The Toughest Play

3. Rogan

CHAPTER 3

ROGAN

“ S econd team reps again, huh?” Brett struts by me at practice the next day. “I guess it takes more than a couple of lucky throws in a single practice to dethrone the king.”

Did this douche really just call himself the king?

“Let’s go, second squad,” Coach Chubb shouts from the sidelines. “I’m not just standing here for my health or your wealth. Move it.”

“You heard the man, get moving, second squad,” Brett says, laughing as he takes off his helmet. He trots to the sidelines, eager to watch.

“Fuck Brett, man.” Cooper Grind, the team’s newly drafted rookie tight end, slaps me on the back. “He’s just upset we’re about to take the team away from him.”

I glance at him. “We are?” This is the first time we’ve spoken.

“Aren’t we?” He winks and snaps his chin strap in place. “Watch for me today. I’ll be open.”

“Will you?”

“All day, baby.”

I think I like his confidence .

True to his word, the rookie tight end is wide open seconds later on the first play. And then he’s open again on the very next play. The third play calls for a run, but I still see him knock a good-sized defensive end on their ass on his way to being wide open again in the middle of the field.

He’s quick, strong, and agile, with hands that don’t miss and a catch radius as big as I’ve ever seen. And it definitely helps that he stands six feet six inches tall and weighs an extremely athletic two hundred fifty-five pounds.

“Somebody better cover that rookie,” Coach Chubb calls in from the sidelines.

“Hey.” Cooper grabs hold of my helmet with both hands and looks through the face mask into my eyes. “I’ll be open.”

The next play calls for a short pass to the tight end across the middle of the field. The defense knows the play and sets a safety up on the same side of the field to help cover Cooper.

“Yeah, baby, bring ’em all.” He smiles ear to ear, as if he’s been waiting for this chance to shine.

I get it. And I definitely like his confidence.

The safety on his side keeps moving up and in from the edge, knowing the play calls for a short pass across the middle. But he’s moved up a little too close and left himself vulnerable for a long ball down along the sidelines. I glance over at Cooper and can tell by the look in his eyes that he sees it too.

I give him a slight nod right before the ball is snapped, and hope he understands. Dropping back, I watch as Cooper explodes off the line, makes a quick move to cut across the middle of the field, and jukes back to the outside. The safety turns his head, and his momentum carries him straight into the path of the inside defensive back. Both men watch as Cooper sprints down the field, uncovered.

I drop a forty-yard pass into his hands just as he crosses the goal line to raucous applause from the gathered crowd. Practice is open to the public today, and the fans at our end of the field jump to their feet, letting us know they like what they see.

“All day, baby.” Cooper butts his helmet into mine when I reach the end zone to celebrate.

“I’m pretty sure we’re about to get reamed.” I try to warn him about switching up the play without a coach’s approval.

“Fuck ’em.” He laughs. “I’m just getting started.”

I can’t help but feel the same way.

But surprisingly, no one says a word. A few of the coaches are watching but none of them seem angry.

“Let’s go. Huddle up and run the next play,” Coach Chubb shouts to us from midfield, ordering everyone to keep his practice moving.

By the time we get back to the line of scrimmage we have a noticeably bigger audience watching the second team reps. The majority of the fans have all gathered in the stands at our end of the practice field to see what’s happening.

Several local sports writers in attendance have made their way over to observe as well. Most of these same reporters have written me off over the last two seasons. All I’ve ever read or heard from any of them are things like “perennial backup” and constant questions about why the team is even wasting a roster spot on me. As much as I’ve tried to avoid reading and/or hearing their intentionally over-the-top, dramatic opinions, some things are hard to ignore.

This season will be different.

I lock back in and scan the defense for signs of a blitz. Everyone is sitting back in position and not edging forward. It looks like the coaches have decided to see what I can do, which is fine by me.

Over the next five-minute series of plays, I complete three more passes to Cooper, two of them for touchdowns. The big rookie doesn’t bother hiding his excitement and even performs a backflip to celebrate before the whistle sounds and the first team offense takes the field again.

“Get that rookie back on the field with the 1’s,” Coach Chubb shouts to the offensive coaching staff. “And run the same series again.”

“The same plays?” Brett sounds annoyed.

