Thursday before the Mission Catholic Jamboree, and we were practicing in helmets and shoulder pads. Coach Smith called us in to take a knee at the end of practice.
“Gentlemen, we will be leaving school tomorrow at 4 pm. Be packed and ready by 3:15 pm.” Coach Smith barked as he took his hat off. “You men are going to do great tomorrow.” He spoke as he dropped a new cardboard box of jerseys on the field. “Now, don’t go letting your girlfriends wear this tomorrow. Players only. “ He commanded as he began to toss the new jerseys out.
“Bigun!” he barked as he scanned the huddle. “Here you go,” and he tossed me the number 75. He went around and handed each player their jersey that afternoon. Tim gave me a thumbs-up from the other side of the huddle, and we were hyped. Even though he was still a douche, we had developed an understanding, a mutual respect, or fear on his part.
Friday at the pep rally, the gym was electric. With the pep squad leading the crowd in chants and the drum line's rhythmic beats echoing through the gym, the atmosphere became charged. The excitement was palpable, with everyone clapping and stomping their feet in unison. The crowd roared as Coach Smith called out the starters. I was in the players' section, and I had rolled and tucked the sleeves of my jersey while cheering on the seniors.
Blaire shouted from the crowd, her voice carrying over the excitement, my number painted on her left cheek. She had pulled her hair back in a short ponytail and wasn't wearing her glasses today.
Around 3:30, we loaded the bus. Blaire was there with some upperclassmen from the softball team. They were giggling and smiling as we left the locker room. Wyatt’s girl, Megan, rushed to hug him, and Tim got hugs from three of the other girls.
The offensive line loaded first, followed by the defense. As I made my way to the bus, Blaire waved at me, ran over, and hugged my neck, kissing my cheek.
"Play strong," she whispered in my ear.
"I will," I whispered, squeezing her hand. My face flushed from the kiss. Wyatt and the rest of the line grabbed me and dragged me on the bus.
"Don't forget, I'll be cheering for you!" Blaire called out as I was forced to climb the steps of the bus.
Coach Smith jumped up the steps to the bus, yelping. "Bigun! Don't go letting that split tail distract you tonight," as the bus erupted in laughter.
"Tim?" Coach searched the bus with his gaze. "You and Chris are sitting together on this trip. No bullshit!" as he shook a finger at us as we sat down.
I waved out the window at Blaire as the bus pulled away. Tim punched me in my shoulder with a grin.
"Don't fuck that up," he said with a nurturing tone, motioning towards Blaire getting into the van with the softball team and spirit squad.
The whole ride to St. Pete, all I could think about was that kiss. The way Blaire looked at me. Hugged me. I tried to focus on the game again, but my chest fluttered. Wyatt sat behind me and messed up my hair as I snapped back out of my daydream.
The bus rumbled into the gravel lot of Mission Catholic at 6 pm, an hour before game time. The field was pristine, freshly cut and painted, with the lights flickering to life as we spilled out of the bus. A chorus of boos erupted from the other team as we made our way to the away locker room, setting the stage for the Jamboree.
Jesuit Catholic, Mission Catholic, Tampa Prep, and Admiral Farragut were all here, ready for battle. The format was simple: two teams played a quarter, then another two teams played a quarter, and the winners faced off in a half.
We triumphed over Tampa Prep in the first scrimmage, the adrenaline still pumping as we waited to see who would emerge victorious between Farragut and Mission Catholic. The game against Tampa Prep was intense; their defense was formidable, but our offense was relentless. We managed to break through their lines with a series of quick passes and strategic plays, scoring the winning touchdown just as the quarter ended.
In the stands, my father and sister were a comforting presence. Blaire and the pep squad were three bleachers down from my family. I waved at Blaire first, then at Dad. His smile, framed by school colors, and the sound of his cowbell ringing out for us, was a beacon of support amidst the tension.
As we waited for the next scrimmage to conclude, the atmosphere was electric. The cheers and jeers from the crowd, the smell of freshly cut grass, and the anticipation of the showdown filled the air. We watched intently as Farragut and Mission Catholic battled it out, knowing that our next opponent would be just as fierce.
