“You want to go back-to-back, right? Today is a hell of a matchup. They’re in our division, on our side, this could be a tie breaker. We’re both undefeated.” Zack shrugs like we’re talking about getting pizza or wings for dinner.
Coach looks to his staff. He delegates tasks: someone to get the GM and bring him here, someone to loop in the entertainment and announcers, team doctors to draft up the minimal amount of paperwork necessary, and the equipment manager to get one of each jersey size ready for customization.
It’s four hours before game time, so we’re definitely within the ninety minute window. We need to keep going through our pregame prep, but before we’re dismissed, Coach half jokes, “If you have a sibling, friend, retired athlete, anyone in the building who you think can make an extra point, call them. Don’t promise them anything, but get them on the field for this weird stunt that Zack dreamt up.”
“Coach, is there any rule that says it has to be a guy?”
He laughs, and over his shoulder says, “No. Can be whoever.”
Immediately, I’m thinking of Blair. I just saw her do this, more than once, and even a bit further than an extra point, a few weeks ago. She’s coming to the stadium early—just have to get her on the field.
Ikeeplookingtowardsthe seats, waiting for Blair. It’s when I see her in my jersey that I realize I wasn’t prepared. This is the first time she’s sat this close to the field, where I can see my number, knowing it’smyname onherback. Fuck—I can’t move. This puts me in the wrong spot during the practice drill and a football hits me right in the chest. The laughter roars from my teammates, maybe some early fans, and I watch Blair cover her mouth with a hand—one I’m sure she’s laughing behind.
Jogging over, I high-five the hands of some fans on the way. She crouches, looking at me through the railing—the only thing separating the fans from the field.
“Man, thanks for the tickets. This is amazing!” Joey, Blair’s older brother, reaches down, giving me a high five. He beams and takes in the field in front of him.
I’ve always liked Joey. He gives Blair enough shit but ultimately cares about her and does his best to keep her out of harm’s way—just like a big brother should.
“Yes! I love this!” Blair cheers, her eyes glittering like gold from the October sun while she almost bounces out of her skin.
Watching any sort of sporting event with Blair is an experience, and I say that as a compliment. She immediately immerses herself in the rules, easily picking up on the plays and objectives, and seemingly finds someone to cheer on no matter what it is. She has this way of sparking a change in the energy—it’s one of my favorite parts of her.
“I heard they’re doing some kind of on-field field kicking before kickoff,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Don’t let the boys have all the fun.” I wag my finger at her, half-teasing. “You’ll hear the announcement—and any security guard can walk you down once it starts.”
Joey scoffs. “Like she’d EVER.” He rolls his eyes and Blair stands, swatting him lightly in the chest with the back of her hand.
“Watch me.” Her grin is quick and sure, the kind that makes my pulse stutter. “That actually sounds fun. I’ll find my way down there.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder, already scanning the crowd like she’s figuring out her route. Then her eyes find mine again. “Good luck, Ty.”
Fucking butterflies. Pre-game. I’m such acheeseball.
Aftermakingafewannouncements, there’s about twenty people who think they can make an extra point. The media team is playing it off as a way to win some swag; even they have no idea our special team coaches are looking for someone to potentially kick for the team.
They line up and start kicking. Everyone gets two tries to make a field goal, and then they’ll move it back a few yards until there’s only one left.
“This is my kind of vibe,” Zack says, standing next to me, rubbing his hands together like this all part of his master plan.
“You love a little chaos, don’t you?”
He gives me a side-eye that says ‘Of course I do,’ and we watch people try, and mostly fail, to get the ball through the uprights. Most people, those barely or not athletic at all, and typically male, always berate kickers for missing but it’s something that takes significant skill. You have to get the distance and the height right, which isn't a general skill people—or even professional athletes—possess.
A man, no more than twenty years old, is the first to make it. After that, someone probably my age squeaks one in—he’s just as surprised to see it make the uprights as we are.
Blair is next. She’s wearing these baggy jeans paired with my jersey—my number on her is something to remember. Catalog. Take a mental picture of. When she gives me a tiny wave to the sideline before she lines herself up, it takes everything I have not to loudly cheer her on. I tip my chin in her direction, letting her know I see her.
Zack notices and asks, “Wait, you know her? She’s drop dead gorgeous in that jersey, my guy.” He acts like he’s going to fall to his knees—dramatic and typical.
I flick my head towards him—too fast—and Zack lifts his hands and takes a step away from me.
“Woah, chill, Icy-Tyson. I’m taken.” He holds up his silicone wedding ring, wiggling it with a proud smile.
Shaking my head, I reply “What did I tell you about that nickname?” At first, it was T, and then it was Iced T, and then it was Icy Tyson. Honestly, it’s hard not to laugh with him; he’s truly the kind of guy who has best friend energy, even if you’ve just met. Zack was the one who gravitated towards me during the early camps and practices after the trade… and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thankful.
He winks at me just before looking towards the field, as Blair kicks it through the uprights. She’s excited but I know she’s kicked from this distance, and made it, thousands of times. The deadpan look Zack gives me has me laughing, shrugging my shoulders.
“Maybe it’s the jersey?” I joke, knowing Blair has been doing this since she was a kid—the product of always trying to keep up with her older brothers, and sometimes even beingbetterthan them.
There are only three people total who make the first kick. When they back it up another five yards, Blair goes first and sails it through like there was never a question. The crowd feeds into the hype, standing up and cheering for her.
