SUPERWORLD

Marco I

The embarrassed silence and pleading looks they all exchanged were answer enough.

The rest of the day proceeded as if Marco had hit fast forward on his life, returning to normal speed for a moment to see Albertson's face when he handed in his homework. Then, thankfully, mercifully, the final bell rang and Marco ran to practice, his heart brimming with joy.

The sun beat down from the Texan sky onto the neatly trimmed field. Marco was thankful that Coach Dixon called for a break. Marco had lived in Sweetwater his whole life, and yet it still managed to find new temperatures with which to assault him.

"Alright boys, listen up!" Coach Dixon called to the droning semi-circle of Marco's peers at the water tank. "We got four days 'till we meet Morrison Creek and if y'all play like you've been practicin', it's gonna be a slaughter! Y'all wanna get slaughtered like the farmers' cattle?"

"No, Coach!" Marco and his team called back.

"Now that's what I thought. Johnson, where's the form tackle? You gotta wrap up or number fifteen gonna slip right outta yerr hands! Linemen, y'all gotta execute, I seen you do real good last week against Northern Christian, but I ain't seen none of that here today, pick it up! Thompson, Michael is puttin' the ball right on ya, why ain't ya catchin' it?"

"Coach, I don't mean to interrupt, but Louis just had good coverage on Thompson, don't matter how good I throw it if Louis is right there with 'em." Michale Arnson spoke up.

Marco always hated that, he could never contradict the coaches like that, even if he was stupid enough to try. But, being the golden boy of Sweetwater High has that sort of advantage.

"Then Thompson's gotta learn to shed coverage! Make a move, get 'em off ya! Ya hear me?"

"Yes, coach!" Thompson answered.

"Alright boys, let's run some defense, starters on the field in Base Blue. Rivera, get 'em goin'!"

"Yes, coach!" Marco responded, he gave the squeeze bottle of the precious, frigid water back to the water boy and strapped on his helmet. "Defense! Base! Base!" Marco ordered, taking the field.

And just like that, all the other members of the starting defense lined up in their positions. Marco fell back ten yards from the line of scrimmage and scanned the offensive side of the field, looking for any indication of what was about to happen.

Then he saw it, one receiver and the tight end on the left, two receivers on the right. They're going to run Morrison Creek's signature play.

The idea of this play was to draw attention to the two receivers on the right, then have the running back go to the left where the lone receiver and tight end would block for him. Marco has seen it a thousand times on film, and he knew exactly what to do. While Peter, second-string quarterback, was beginning his cadence, Marco began shifting from center field over to the left where he knew the running back and the ball would be.

"Set, hut, hut, Hike!" Peter called from behind the center.

Marco went off like a bullet from a gun. He ran straight to where he knew the ball would be. The right end and the receiver started blocking the corner and inside backer, but it didn't matter. Marco shot the gap between the four men and saw James running full speed around the corner to meet him. Marco saw James' eyes get wide only for a second before his attention shifted to the ball in the boy's hand. Marco slammed into James at full speed with his shoulder, knocking the ball loose and Eric to the ground with a guttural oof. Marco caught the ball mid-air and raised the stride of his legs to step over the collapsing body of James. Marco heard only the wind whooshing through the early holes in his helmet as he charged downfield and into the end zone. He heard the coach blow the whistle and that brought him back down to the world from the immense high of the sport.