"Eyes on me Huskies!" Coach Peterson barked out through the hum of the pregame locker room conversations, quiet reflections, and pregame superstition rituals.
After my tryout, Coach Peterson told me on my UW visit almost three years ago that Huskies' Stadium had been renovated recently, including how the locker rooms were completely redone three months ago. Even though the purple and white LED lights made the interior locker space look like a spaceship, the rest of the building still held its original 1920 design.
He walked around the perimeter of the room and locked eyes with every player who silently stared at him with stoic respect. "We've put in a lot of hard work, preparing for this season," he started in a stern voice. "Every one of you has earned your place on this team, the privilege of wearing Huskies' purple and gold."
"We always start the beginning of each season with expectations," he continued and lifted one pointed finger towards the exit door. "Every one of those fans out there is sitting with expectations, you know the other coaches and I have our expectations."
A low chuckle rang out with nodded heads at his admission, which he grinned at, then pounded one fist against his chest. "Nothing weighs as much as the expectations you have for yourselves. We all have it, that drive, that push, that hunger. Take it, feed on it, use it, and let's show everyone how Huskies set the tone for this season!"
After Coach Peterson's pregame pep talk and Emmitt's hype-up speech, we lined up for the first game of our season. Our cleats clicked in staccato beats that mixed with the wavelike crowd noise sounds that increased the further along we walked in the cement tunnel to the field entrance. Once we stood behind a few male and female cheerleaders that held really large Husky flags, we stopped for our cue.
"Behind me, New Guy." Emmitt tossed a grin over his shoulder at me. If he hadn't been so cocky, I would've returned the grin but only shook my head. Wes lined up behind him but before I realized what happened, both of my hands were grabbed. A quick look on either side showed Kade on my left and Seth on my right. Both of their eyes were lit up with a contagious excitement that thrummed through me.
Somewhere behind me, a loud voice called out, "Dawgs in the house!"
Very quickly, another "Dawgs in the house!" rang out, followed by a chorus. "Dawgs in the house!"
A fluttered excitement ran through me when we broke into the repeated, "Dawgs in the house! Dawgs in the house! Dawgs in the house! Who!"
The chants increased, louder and louder, as we announced as one cohesive group that we'd arrived. We were here, ready to start the session and not just win but crush our opponent.
"Let's go Dawgs!" Emmitt roared once the black gates were opened.
Our cleats thundered down the cement tunnel as the opening roars of the crowd rumbled through us. Behind the cheer squad's lines that extended the tunnel onto the edge of the field, a sea of purple smoke filtered through the air. We ran forwards, down the aisle that the Husky Band lined up, all the way to the opposite thirty-yard line. Once my feet hit the turf, a loud, fire alarm-like sound pierced my ears and fortunately Kade and Reese dropped my hands.
After all the fanfare and excitement from our team entrance... my ass rode the bench for most of the game. The electricity in the gameday atmosphere, game opener at home against a PAC-12 division rival team, was contagious. So I sat on the edge of my bench during the game or paced a few times, particularly at the defensive stonewall the Ducks put up against our offense.
From the field, the stadium's layout felt like the fans sat on top of us. During renovations, apparently a track was removed so that the stands were just feet from the player benches. The lake and mountain views around us were unarguably amazing and the fans were so close that I heard personal conversations and various forms of 'encouragement,' but my focus was only on the artificial turf-level action.
After I'd started every game over the past two years for the Aggies at UC-Davis, disappointed was an understatement about how I felt in my role on the sidelines as Emmitt's backup. Patience wasn't in my football vocabulary and while a slight team weight on my shoulders was eased within practices, I'd still pushed myself through every rep, every drill, every weights session like the next game was mine to start, mine to win.
Since I'd arrived here for the Huskies, I'd seen the look behind the scrutinous gaze of the quarterbacks coach Coach Vaughn. While Coach Donovan and the rest of the offensive coaching staff observed from the coaches and press box, Coach Vaughn wore the same look he'd shared with Coach Donovan during our film meetings at my easy grasp on the offensive systems and Greg, the conditioning and training manager, at my performance in the gym and on the field. All of them were surprised by how easily I slotted into their system... and impressed.
Only one member of the Huskies' coaching staff hadn't worn that look, the man responsible for my development. Head Coach Peterson looked satisfied with me, even from a long distance, which only burned my irritation further. A supportive role on the team was one I'd hated and still only barely tolerated. My ego was burned and slightly bruised, annoyance flared up inside me, and my fingers twitched for action. Not even when Emmitt put the Huskies within scoring position to take the game lead last in the third quarter had I pulled out of my personal, pity-filled, sour funk.
Like the cold reality that is the game of football, everything changed within a blink. A helmet-to-knee contact during a sack on Emmitt knocked him down and he stayed down.
Just as quickly, once the physical trainers ran out onto the field for Emmitt, all eyes and the weight of the entire Husky Nation's attention shifted towards me.
When Emmitt went down, after my initial concern for the guy dissipated, a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. My helmet strapped, gloves snapped, and guards secured, I trotted out onto the field to a subdued, smattering of polite applause from the fans.
My turn.
With the first contact of my knee into the game turf, I looked around the huddle of purple jerseys and gold pants around me, stained and smeared with the game's turf battle scars while mine were still pristine clean. In everyone's eyes, doubt and uneasiness reflected back at me and I was damn sure that I changed that from the get-go.
"Let's finish this drive and take the lead for Emmitt, guys," I pressed out with the determination that surged inside me. "Wes, deep post route, take an inside step up on the cornerback. He's slower than the fourth linebacker, so just get open and I'll do the rest. Guards, move your feet. It's gonna come fast and I'm not about to let one of those linebackers catch me."
