line, McNulty called time-out. I leaned forward. Sure enough, when the team returned to the field, Angel Marichal was at middle linebacker.
I looked around meâno one else seemed to have noticed. I nudged the guy next to me, a kid I knew from calculus named Bill Diggsy. "Angel Marichal's playing. We'll stop them now."
Diggsy grunted. He had no clue who Angel Marichal was.
I guess I'd started thinking Angel was Superman, because I expected him to stop Dieter in his tracks. I'd forgotten that Angel was ice cold and that Dieter was a D-1 scholarship athlete firing on all cylinders. On first down, Dieter took a pitch, raced toward the corner, cut back against the grain, and waltzed into the end zone, untouched. The extra point sailed wide, making it Inglemoor 6, Lincoln 0, with half of the first quarter gone.
There was an uneasy quiet around me. The more people want their team to win, the more pain they feel when their team falls behind.
What surprised me was that I felt it, too.
Once, when my dad and I were talking about college, he told me that I could major in anything I wanted as long as it wasn't philosophy. "What's wrong with philosophy?" I asked.
"The logic part is useless," he said. "People have never been and never will be logical."
I thought about that conversation as both teams took the field for the kickoff. I didn't like Coach McNulty; I didn't like Angel; and I didn't like Horst. The first two were probably cheaters and the third had an ego the size of Mount Rainier. So I should want Lincoln to lose ... right? When I thought about the team before the game, I always thought of them as
they.
But while the game was going on, when they were right down on the field below and I was surrounded by cheering kids,
they
somehow morphed into
we.
Blake Stein returned the kick to the thirty-five, and Horst came out throwing, threading the needle with his passes and mixing in a run from Shawn Warner now and then, transforming the silence into cheers. Just when a touchdown seemed inevitable, Horst got clobbered as he let a pass go. The ball wobbled in the air, underthrown by five yards, and an Inglemoor cornerback dived for it, making an incredible interception and killing the drive. Back came our defense with Angel at middle linebacker, and back came J. D. Dieter.
What a battle that was. Dieter was the whole show for Inglemoor, but even though everyone in the stadium knew he was getting the ball on nearly every play, that didn't make him easy to stop. Sometimes he'd break through Angel's tackle and plow forward for seven, eight, nine yards; sometimes Angel would plant his shoulder pads into Dieter's gut and drive him back.
Dieter was too good to be bottled up; Angel was too good to be run over. So throughout the first half Inglemoor picked up a few first downs only to have Lincoln's defense stiffen. Twice Inglemoor got in field-goal range, but both times the kicks sailed wide right. The other drives ended in punts.
Inglemoor's defense wasn't strong, but if you're lucky, you don't have to be good. Throughout the first half, the football gods turned on Horst. The first two drives had ended with a penalty and then an interception; the next two ended with fumbles. And just before halftime, Lenny Westwood dropped a sure touchdown pass. The score at the half remained Inglemoor 6, Lincoln 0.
I don't know what McNulty said to the team in the locker room, but I bet it wasn't pretty, because it was a different Lincoln Mustang team that came out of the locker room.
After a short return of the kickoff, Inglemoor's freshman QB led his team onto the field. Across the line of scrimmage from him, the Lincoln defenders were jumping around, sky-high. Angel was playing middle linebacker; Darren Clarke was on the bench where he belonged.
On first down, the Inglemoor QB handed off to Dieter on what looked like a standard dive play. Angel shed his blocker and was moving in to make the bone-jarring tackleâonly Dieter wasn't
I looked around meâno one else seemed to have noticed. I nudged the guy next to me, a kid I knew from calculus named Bill Diggsy. "Angel Marichal's playing. We'll stop them now."
Diggsy grunted. He had no clue who Angel Marichal was.
I guess I'd started thinking Angel was Superman, because I expected him to stop Dieter in his tracks. I'd forgotten that Angel was ice cold and that Dieter was a D-1 scholarship athlete firing on all cylinders. On first down, Dieter took a pitch, raced toward the corner, cut back against the grain, and waltzed into the end zone, untouched. The extra point sailed wide, making it Inglemoor 6, Lincoln 0, with half of the first quarter gone.
There was an uneasy quiet around me. The more people want their team to win, the more pain they feel when their team falls behind.
What surprised me was that I felt it, too.
Once, when my dad and I were talking about college, he told me that I could major in anything I wanted as long as it wasn't philosophy. "What's wrong with philosophy?" I asked.
"The logic part is useless," he said. "People have never been and never will be logical."
I thought about that conversation as both teams took the field for the kickoff. I didn't like Coach McNulty; I didn't like Angel; and I didn't like Horst. The first two were probably cheaters and the third had an ego the size of Mount Rainier. So I should want Lincoln to lose ... right? When I thought about the team before the game, I always thought of them as
they.
But while the game was going on, when they were right down on the field below and I was surrounded by cheering kids,
they
somehow morphed into
we.
Blake Stein returned the kick to the thirty-five, and Horst came out throwing, threading the needle with his passes and mixing in a run from Shawn Warner now and then, transforming the silence into cheers. Just when a touchdown seemed inevitable, Horst got clobbered as he let a pass go. The ball wobbled in the air, underthrown by five yards, and an Inglemoor cornerback dived for it, making an incredible interception and killing the drive. Back came our defense with Angel at middle linebacker, and back came J. D. Dieter.
What a battle that was. Dieter was the whole show for Inglemoor, but even though everyone in the stadium knew he was getting the ball on nearly every play, that didn't make him easy to stop. Sometimes he'd break through Angel's tackle and plow forward for seven, eight, nine yards; sometimes Angel would plant his shoulder pads into Dieter's gut and drive him back.
Dieter was too good to be bottled up; Angel was too good to be run over. So throughout the first half Inglemoor picked up a few first downs only to have Lincoln's defense stiffen. Twice Inglemoor got in field-goal range, but both times the kicks sailed wide right. The other drives ended in punts.
Inglemoor's defense wasn't strong, but if you're lucky, you don't have to be good. Throughout the first half, the football gods turned on Horst. The first two drives had ended with a penalty and then an interception; the next two ended with fumbles. And just before halftime, Lenny Westwood dropped a sure touchdown pass. The score at the half remained Inglemoor 6, Lincoln 0.
I don't know what McNulty said to the team in the locker room, but I bet it wasn't pretty, because it was a different Lincoln Mustang team that came out of the locker room.
After a short return of the kickoff, Inglemoor's freshman QB led his team onto the field. Across the line of scrimmage from him, the Lincoln defenders were jumping around, sky-high. Angel was playing middle linebacker; Darren Clarke was on the bench where he belonged.
On first down, the Inglemoor QB handed off to Dieter on what looked like a standard dive play. Angel shed his blocker and was moving in to make the bone-jarring tackleâonly Dieter wasn't
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