“I know you heard me.” Coach Chubb doesn’t like to be questioned, especially by players. “So do you have a problem with that, Barlow?”

“Not at all, Coach.” Brett straps up his helmet and huddles the first team offense. “Let’s go, rookie.”

“Hell yeah.” Cooper charges back out onto the field, excited for a chance at first team reps.

Brett leads the offense through the exact same series of plays but with different results. He never connects with Cooper, not even once. He gets flustered by some light pressure from the defense and quickly throws the ball out of bounds on three separate plays.

Each time, he shouts at the rookie as if it were his fault, but everyone can see who’s to blame.

Brett then underthrows the ball on two deep passes downfield as well. It’s not a good series, especially with the increased number of eyes currently on him.

To add to the embarrassment, Coach Chubb orders me in to take what he calls a couple extra snaps with the first team offense.

“This is bullshit,” Brett complains as we pass each other on the gridiron.

“Better get used to it, your highness,” I can’t help but jab back at him.

“Get that rookie off my field,” Coach Chubb orders, and Cooper runs to the sideline.

I get it. He wants to see if the rookie is making me look good or if I’m closing the gap for the starting job. Challenge accepted.

“That arm is looking strong,” Griffin Moore, the team’s number one wide receiver, speaks up in the huddle.

I smile with confidence, and answer without hesitation, “I’m just getting started.”

“I’ll be open.” Moore smiles back at me.

Griffin and I both came into the league and to the Silverbacks organization in the same draft class two years ago. He was a first-round pick and started right away in his rookie season. He quickly became one of Brett’s favorite targets, and they lit up end zones all across the league.

But late last season, Brett started having some difficulty getting the ball downfield on a consistent basis. And if this year’s training camp has been any indication, those struggles look like they’ll only get worse.

I remember standing on the sidelines back in my rookie season, having dreams of teaming up with Griffin to pick apart other teams’ defenses. Now I’m lining up alongside him. Things are starting to come together for me.

This may only be a practice to everyone else here today, but to me this is an opportunity. I’m not sure how many I’ll get, so I’ll be damned if I don’t make the most of it.

Griffin’s extremely fast. His speed makes him hard to cover and always a threat, so when he’s on the field, defenses more often than not tend to put him under double coverage.

By the time I drop back and secure the ball in my hands after the snap, Griffin is already sprinting straight down the left sideline. I put a soft touch on the long pass so the ball drops in over his shoulder without him having to break a full stride into the end zone.

“Hell yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.” Griffin lets me know he approves as we butt helmets and celebrate behind the goal line.

Two more plays with similar results leave the sidelines buzzing with excitement.

Coach Chubb has seen enough. “That’ll do. Clear the field and get them ready for team meetings this afternoon,” he barks at the rest of the coaching staff as he walks off the field for his media availability session. Most of the gathered reporters follow closely behind.

“Let’s go get some celebratory lunch.” Cooper wraps an arm over my shoulder.

“What are we celebrating?”

“The team’s new quarterback controversy.”

“Don’t start that shit.”

He grins at me. “I didn’t start anything, buddy. You just did.”

“Rogan,” an attractive young woman calls out as she hurries over. It’s the same redhead I saw Brett speaking to the other day. I give a nod of my head in acknowledgement.

“Find me when you’re finished,” Cooper says, walking off.

When the redhead is only a couple of steps away, she trips over Brett’s water bottle. Moving forward as she falls face-first toward the ground, I wrap my arms around her, trapping her against my chest.

Large, startled green eyes stare up at me. Her freckled cheeks pinken as the initial shock wears off. I help steady her before releasing my hold.

Her top teeth press into her lower lip before she speaks. “Thank you for catching me.”

“No thanks necessary. I’m glad I was standing here.”

“I’m Autumn Cartright, the team’s social media manager. I was hoping I could ask you a couple of questions.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Autumn, but I feel like I should call you ‘fall’ instead,” I say, grinning.

She gives me a flat look and loudly sighs. “I’ve never heard that one before. Or ‘winter’ or ‘summer’ either.”

“Jokes are like throws, some are better than others.” I wink.

“Fortunately, your arm seems to be better than your sense of humor,” she drolls.

What does it take to get this girl to crack a smile?