The Shamrocks' touchdown was another gut punch to the Dons. With a two-possession deficit, the Dons were no longer fighting to keep the game even, but just to keep their opponents within reach, which wasn't nearly as powerful a motivator.
'Keep those heads up,' Coach Long said, pacing along the sideline.
He strode along, leading by example with his shoulders back, and chest puffed out, chin jutting out before him.
'I've seen you come back from worse. I've even seen teams come back from two score games in less than a minute. This game's only over when we give up.'
Chris stood first from the bench, Coach Long's words rattling around his helmet. The game wasn't even close to over, it was just a shock whenever their defence got pummelled.
"It's only the first half," he told himself, focusing on the positives of that statement—there was plenty of time for them to turn it around and shut the Shamrocks down in the second half.
He lead the team out for the kickoff, determined to help restore order. His return was a good start, bringing the ball out to the 31-yard line before he was brought down; he was beginning to understand how these giants worked, how they relied too much on their long limbs for their tackles, and the more he ran against them, the slower they looked.
The rest of the offence joined Chris on the field, keeping their eyes off the scoreboard. It didn't change anything, whether the thing read 0–0 or 100–0 or 0–100, nothing on the field changed.
Chris welcomed his teammates with a fistbump each. 'Come on, let's get it. One drive at a time, right?'
Some—like Jay—nodded, others—like Cole—repeated the mantra "one drive at a time", and rarely there were those like Stephen who expounded upon the idea.
'Fuck yeah,' Stephen mumbled, more to himself. 'I got this shit. They ain't got nothing on me.' He took his spot opposite Braid Bitch, reminding himself of an important fact—the defence wasn't scared of Braid Bitch. He wasn't the one terrorising the Dons. He was just a second-rate, unimportant nobody. Stephen was number one, and it'd reflect badly on the Dons if their number one was stymied by a piece of shit like Braxton Holt.
At the snap, Stephen burst forward, rushing downfield. He knew it was a run instead of a pass, but he had his orders to go deep and tire Braid Bitch out, and he stuck to them; Braid Bitch foolishly gave chase, even as Jay handed the ball off to Chris.
Stretching to the left side of the Dons' O-Line, Chris secured the ball, then cutback to the right, wrongfooting the Shamrocks, and dragging their D-Line back the other way. He was first to reach the edge, which was secured with the help of Benny, and burst upfield.
A lengthy LB snagged his ankle, and though Chris tried to break free, struggling forward an extra yard, he couldn't loose himself, and tumbled down for a gain of 7.
It was a good run, and a great start to the drive, though Chris came away wanting more. He was hoisted back to his feet by his teammates. 'Good blocks,' he said, smacking helmets as they jogged back to the huddle.
Even with that strong start, the crowd's reaction was dull. Their faith had wavered too much; weren't the Dons supposed to be a defensive team? If their defence struggled, weren't they done for? Chris knew those questions would've been plaguing the minds of all watching, because they were plaguing his also. But they weren't true, and he was going to prove it.
Another snap, another handoff, and this time he surged through the middle of the Line, keeping Jordy interested before slipping between him and an O-Lineman, squeezing through a gap, scampering ahead for another 4 yards before he was wrangled down.
Not as successful, but still enough for a first down. Chris was happy. The middle of the field wouldn't be where he made his breakthroughs. There wasn't enough room to operate, not enough space to avoid those long arms; the outside was the key.
Which is why the Dons went for another Stretch on first down. Except, Jay came away with the ball; Play-Action. He whirled, looking downfield. Stephen's Fade was covered; Benny was slow getting out of the blocks, then occupying space over the short middle; Amon's In crossed with Cole's Corner, yet the defenders switched assignments seamlessly.
Full of calm, Jay pivoted, and hit Chris on his Angle. Benny's Curl had drawn most of the attention there, and after the Play-Action fake, the defence had dismissed Chris entirely. Those were the mistakes leading to him getting open, leading to his 9-yard reception.
Jay breathed a soft sigh of relief. He'd finally got a good grasp on the D-Line's reach, and had adjusted his short dump-off passes over the middle accordingly.
With that latest gain, the Dons were sitting almost exactly at half-field, just a yard within Shamrock territory. It was another reminder that they could conquer this defence, they could make up for their teammates' defensive lapses.
