RUNNING BACK

Chapter 16: Triumph of the Three-Legged Turtles

Football practice is getting interesting. Even though it's September, it's still hot enough to melt your face off. We're in the grips of a late heatwave, with temps upwards of a hundred and ten by the mid-afternoon.

It has everyone—players and coaches alike—on edge. We're all downright pissy. Except for Jack Chaplin, of course, who's as chipper as ever. It's annoying.

Coach Carson gathers us all up after warm-ups and makes a speech. "I ain't gonna lie to you boys, Friday night was an ass-whip of a game. Y'all looked like a herd of three-legged turtles out there."

"All asses and elbows," Coach Murphy chimes in.

"It was an embarrassment! Damn embarrassing. Things are gonna change around here or my wife, Betty, will either have to institutionalize me or hospitalize me."

He goes on to describe the personnel changes he plans to make. "Little, moving you to running back. Gonna get you some touches. Chaplin'll be your lead-block. Ramirez! You take Little's place at receiver."

I glance over at Cain Carson, Cash's daddy, gauging if he can hear the strategizing from the bleachers. He's found a patch of shade large enough to overshadow his fat ass, and his expression is obscured by the partial dark.

My gaze drifts to Nolan and Cash, neither of whom seems very happy about the changes. But other than the decision to place Little at tailback, none of these strategies seem like they're going to make that much of a difference. As long as we're overutilizing our crappy QB, and underutilizing our very best player, Darius Little, I don't see how we will improve.

We practice all week in the searing heat. Things aren't coming together as hoped, and Coach Carson's rage-ometer goes from orange to red. By the time Thursday comes around, the thermometer hovers around a hundred, and I'm pretty sure his blood pressure is off the charts.

But it's Thursday, my favorite day of the week. Mostly because it's the one day I actually get to play live football instead of running drills and filling in as a tackling dummy. They set us up offense versus defense, placing me in Geno Jackson's empty free safety spot.

When they put Darius Little in the shotgun, I begin to see how the coaches' strategies have changed. If they can't beat the other teams with brawn, they are going to try beating them with brains. This means a lot of switchbacks and misdirection, basically play-action fakes and games of hide the football.

One of the very first routes they run is out of a single wing, a wildcat play. Beto Ramirez lines up in his new spot at receiver, and instead of playing QB in the traditional sense, Cash lines up as the other receiver.

Geno Jackson is positioned right next to Cash, and Little stands in a shot-gun formation. Then it dawns on me. Instead of replacing Carson, they are going to make his position obsolete.

It's genius.

Cash calls the cadence, and Ed Peterson direct snaps it to Little. Jackson comes running at Little full-tilt like he's going to take the hand-off for a sweep out to the right. Marshall Payne calls out a blitz, but it's too late. The other linebackers take the bait and go after Jackson, who fakes like he's taken the hand-off. Meanwhile, Little accelerates behind Chaplin who's acting as a pulling guard, blocking Marshall Payne from making the tackle.

Little breaks through the traffic and is headed out to open field.

I can see he plans his trajectory to the left, away from traffic, so I adjust accordingly. I'm down field around the fifty-yard line.

I run at an angle up field towards Little. His eyes lock on me, and I'm not going to lie, I almost crap my pants a little. Instead, I focus on his waist. I keep staring as he runs towards me like a crazy train. He's going to come straight at me and then try a juke or a cut. I keep my eyes locked on his hips. His feet cut to the right, as his shoulders shift in that direction, but his hips don't lie.