Roughing the Kicker (Austin Troopers)

Chapter Nine

T here had been a time, early in his career and his relationship with Kristen, when Rye didn’t enjoy travelling for road games because they missed each other so much. He recalled those days fondly, but they were far in the past. By the time the Troopers boarded their charter flight to Denver on Thursday morning, Rye was more than ready to get away.

He and Kristen had both circled each other warily and worked to build a fragile peace at the same time. She was still preparing meals and being attentive, and she insisted her new rehab program was beginning in a few days. Rye still had doubts, but there were no signs Kristen was using, so he didn’t press the issue. He’d never been much for conflict, instead choosing to avoid it whenever possible. Maybe that was why he was where he was. Living a life that no longer fulfilled him, but he was scared to leave behind, because the alternative might be worse.

Rye recognized the possibility it might be better, too, but never having been much of a risk taker, he had difficulty embracing that possibility. Instead, he found himself living in inertia.

It was pathetic, and he knew decisions would have to be made, probably sooner rather than later. For now, though, his focus was on beating Denver.

It was a quiet game, from a kicking standpoint, and a defensive struggle well into the fourth quarter. The home team held a fifteen to seven advantage, when Addison hit Elliott for a touchdown with fifty-two seconds left on the clock. Fifteen-thirteen. Kicking an extra point would do no good. Austin would have to go for the two-point conversion to try to force overtime. At least Rye assumed that was the plan.

Coach J walked up to him. “Be ready,” he said. “If we get the two here, we’re trying the onside kick.”

“Got it,” Rye said, even if it surprised him. Coach Oliviera wasn’t known as a huge risk taker himself. Rye assumed they’d go for the two, kick deep, and play for overtime. Now he was being told otherwise. “Go big or go home, right?”

If this gamble didn’t pay off, home was exactly where Austin would be headed. Miss the onside kick, and Denver would have a short field to a game-winning field goal. Their kicker would be the hero. Not Rye.

“That’s right.” Coach J smiled. “Overtime is for pussies. We want to win in regulation.”

“Then I guess we better make the two-point conversion.”

Rye wasn’t sure he wanted to watch. There was nothing he could do about it, anyway, and he wanted to stay mentally sharp for when it was his turn. Yet how could he not watch?

He stood stoic on the sideline, hands clutched on the neck of his jersey, as Addison lined up under center. The team practiced several two-point conversion plays in practice. The most popular one was a run-pass option that let the quarterback decide. He could hand the ball off to the running back, throw one of the designed pass plays, or keep it himself for a quarterback sneak.

Rye watched as Addy took the snap, looked to Javon, and opted to call his own number instead, running a bootleg to right side and stretching the ball inside the pylon and over the goal line as he went out of bounds. The Troopers sideline celebrated while Denver’s looked shell-shocked. Rye grabbed his helmet. It was time for his show.

“Austin lines up to kick off, and it looks like they’re going to try for the onsides kick,” the PA announcer side.

“Damn straight we are,” Rye muttered under his breath. “And we’re going to get it, too.”

One of the down sides of being a placekicker was sometimes feeling a little outside, on the fringe. Special teams players practiced separately from the offense and the defense and didn’t get any of the hype and attention. The focus was always on the offensive game plan or the defensive game plan. Sure, there were times kickers could be the hero, or the one blamed for a loss, like the previous week, but more often than not, the position was overlooked.

Heck, even the onsides kick was about who recovered the ball or didn’t. No one would talk about the kick itself. Rye was okay with that. He knew his role, and he relished it.

He struck the ball cleanly, just as they drew it up in practice, trying to put a little bounce on it. It worked, as the ball bounced favorably and Javon was able to make the recovery. After a quick review to make sure the ball traveled the requisite ten yards before being recovered—it had—the Troopers were in business.

First and ten from the Denver forty-five.

The offense took the field, and Rye assumed his position on the sideline, watching and hoping he would get the chance to be the hero and redeem himself for last week’s miss.

“How’re you feeling, Rye?” Coach J asked him. “What’s your comfort level?”

Rye considered that for a moment. “I was hitting from sixty, sixty-one in warm-ups,” he said.

Coach J nodded. “We all saw it, but warm-ups are different from the game. Plus, there’s more wind now.”

“Yeah, but I won’t be kicking into it,” Rye pointed out. “Besides, I love this stadium.”

“Are you saying you’re comfortable kicking from that distance?” Coach asked. “Because if you hit it low and Denver blocks it, it sets them up with a short field.”

“And very little time,” Rye countered. “Yes. If Addison can get us five or six yards, I’m comfortable in that range. I want a shot to win it.”

After a second, Coach nodded. “Okay. If we get at least five yards, we’ll send you out there.”

Rye grinned. This was one of those moments he loved being a kicker. “Thanks, Coach. Really.”

The first down call was a draw up the middle for four yards. Addison threw incomplete on second down. All Rye could do was watch. He’d told Coach he wanted five yards. Now he wished he wouldn’t have been so firm. If they didn’t gain another inch, would he get his chance?

‘ C’mon, Addy ,’ he silently prayed. Surely, even on a busted play, his quarterback could manage to scramble for a yard, right?

“Jones looks right, then left. Nothing open. He lunges forward for a yard, maybe two, and Austin takes its final time out.”

Coach Oliveira walked up to Rye. “You’re up. Let’s do this.”

Rye strapped his helmet on and jogged out on the field.

Predictably, Denver called timeout to try to ice him. Last week, it worked for Oklahoma. Rye was determined this time would be different.

The ball was snapped, and Patrick got down cleanly, with the laces facing where Rye wanted them.

Yes. This was going to be different.

He struck the ball with his foot and then closed his eyes, not even wanting to watch.