Sitting on second down, with only 1 yard to go, the Dons took a shot downfield, as Jay tested Stephen and Braid Bitch down the sideline. The pass was knocked aside out-of-bounds, but it was almost as if the play didn't matter, like it was a freebie to do whatever they wanted. Because even though their pass failed on second down, on third down it was a simple matter of giving Chris the ball, and running it up the middle. Even if he only gained 2 yards, that was more than enough to get their a fresh set of downs.
The following Draw play gained 2 again, as it did little to pull the Shamrocks out of position and open new running lanes. Such a play wouldn't do much to a team that blitzed as little as the Shamrocks did. Coupled with the fact runs up the middle were having diminishing returns, and such a strategy was best left out of the game plan.
Instead, they gave Chris another run with a wide Toss, which saw him break free for a gain of 6, bringing them ever closer to another first down.
To get that first down, Benny led the way, jumping inside, helping the Tackle to double-team the nearest Shamrock, as a gap was sealed off between Tackle and Guard for Chris to burst through, picking up another 4 yards.
The drive was slow going, but with the repeated successes, and the dominance the Dons were displaying on the ground, the crowd had finally found their voices again, and were getting behind them, trying to will them onward.
But Chris was slowing. In the huddle, he was breathing heavier, though doing his best to suppress it. Sweat stung his eyes, but that didn't blind him to their goal, which was drawing ever closer.
They were within field-goal range, but that wasn't good enough. They needed a touchdown, and Chris was determined to carry them there.
'Just a few more good runs,' Benny said, bumping Chris's fist. 'Let's get this touchdown and make them remember the name Christopher Hayes.'
Chris wheezed with laughter. 'You know I fucking hate, Christopher.'
Benny grinned around his mouthguard, and the two turned towards their formation.
Unfortunately, an engine couldn't run on good vibes and crowd support. With the snap, Jay turned for another Stretch, handing the ball off to Chris who veered towards Benny, aiming to duck past his outside shoulder before turning upfield. He was too close, a step too slow, and the DE snagged his jersey, holding him up for a moment, even as he spun away and the fabric on his sleeve ripped. Too late. Other Shamrocks converged, driving him into the ground for a gain of only 2.
Chris was slow to get up, even with Benny's help, who apologised for the poor block. Chris hunched over, shaking his head. 'Not your fault.'
As the huddle formed, Chris stayed with his hands on his knees, sucking in air. Cameron called to him from beyond the ring of bodies. 'Chris!'
Chris stood, hands moving to the top of his helmet. Cameron—already at the huddle to replace him—was motioning for him to go to the bench. Coach Long stood where he pointed, and the man's concern was visible even from the middle of the field.
'Fuck…' Chris shook his head before bumping Cam's fist. 'Make them pay.'
'You know it.'
Chris hung his head, jogging off the field.
'Take a rest, Chris, you earned it. You'll be back out there soon, just let your brothers carry the load for a little bit.'
Chris nodded, taking his seat, guzzling water in between breaths. He was being selfish. Why did he need to be out on the field for every play? Didn't he trust his brothers to get the job done without him?
Though Chris had left the field, the Dons' game plan didn't change. They kept things on the ground, charging ahead with Cameron, shifting the O-Line about to give him a lead blocker as he surged towards the hole.
However, that left an opening for Jordy, and the DT surged through it. Cameron might've had the power to break through the long-armed tackles of most Shamrocks, but when Jordy lay his shoulder into Cameron, they both spilled over, crashing hard, and the run was stopped short.
Chris winced. The first-down marker was so far away. Too far for a run, and if it came to a passing situation … well, Cam could provide some extra protection, but he wouldn't be much help otherwise, and Jay didn't need extra protection—he needed more targets.
Chris pushed off his seat, hurrying to Coach Long's side. 'I'm good to go, Coach,' he said, managing his breathing.
So what if he was breathing a little heavy? The team needed him. He could still put them on his back.
Coach Long looked at him, then glanced towards the field. He wanted to trust his boys. 'Alright, get out there. Bring Cameron off.'
Chris rushed to join the huddle, high-fiving Cam as the two switched places, with Cam muttering an apology.
"It's all good," Chris thought. "Let me handle this."
Jay glanced back at Chris as the Dons took their formation. Chris gave a little nod; he was good to go, and didn't need anyone worrying over him. Jay returned the gesture, then looked ahead.
At the snap, Chris's eyes darted around, ensuring no surprise blitz was coming. Once he was certain the Shamrocks were sticking to their guns and keeping back, trying to contain the Dons, he burst out of the backfield, striking out towards the flat, before bending up along the sideline in a wide Wheel route.
