, shift right!” I exhale a strong sigh of relief, the captain of the defense has read our formation as either a deep pass down the right side, or an out along the right sideline. The defense isn’t expecting what’s coming. My tailback Nick Guilliot is foaming at the mouth, waiting for the ball to meet with his fingertips so he can scamper up field and get out of bounds. Once again I call out the cadence. The second repetitive “GO!” sets my lineman in motion; all five mammoth men vault their bodies into their opposition. The ball is put into my grasp with a swift and deliberate snap by the center as he springs off the line and puts the play in motion. I roll to my left, spying Nick on the left flat, two steps out of the backfield. All of a sudden, in the blink of an eye, the tremendous middle-linebacker slams his shoulder pads into Nick’s numbers from behind. I look up field and see nothing but green grass. The route my receiver is running pulls the cornerback and safeties off the left sideline, and the linebacker takes himself out of the play by hitting my tailback from behind. I dash down the sideline; finally, the strong safety catches me from behind. The jarring hit knocks me five yards out of bounds. I quickly bounce up off of the grass, gazing up I realize that my short scramble just gained almost twenty-five yards, and only six seconds have melted off the clock illuminating the scoreboard. There is roughly twenty seconds before I need to get the next play off. I hastily race back to the sideline. This time my coach is waiting with open arms; he slaps my helmet and says, “Hell of a run, I haven’t seen you move like that all season. Can you do it again?” I shrug my shoulders and my coach slaps my helmet again. He yells, “Get some balls, Broussard, can you do that again?” I quickly nod my head, confirming I share his faith in me. The grin returns to my coach’s fac...
