling on a bottle inside of a brown paper bag, looking disgusted. “Gotta be now or never,” he thought to himself, as he jogged back onto the field. The Panthers had the ball on their own fifteen yard line. Under center, Graham tired handing off to Braxton but was smashed by Bilton hard to the ground. 

“You ain’t goin’ another yard, pussy!” the star defensive player yelled into Graham’s helmet as he ground his meaty hand into the QB’s chest. 

The next play saw Graham drop back for a pass but was immediately sacked by Bilton. The quarterback was pounded into the ground so hard, he saw stars for a moment. “Time to go home, you little bitch. This one’s over!” Bilton taunted. 

Third down and long with time running out. Graham dropped back to pass one more time. He had Braxton deep down field, all by himself. He flung the ball just as Bilton drove his helmet deep into the QB’s ribcage, driving Graham down to the dirt once again. On the turf, he couldn’t see, couldn’t breath, even. The enormous bulk of Bilton was wallowing on him and the force of the blow to his ribs had knocked the air from his lungs. He was smothering, gasping for air. He didn’t hear with the crowd cheered Braxton seemed to catch the ball and then hear the crowd sigh as it fell incomplete. 

“One more chance, pussy. And I’m gonna be right here!” Bilton said as he used Graham’s helmet to push his massive frame from the ground. 

Graham managed to get to his feet. He was dazed and probably concussed. But there was nothing that was going to keep him from finishing this game. He checked the clock. :04 left. And the Panthers were still down by one. Stumbling, he made his way to the huddle. “Jake, bud, you think you can keep that asshole off of me this time?”

The big center looked down at his feet, ashamed. He nodded his head.

Simpson signaled in a play that confused Graham, but he went back to the huddle and called it. “HB Middle Screen on 2. HB Middle Screen on 2.” 

A thousand thoughts were running though Graham’s mind. Why that play? It left him open and defenseless and was a huge gamble. But, if it paid off, was an almost guaranteed score. A middle screen would allow Braxton to sneak in behind the first line of the defense, with Jake and a few of the other linemen there to act as a row of blockers for him. The downside is that there would be nothing between him and Bilson. “Gotta be quick,” he thought as he approached the line. 

“Black 80! Black 80! Hut! Hut!” With that, Jake shoved the pigskin back between his legs into the waiting hands of his QB. Graham dropped back five steps and scanned deep down field. To ensure the success of this play, it was vital to make the defense think that the ball would be sent far into their coverage.  He watched as Braxton feigned running a dive before curling into a flat route and slinking across midfield just five yards in front of Graham. 

In an instant, the hulking lineman fighting to keep the defense at bay just in front of Graham released their blocks and started running down field. The quarterback could see Bilson barreling down on him. With a quick flick of his wrist, Graham sent the football hurling toward Braxton, who caught the ball just behind Jack and the rest of the line. The large blockers demolished the Golden Eagle defenders in front of them, allowing the receiver wide berth to sprint toward the end zone. 

But Graham saw none of this. His view was filled with the black and gold jersey of Bilson, who enveloped the QB and drove him to the ground. Graham’s left cleat stuck into the turf of the field, forcing his leg to contort into an unnatural, twisting motion. He felt someone rip and pop in his knee as the large defender rode him to the ground. He yelped in pain as the behemoth rolled down his body, putting all of his substantial weight onto Graham’s injured knee. 

The crowd erupted as Braxton crossed the goal line, hands stretched into the air. Jake, sprinting as fast as he could, was not far behind. They leaped into the air, hugging and cheering as the rest of the team joined them in the end zone. It only took a moment to realize that Graham had not joined them. 

As quickly as the crowd had become jubilant, they just as soon went silent. They turned, as if as one, to the far side of the field, to see Graham, lying on the grass, writhing in pain. 

“Trainer!” Coach Simpson yelled as he darted onto the field. He was the first to reach the QB, followed closely by the team’s trainer. Simpson knelt down to assess the damage. Graham’s leg was twisted in an impossible angle, signaling either a break or complete dislocation. He took Graham by the hand and unbuckled his star player’s helmet. “Hey pal. You’re gonna be ok.” He looked into the distance and motioned for the ambulance parked at the far side of the field.

“Coach, did he score?” Graham winced as he spoke. A tear fell down his cheek. 

Simpson squeezed his hand and forced a smile. “Yeah, bud. You did it. We won.” 

Graham let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t think I’ll be suiting up next week, coach.”

The smell of cheap whiskey filled the air as Eddie had stumbled onto the field. A loud chirp of siren made him jump out of the way as he approached his son lying on the field. “Aw, he ain’t hurt. Get up, boy.”

Coach Simpson bolted up and marched in Eddie’s direction. “Eddie, get the hell off my field before one or both of us does somethin’ we regret.”

Eddie took another swig from his paper bag. “Hell, coach. If you didn’ baby him like that, he wouldn’ be lyin’ there like a little bitch.”

“Get the hell off my field, Eddie.”

Eddie made to walk past Coach Simpson, bumping into the much larger man. “Graham, what the hell are you doin’? Get up you damn Puss-!”

Before he could finish, Coach Simpson sent a right cross to the drunk man’s temple, knocking him to the ground and into the next day. He immediately regretted it, as he knew the entire town was watching. But, he was tired of hearing this piece of garbage talk bad about his own son. Graham was the toughest player to ever put on a Panther Jersey and more of a man than his daddy would ever be.

Coach watched as they loaded the stretcher into the back of the ambulance and drove off of the field. He hoped, more than anything, that this would not be the last time Graham got to play the game they both loved.