He glanced back, calling for the ball. Maybe he was a step too slow, maybe he'd hesitated too long to get out of the backfield, but it took Jay an extra half-second to throw the ball. Chris lined himself up, steadied himself to catch, and ran into a Shamrock-shaped wall.
The ball never reached Chris's hands—the Shamrock slapped it down before it could. Chris bounced hard off the turf, groaning. The Shamrock tumbled over him, rolling through to their feet. Chris lay there for a few extra moments. He'd failed, and the Dons were on fourth down. A touchdown was beyond them, and now it came down to the kicking team.
Amon was the one who reached Chris first to help him up. The two stuck together as they came off the field. Chris was silent, as was most of the crowd; a field-goal did little for their hopes.
When Chris stepped off the field, Coach Long wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. 'Don't feel bad. That one's on me. Not because I should've kept you off the field, but because I should've given you a rest sooner. At half-field, I should've put Cameron in and let you recuperate.'
Chris laughed, shaking his head. 'You're too kind, Coach, but that's still on me. I shouldn't need a rest just because of one drive. I should be a workhorse. You train us hard enough, but if I'd just done more myself. If I went for a run one more time during the year instead of sitting at home playing video games, or scrolling through Insta. You could never let us down, Coach. That's on me.'
It was Coach Long's turn to laugh. He ruffled Chris's hair, pushing him towards the bench. 'I couldn't ask for a better group of kids to coach. Your coaches in college better treat you right.'
Chris sunk back into his seat, grinning. 'Thinking of getting rid of us so soon? You've still got us for another week, Coach. We haven't lost yet.'
The Dons' consolation prize was a field-goal, and those watching held their breath as the ball was placed, set down, and finally kicked. End over end it spun, flying through the uprights a couple of yards inside the left post.
Muted, reserved cheers celebrated the kick as the scoreboard bumped up to 10–21, still two possessions, though a bit more manageable.
The thing that pleased Coach Long more, was how much clock the Dons' gruelling drive had drained, leaving only three minutes left in the half.
The kickoff ended in a touchback, sending the Shamrocks' offence to their 25-yard line. Their confidence hadn't been hampered by their defence giving up a field goal, but a flicker of vengeful fire could be seen in their expressions, whether it was a faint curling of a lip, a flaring of a nostril, or a twitch of an eye.
Like always, they were determined to widen their lead, and three minutes was plenty of time to do so. Especially when added with the two-minute warning, and their timeouts? The Dons would have to hold out for an eternity. And the Dons' wall was only as strong as their weakest link.
Ty walked onto the field, alone even as he was surrounded by his teammates. Unfortunately, the field goal their brothers had worked so hard for, had done little to affect their confidence—or lack thereof—either; those three points could be undone so quickly.
There was no time for trash talk before the snap. Stringbean lurched forward, feinting outside before leveraging in. Zayden shifted towards them over the top, though kept his eyes darting across the field. Ty stuck close, and against any other Receiver, he would've had them covered, but not Stringbean.
Trevor flicked the ball over, keeping the pass high, away from any help. It had to be a short pass so no-one else could interfere, but with just Ty versus Jeremiah, it was an easy reception.
Ty latched onto Stringbean's hips, toppling the giant after a gain of 9. Stringbean shrugged him off, standing. 'It doesn't matter if it's twenty yards, thirty, fifty, or even back down at the Line, you can't stop me, bitch, so why don't you just give up?'
Ty almost yanked Stringbean back down when he pulled himself up, but after a shove, the two parted ways. A fire burned within Ty's black eyes, but he said nothing.
The Shamrocks didn't waste much time in their huddle, though they weren't exactly being quick about it either; the clock wasn't yet a worry for them. They picked up another first down on the ground, pushing ahead with a HB Dive for a gain of 2.
This brought up the two-minute warning. Perhaps a reminder that the Shamrocks should play with a bit more urgency, as they still had 64 yards to go 'til the end-zone. Alas, time management was always a fine thing; you never wanted to leave your opponents with enough time to answer back.
As the drive continued, Trevor and Jeremiah fine-tuned their passes, pushing their short lobs further, testing the limits. Zayden crept down further, keeping them in check. The rest of the field was contained, but Jeremiah ate through chunks of yardage play after play. 11, then 13, and 14.
The one saving grace the Dons had, was Ty kept the sideline blocked off, pushing Jeremiah inward, stripping away all of the Shamrocks' timeouts.
