Juice by Eric Walters Page A

couple of quarterback rushes and a shared sack. My arms were sore and my legs were heavy. It felt like I’d been running through water all day.
    I also felt like I was letting my teammates down. The Moose hadn’t been able to break loose all game. That could change with one play. Just one play.
    I stood over my spot and waited as the other team’s huddle broke and the players got into position. They looked confident, cocky. But why shouldn’t they? All they had to do was hold onto the ball and make the game-winning field goal.
    If Dave was right, they were going to hand off the ball to the back. He would cut along theline, right in front of me, to get to the middle of the field. The only thing between him and me was his offensive line. All I had to do was listen for the snap, explode off the line, knock down my man and probably another, and … Wait a minute, what if I hesitated for a split second? What if I waited for them to see the blitz coming from everywhere and then shot into the gap? The gap that would form when they left to try to cover the extra men?
    â€œThree-ninety-eight!” yelled out their quarterback.
    I felt the hairs on my arms stand up. This was the play that was going to decide the season, decide who would be champions.
    â€œThree-ninety-eight. Hup. Hup. Hup!”
    There was an explosion of sound and fury as both lines surged forward and bodies collided. I stutter-stepped and then shot through the little opening between two players, splitting them, practically untouched. I was suddenly standing in the backfield with the quarterback just off to the side! I launched myself at him as he turned to hand the ball off to the running back. My helmet hit hisback with a sickening thud. I wrapped my arms around him, and the ball shot free and into the air! It bounced against the back’s hands and then up and off his helmet and soared into the air. It was like I was watching in slow motion as the ball turned, end over end, hitting first one player and then another until it hit the ground and rolled and wobbled right into my outstretched hands. I pulled the ball toward me until it was right against my chest, protected, shielded and cradled there as bodies piled on top of me. It was mine.

Chapter Two
    The dressing room was filled with sounds and smells and emotions. Cheering, screaming, swearing, yelping. People chasing each other around the room, spraying soda that they’d shaken up. Lots of laughing. Some were even fighting back tears. Tears of joy. A few of the guys had stripped down to their boxers and others were still in full uniform, as if they thought that when they took off their uniform, the party would end, or we’dhave to give back the trophy. The championship trophy. Saying that made me smile. Champions.
    In the center of all the confusion and celebration stood Coach Reeves. He’d hugged each player as we came into the dressing room. He’d been in tears. Big tears. He hadn’t been trying to hide them. I think he was still crying, but those tears had been lost in the tons of soda that had been sprayed all over him, soaking him from head to toe.
    I sat off to the side, my back against the wall, drinking it all in. This was like a dream. Not just today, not just winning the championship, but the whole season. Me, Michael the Moose, making the senior team, then becoming a starter and then becoming more than a starter—becoming a star. I had to smile. I wouldn’t say it to anybody else, but I had been one of the most important people on the team. I was the Moose. I’d led the team in sacks. And when I tossed down a quarterback, the stands would erupt, everyone making moose noises and yelling out “The Moose is on the loose, the Moose is on the loose.”
    I still cradled the football in my arm. I’d held onto it on the field and I hadn’t let it out of my hands after the game. I knew that eventually I’d have to let go of it, but not