In practice, I'd proved that I was a step faster than Emmitt before his injury, which meant that the offensive line had some timing adjustments that they had no choice over. To buy them time to set my blocks, I took two steps back off the snap, then set my stance wide.
The soft roar of the crowd quieted down in the back of my mind while they watched as the play developed. Wes' legs churned as he slanted down the field, then ran two seconds off, three seconds until he broke eighteen inches from the Ducks' cornerback. The gap between Wes' dark purple uniform against those hideous neon yellow-green Oregon jerseys they'd chosen for today's game was a thing of beauty.
The Huskies' fans roared on their feet in anticipation because I'd already thrown the ball two seconds ago, a long, clean spiral that cut high, steady, and straight. In the game of inches, eighteen was practically a mile and Wes easily tucked the ball into his ribs. His pumped legs moved like he was built for that route, while I stood just as much a spectator as everyone else. The seventy-two thousand fans now stood up and cheered with a loud, thundering ruckus that rattled straight into my bones. While I'd seen the score coming, adrenaline still jolted through me when Wes crossed the goal line.
"Yeah!" I punched one fist straight up before Kade smashed right into my chest.
"Some play, new guy!" He roared and banged helmets with me.
"Just gettin' started," I promised him with a grin and slapped my palm on top of his helmet.
On my trot back to the bench, where I passed the special team guys for the extra point kick, my eyes lifted briefly up to the celebrating Huskies fans. Among a sea of purple and gold excitement, a few painted messages on bare torsos, my gaze landed on one small, tiny brunette who stared right back at me from the second row in Section 106. She stood, completely still with her hands clasped at her chest, but her dark brown eyes shone proudly like she wore stars in them.
Even though Ellie probably couldn't see because of my helmet and mouth guard, I grinned widely. This time I couldn't sit still on the bench and bounced like a kid in his first peewee camp, so Coach Vaughn grabbed my shoulder. His stiff posture read all business since he had a game to finish but I still caught the pride that flashed in his eyes.
"Great pass, LT," he said in my ear, then nodded down at the tablet in his hand. "Let's get this next block of plays setup. Huskies don't play just to not lose."
"Me neither," I assured him. While we stood shoulder to shoulder, he rolled through the play calls and we focused on starting out the season with a win.
"Let's finish this." I broke from the huddle and our offensive team took their positions at the line of scrimmage. We set up a fake running play that was really a shuttle pass to my slot receiver Seth. Despite being a tool over Ellie, he'd made tight receptions all game and right now that was all that mattered.
The defense had more than done their job and held the Ducks scoreless since I'd taken over as quarterback. After my opening pass to Wes, our offense had cooled off a little. With my faster starts, our offensive line had struggled all game and both backs, Javon Weller and D'Angelo Jones, had been stonewalled on every run play. We'd moved the ball well on passing plays but ended up scoreless each attempt after my opening pass. Even up 21-14 with six minutes left in the fourth quarter, Oregon had plenty of time to score and steal away the win.
Not on my watch.
From our forty-five yard line, I dropped back into the pocket just as Seth faked out the corner, then twice stutter-stepped around the guy like he'd schooled his linebacker defender in a dance-off. He had the distance but slipped off his route. With a slight adjustment, I pumped the ball back once, then released my throw off my back foot.
Shit.
My toss was high and far, which gave the cornerback more adjustment time. Since this wasn't the exact and perfectly executed set up play, like the rest of the stadium, I watched in breathless anticipation. Seth pumped his legs with every ounce of what they had but the Ducks' defender was on him like a second skin.
Their hands batted at each other the whole run and, right before the ball looked like it sailed out of reach, Seth's tall, lean frame extended up and his fingers clamped down around the pigskin. He twisted mid-air and landed down, hard but right near the end zone. After fifty-three yards in thirty seconds, the entire stadium of seventy-two thousand people screamed at the top of their lungs and I finally exhaled.
This is why I play the game.
Adrenaline pumped through me with my raised fist. The stadium blurred from my vision as I tore down toward the end zone, and before I reached Seth, my feet were lifted off the ground by who I eventually recognized as Darrius Williams, my right guard. He smacked my butt then set me down, before Seth rushed in and crashed his helmet against mine.
"Not bad, pretty boy!" He yelled in my face, helmet to helmet.
"Let's get the points first," I grinned at him. "Gimme a hole to punch this home."
"Done," he returned my grin with one of his own.
I rolled with our momentum and quickly set up the quarterback sneak. Darrius was true to his word, he pushed one defensive tackle, Kade did the rest on the trailing linebacker, and I ran in virtually untouched until a giant pile collapsed on me.
The roar of the crowd rained down through the grunts, swear words, and personal insults that filled my ears. Groan by groan, the weight was lifted off me until a pair of hands lifted me up. I pounded my palm into Darrius' number fifty-five, then crashed into celebration after celebration from our offensive guys.
A few post-adrenaline nerves fluttered through me while I trotted off the field and back to the sidelines. My eyes wandered over the stadium aimlessly until they landed on the pair of dark, shining brown eyes from where I'd memorized her seat location during the last score and my heart squeezed my chest.
Ellie.
Without hesitation, my right hand palmed flat over my chest, then I pointed one index finger at her. The surprise on her face and how her entire body stiffened in her stance was obvious.
The gravity of my hand gesture tore into me when I realized I'd just flashed her the 'You're my one and only' sign I'd done for her during my high school games. My breathing tensed, my heartbeat pulsed in my ears, and the stadium blurred around her while everything else fell out of focus. After what felt like eons, her face cracked a smile and she flashed me the same gesture.
You're my one and only.
She probably hadn't meant the words behind the gesture, but even if I pretended she did for just this moment lifted me up in a way I didn't realize I needed. While I knew the over seventy-two thousand fans today were tough critics, nothing compared to how I felt at the idea I already had the support from one in particular.