With their last timeout called, the Shamrocks were within field-goal range, yet Jeremiah wasn't satisfied. During their final, brief break, he rinsed his mouth, and spat out the water, before stepping over to where Trevor sat on the bench.
'Can't we finish these annoying pests off already?' Jeremiah asked. 'Why are we so scared?'
'We're not scared, we're just being careful,' Trevor responded. He soon stood; even if the height difference was still nerve-racking, it was unbearable to be sitting when Jeremiah overshadowed him. 'It's like basketball. There's no need to risk a turnover by rushing, when we know we can score if we just take a few more seconds to set up the play.'
'They only picked off that pass before because they surprised me, because they're sneaky little cheats.'
'A double-team isn't … if I throw it deeper to you, you can beat them both? Even if they're cheating.'
'Of course!' Jeremiah snapped.
Trevor was glad he didn't flinch. 'Alright. Go deep then.'
Grinning, Jeremiah led the way back onto the field. He still held that grin when he met Ty. It was a sickly, grotesque expression that stretched his thin face into a horrible mask.
'The fun and games are over, nigger. You should be thankful I'm putting you out of your misery in the first half.'
Ty ground his teeth, flexing his hands. After the game; if he ever saw Stringbean after this game was over…
The ball was snapped; again, Ty's snakebite fell short of Stringbean's throat, but he kept up with Stringbean's long strides nonetheless. Stringbean made no move to fake further inside or out, sticking to his line.
Zayden, noticing they were going deeper than usual, shot across, running with them as the ball was lobbed over. Ty kept close to Stringbean, but felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, pushing him down as Stringbean leapt, getting one hand to the ball. Zayden flew in, punching the ball free.
Ty was squashed between them both as they collided, and the trio crashed to the ground, Zayden and Stringbean spinning away from one another.
Coach Hoang winced. A collective gasp coming from the crowd as the impact settled. There were further sighs as each boy picked themselves up. Such were the chances you had to take on the gridiron. No-one got to step foot into such an arena without putting their body on the line.
The incompletion plugged the drain for a moment. The Dons still had hope; another interception could come. Even stopping the Shamrocks from going any further would be better than giving up another touchdown.
An angry Stringbean stalked back to his team's huddle, roughly pulling Trevor aside. 'We need to go deeper, goddammit! Go right over the top of that fucking burn victim or whatever.'
Trevor nodded, gently prying Jeremiah's hand off his shoulder. 'I hear you, big Byrd. And I trust you. Do you trust me to make that throw?'
'You wouldn't be on the team, and I wouldn't be asking if I didn't.'
Trevor frowned at Jeremiah's retreating back. He sighed. Sure, he hadn't intended to sign up for football that past summer, but by now, surely he'd more than earned his spot on the team.
Stringbean scowled down at Ty, and Ty matched his stare, unfazed. 'You and your little two-faced boyfriend are fucking DONE. You hear me? Filthy fucking cheats.'
'Are all people from your worthless state so fucking stupid?'
Rage flared across Stringbean's face as the ball was snapped. Ty darted back, out of the reach of an angry swipe, then continued to backpedal downfield, leading Stringbean as if he was a raging bull.
They streamed past Zayden, who had to turn and give chase, running alongside them as they raced towards the end-zone. There was still a minute on the clock, but the Shamrocks were going for the killshot.
Trevor lobbed the pass over; it was like something flung out of a catapult. It hung in the air for what felt like a lifetime. To Ty, it was as if the world was transported to another ice age. Everything moved with a glacial slowness.
He focused on Stringbean, who had a confident smirk plastered across his face. No doubt the giant saw the ball not as a pass that was still up for grabs, and could fall into anyone's hands, but as a trophy with his name written all over it. And why wouldn't he? Ty hadn't been able to stop him at all through the first half, only with the help of Zayden, who was once again racing to his rescue … maybe there was something Ty could use in that.
If contesting Stringbean through the air wasn't yielding any results, then it made sense Ty would have to change up his tactics. So instead of playing for the ball, what if Ty played Stringbean?
As the ball finally neared, Stringbean leapt into the air, as Ty knew he would. Stringbean probably could've beat Zayden's leap with just his standing reach, yet why would he risk it? Even if there was no risk, he was the type who wanted to stare down from so high up that his enemies appeared as ants. He needed to laud his superiority over all others as much as possible, which left him open to alternative attacks.
