Out of the Pocket by Bill Konigsberg

Their lineman threw me to the ground,” I said, nearly hyperventilating.
    “Leave it. Can’t change things now.”
    I calmed myself down and we huddled. Coach signaled in a short pass, and my gut wrenched. We were already down by ten, and now we had twenty-fi ve yards to pick up. What was he thinking with this short stuff? No way were we going to break anything against these guys.
    I wanted to go deep.
    I looked at Coach, and decided to change the play. No one in the huddle would be any the wiser. I called for a long pass down the sideline, hoping to test their cornerback’s speed against Rahim’s.
    More often than not, Rahim would win those battles. In case he didn’t, I could look short over the middle to Somers. In that case, Coach would get what he wanted anyway, no problem.
    74
    It was a win-win.
    The ball was snapped and I took a deep drop, seven steps. Somers was open over the middle, about eight yards downfi eld.
    I wanted more. Rahim was racing down the sideline, about even with their defensive back. I waited two extra seconds and threw it as deep as I could.
    As soon as I threw it, I knew it was wrong.
    Rahim didn’t have the guy beat at all.
    If it was catchable, it would be for either of them, and it could be my first interception of the year. I’d lost my cool, and it would cost me. Luckily, I overthrew both of them by a good fi ve yards.
    I sighed, relieved.
    “Framingham!” Coach yelled from the sideline. “What the hell was that?” He signaled for a time-out, and violently motioned for me to come over. “What the hell, Framingham? You see something I don’t see?”
    “No, Coach.” I took out my mouthpiece and waved it in the warm night breeze.
    “So what were you thinking?”
    “I wanted to test them deep.”
    “Why?” I could see the veins popping out from Coach’s forehead.
    “Because I was pissed off,” I said.
    Coach shook his head as if he’d never been more certain of anything in his life. “Unacceptable, Bobby. You don’t cost this team a chance to win because you feel something. No damn way. Next time you do that, you’re out of the game. Not to mention a thousand stadium steps a day for the following week.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said, looking him directly in the eye.
    I felt confi dent. I’d made a mistake, let a momentary emotion get the best of me, and I was taking responsibility.
    75
    Coach nodded at me, accepting my apology, before he turned away to tend to the game plan. I trotted back out to the field, confident that this new change of character would result in a win, and be the major story of the game.
    It turned out I was half right. My change of attitude did help the team, and it was one story of the game.
    Not the only story, however.
    Some of the others involved a hard-nosed Durango team that overcame a bunch of early mistakes to take a fourth-quarter lead at 17–16. Our stellar defense really clamped down on their running game, keeping it in check. Mendez scored once and Rahim scored on a short touchdown pass in the right corner of the end zone that culminated a long, patient drive for us.
    Rocky had kicked a thirty-yard field goal to give us a lead early in the fourth quarter.
    With less than three minutes remaining, we were trying to run out the clock, driving toward midfield. The crowd was loud and I felt their energy in my hamstrings. On a third-and-long call from our own thirty-five-yard line, I got set in the pocket and saw their biggest defender, number 99, bearing down on me.
    My feet froze.
    I saw a quick flash of maroon jersey behind him, near the sideline. It was Mendez, and I quickly lobbed a pass toward him. It was a smart idea, but he didn’t see me throw it.
    One of their linebackers saw the gift pass and received it gracefully. Had he not inadvertently stepped out of bounds with his next step, he would have returned the interception for a score.
    The crowd got quiet. It was the first real mistake I’d made all game, all year. I expected all