The cheer of the crowd is ear splitting yet comforting in a way that only another athlete can explain. Being on the field or the court or the diamond or the pitch is home for us. It’s where we feel most at ease. Our bodies take over and our minds take a backseat. It’s muscle memory and pure adrenaline that gets us to zero on the clock. And when that is all over, we train and prepare for the next battle.
“And now. Your Houstooooooon Driiillersssss!” The announcer booms, riling up the crowd even more.
He begins announcing players, established players and stars always the first to go. Bash runs out of the tunnel first, blackout smeared down his cheeks with his helmet in one hand, and the other raised high in the air. One by one, the guys' names are called and the “scrubs”wait for the last one to be called before the rest of us can file out.
We inch closer and closer and right as we near the end I hear, “Houston. Give it up for our newest Driller, Nnnnico Lloooving!”
I’m startled and freeze, not having expected my name to be called. But when the crowd goes wild and I feel a nudge on my back I take off, moving into the light and claiming my place on the turf.
A roar pours from my lungs and I pound my chest two times before throwing up three fingers. I spread them apart then press them together, symbolizing the Nickies. Three paths, one dream. Always.
I make it to the line of guys all waiting to slap my back or shoulder and for the first time since walking off Zeiders Field for the last time, I feel at home.
“Red one, red one. Set, set, hike!” Our rookie quarterback yells the count and I’m off.
I spin right and roll out past a lineman, narrowly missing the jersey grab to drag me down. I’ve got guys to my left all gunning for me, realizing that the ball is set for me. Chase moves to my left and I look over my shoulder just as the ball comes spiraling towards me. It’s high and just out of reach, but I take a deep breath and clear away the worry.
My hand goes up and just before it reaches me, I push off of Chase’s shoulder, giving me that extra inch I need to catch the ball in one hand.
I descend and turn my eyes towards the end zone. If I can land safely without tipping over, there’s an almost clear path to the goal line.
I tuck the ball close just as my feet touch the ground. My knees bend under the sudden stop, but I quickly catch myself and use the momentum to boost me forward. My head is on a swivel, watching for defenders while keeping an eye on my destination. My lungs puff and in my head all I can hear is my dad telling me to never slow down. Stay on the fast track and even if someone tries to throw me off course, rely on my body to get me where I need to be. Trust in myself.
A linebacker lunges for me and I hurdle over him. I switch my direction and head towards the sideline. If I can’t make it to the pylon, at least I can get out of bounds to stop the clock. My arm pumps harder and when a large paw attached to an arm that’s bigger than most people’s heads reaches out for me, I dive, stretch my arms ahead of me, both hands on the ball, and watch the tip of it knock the pylon over, just crossing the goal line.
My body slams to the turf but Chase is right behind me pulling me up and lifting me into the air. When I’m dropped to my feet, the rest of the team hurries over to me and begins slamming my helmet and pads.
With the ball still in my hands, I look out to the stands, searching for the familiar faces. I spot Greer first, her arms wailing in her bright red jersey as she jumps up and down. I can’t hear her, but her mouth is wide open as a shout screeches from her lungs. To her left is momand then, standing with a huge smile and glistening eyes, my pops.
I race towards them and they push their way forward. Leaping up, fans catch me and tug on my jersey to keep me from falling. Dad leans closer and I hold the ball out to him.
“Told ya I had one with your name on it,” I shout and he smiles, taking it from me as one tear tracks down his cheek.
I look over and Mom is now in full crying mode and even Greer looks like she may let a few fall. The screen that is suspended high above Drillers Stadium shows the four of us and I just know people all over the world can see us on tv. I’ll have to be sure and find the clip online and send it to those assholes I call brothers.
I jump down, landing back on my feet, and rush over to the bench where water and Waggers wait.
I yank off my helmet and he looks right at me with his bushy eyebrows pulled tight. “How many of those are you getting this season?”
“TD’s?” I ask and he nods. “As many as you want me to get.” Something foreign resembling a smile moves across his face, and he smacks my back.
Our DC throws his shoulder against me shouting, and more of the sideline does the same. Bash walks towards me, his incredibly large frame imposing and intimidating. With two hands, he smashes my shoulders and screams, “Fuck yeah, Love Man!”
Aside from Waggers and our Monty, his approval is one that means the most.
I plop down on the bench and take the O2mask that’s offered to me and inhale. The guys on the field set up for the PAT and my eyes seek out one other person. They travel up and up towards the luxury boxes andthere, stuck between Monty with his bright white ‘stache and his wife, stands Valentina.
She’s clapping with a gorgeous smile on her face, and I take another deep inhale when I see how perfect she looks with my number on her body. Her ebony hair sways as she looks side to side at the Montgomery’s. When she turns her attention back to the field, our eyes connect and she gives me a thumbs up. My gloved finger touches my eye and I point to her.I see youis what I hope she gets. When I see her head nod, I know she got it.
Strike what I said earlier. Above all others, her approval means the most.
15
VALENTINA
Lucy: Val! Did you see that play? OMG he is so amazing.
Me: Yeah, I saw it. I’m here you doofus.