Stringbean claimed the ball easily; Zayden swiped at his arms to no avail, hardly reaching past his elbows. The moment Stringbean's hands wrapped around the ball, Ty's arms wrapped around his legs. Stringbean, despite his immense height, was light, especially compared to the shame Ty had to bear the longer the game went on, and the wider the margin become. Hoisting Stringbean onto his shoulders, Ty surged towards the sideline, keeping Stringbean high in the air, preventing his feet from touching the ground, even as he started to tip over, sliding from Ty's grip. Stringbean flailed, panic overtaking his expression, though he still had the wherewithal to keep the ball tucked against his inner forearm. Not like it mattered when Ty slammed him into the ground outside of the end-zone.
Though Stringbean had caught the ball, and maintained possession even when driven into the ground, his feet had never touched within the end-zone after establishing control of the ball. Officials came in, waving off the catch, signalling it was an incompletion because Stringbean was out-of-bounds.
Ty was victorious for now, albeit by the slimmest margin.
Stringbean shoved Ty aside—almost kicking him off—before struggling to his feet; one hand clutched his stomach as he panted hard. He'd been robbed, and what the hell had anyone done to stop it? He looked around, wide-eyed, pupils shrunken, and finally his vision settled on the official.
'That was bullshit and you know it!' Stringbean shouted. Again he was bending over the face of the official, making the man crane his neck back just to see eye-to-eye with him. 'How much did these cheating fucks pay you off? That was a foul! It had to be!'
The official wasted no time on him, turning away; Stringbean would've had an easier time shouting at a wall. Shooting a final glare Ty's way, Stringbean strode back to the Shamrocks' huddle.
'Yo! That was some crazy, quick thinking,' Zayden said, slapping Ty on the back. 'How'd you—'
'Save it,' Ty said. 'We've still got a job to do. One more stop.'
Zayden shut his mouth, nodding. The Shamrocks were only on third down … would the Dons recover if—after all that hard work—the Shamrocks simply went back to shorter passes and continued on that path until they reached the end-zone?
The job remaining unfinished wasn't the only reason Ty refused the praise—he didn't deserve it. He'd only won by resorting to such lowly tactics. Sure, he'd done nothing illegal, but it was still untoward. He had to look for exploits and loopholes, indirect ways to stall Stringbean, fighting tooth and claw just to stalemate, even with Zayden's help. It was practically admitting he couldn't beat Stringbean "head-to-head"; how was that worthy of celebration?
Stringbean was fuming when they lined up again. Rage consumed him, preventing him from speaking, and Ty was in no place to talk shit either, so the two stood in silence, staring at one another like they were trying to cause the other to spontaneously combust.
Again, Ty had to dodge back away from another swipe. Maybe he could try the same trick he had against Richaun, though with Stringbean's strike coming in at such a wide angle, it was more like a pendulum blade swinging down to cleave him in two. Even if it drew a foul, it'd probably do Ty more harm than good in the long run to take one of those shots to the head, even with his helmet.
As he played the scenario out in his head, he danced back, watching Stringbean. He easily tracked the cut to the outside, and was able to step under the route, following along. Yet that didn't stop Trevor from lobbing the ball over, and it didn't help Ty cutting it off.
Stringbean lunged, snagging the ball, planting one foot. Ty leapt, chopping at Stringbean's arms; his forearm a guillotine falling on the crook of Stringbean's elbow. The ball bobbled free, though as Stringbean stepped out, he secured his grip and dragged the ball tight against his chest.
Officials closed in, waving off the catch, signalling an incompletion, ruling that Stringbean was out-of-bounds before he finished the reception.
'WHAT?!' Stringbean near exploded, tossing the ball down. His mouth hung open as he looked between the two line judges, incomprehension clear on his face.
Ty turned away. Had he seen a weakness? He'd have to sit with it and think back to previous plays, but he thought he was noticing a dirty little habit the giant had, which could lead to his downfall.
Even with the incompletion, which Stringbean's arguing—no matter how fierce—couldn't overturn, the Shamrocks were still within field-goal range. So faced with fourth down, and time dwindling in the half, that's what they settled for.
The crowd found their voices long enough to try to distract the Kicker, however the ball sailed through without issue. Even Ty found himself wishing for the Tigers' luck.
After the successful field goal, the half was soon finished. The Dons elected to run out the rest of the clock rather than take a risk and give the Shamrocks yet another chance to widen their lead.
As both teams headed for their locker rooms, things looked bleak for the Dons, with the scoreboard reading 10–24.