The score was 14 to 12, Farragut leading.
Mission Catholic had the ball, and there was 1:12 left in the game.
After the snap, the offense ran for 8 yards, putting Mission in field goal range and achieving the first down.
Farragut called a timeout, and we waited as the timer counted down.
1st and goal, and Farragut stopped the run.
We wanted to play Mission Catholic, not Farragut.
Repeated, pushed the line back 3rd and 12.
Mission called the kicking team with 15 seconds to go.
The ball snapped. The team crushed and slammed the line. The rhythmic clicking of the pads fills the air.
The kick was good. The ball was in the air. Drifting to the right.
The ball split the uprights. 3 points for Mission Catholic.
The sideline erupted!
We were playing Mission Catholic for the final in the Jamboree.
The locker room was silent as we prepared for the scrimmage after the half. Tim was listening to some music. Wyatt was doing push-ups. Wyatt was skipping rope. We were ready.
We would play two quarters of ball against Mission Catholic. They led the 1st quarter 14 to 3.
Coach Smith huddled us on the sidelines. “Big un! You’re in. The running backs have been talking shit on you. Better handle that. “ He slapped my shoulder pads as I lined up as a Defensive end.
The count dropped, the ball snapped, and I saw the red and grey jersey blur to my right, as I closed the gap, pushing off the tight end with ease. The pile formed, and the crunch of pads rang in the air around me as the whistle blew. Mission’s backfield was talking shit, and I just propped my hands on my knees and waited for the count.
They switched formation and lined up heavy to my side. I could see Tim out of the corner of my eye on the sideline, shouting.
My adrenaline spiked as the ball snapped, and I drilled the tackle's face mask into the dirt.
My breath was sharp as I contacted the tight end, throwing him off.
I wrapped my hands in front of me and crushed the running back to the dirt.
The ball popped out frantically, and I grasped for it, pulling and clawing it to me.
The whistle blew, and I had the ball.
Jesuit Catholic was in possession, and the run came.
Tim ran for 57 yards that game. Closing out the game with a 17 to 14 win.
Amidst the chaos of our victory, Dad found his way into the locker room. His eyes were shining with pride as he gave me an enormous hug. "You guys did great, son," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Thanks, Dad," I felt a lump in my throat. Dad smiled and squeezed my shoulder.
I introduced him to Coach Smith and my teammates, Wyatt, Tim, and Liam. They all shook hands, and I could see how proud Dad was of me. "Coach, this is my father."
Coach Smith nodded and shook Dad's hand. "You've raised a fine young man," he said. "He's got a lot of potential."
Dad beamed. "Thank you, Coach. It means a lot to hear that."
Outside, Blaire was waiting by the bus. The cheers from the crowd were deafening as we emerged from the locker room. I spotted her and ran over, scooping her up in a big hug. She laughed, her smile lighting up her face.
Her eyes were sparkling as she exclaimed. "Chris!"
"Are you coming back to school or heading home?" I asked, hoping she'd stay.
"We'll come back to the school," she grinned.
I smiled and waved at Dad, who was beaming with pride. Blaire waved too, and I pointed to him. "That's my dad," my heart swelled.
He walked over and joined us. “You must be Blaire,” he said as he stuck his hand out in greeting. “He needs somebody to keep him in line, young lady.” Dad jokingly barked as he shook Blaire’s hand.
Blaire laughed.
I grinned. "Hey, I'm not that bad!"
Dad raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
Blaire giggled and grabbed my elbow.
I rolled my eyes playfully. "Okay, okay. I'll admit, I might get distracted a bit."
Blaire nudged me. "A bit? Try a lot."
The noise of the parking lot was overwhelming, but all I could focus on was Blaire. "I'll see you when we get back?" she asked, her voice full of hope.
"You bet on it," I shouted as I climbed onto the bus.
Dad gave me one last hug before I boarded the bus. "You did good, son. Proud of you."
"Dad...Thanks for everything." The surge of gratitude hit harder than I expected.