For once, Ty sought Coach Hoang as they entered the locker room, rather than let the DC find him.
Coach Hoang turned to face him. 'Samuels?'
'How do you think we're doing so far, Coach?' Ty asked, unable to keep the bite from his voice.
Coach Hoang frowned. 'I know you're frustrated, Samuels. It's been some time since you've been completely at a loss like this. The Monarchs with Nate Langford if I recall. Or was it with Joseph Fale and the Eagles?'
Ty's gaze hardened. 'What are you saying?'
'I've got my hands full keeping the rest of the offence in check. One good thing should come from Byrd consistently getting the better of you in the first half, hopefully, it makes the Shamrocks lazy, and feel as if they don't need to adjust anything. If they do, I need to get on top of it. It's bad enough as it is, but if the other Receivers start beating us as well, we're done for.'
'So… what? You can't help me.'
Coach Hoang's frown returned, more intense. 'I'm not abandoning you, Samuels, there's just higher priority concerns. I trust you can figure out this giant problem on your own. When I have something for you, I'll let you know.'
Ty's mouth dropped open, though he didn't know what to say, and before he could say ANYTHING, Coach Hoang was already moving away to check in on the other defenders. Ty huffed, thumping down into his seat. "Fine. Leave me to save everyone's ass again."
But the longer he sat with his thoughts, and the more his anger subsided, he realised a couple of things—firstly, it was GOOD Coach Hoang trusted him enough to figure this out on his own, it was a sign of his skill and expertise already; secondly, he already had an idea how to stop Stringbean on his own.
That play, just before the Shamrocks had to settle for a field goal. It revealed Stringbean's weakness—he was too lax with the ball. A byproduct of being so dominant for so long, no doubt, especially of being uncontested in the air. But unlike basketball, football was won on the ground, and the play wasn't finished in the air. Whenever Stringbean caught a pass, he let his guard down the moment he lowered the ball. Ty had to strike then.
He grinned, hands steady as he tightened his laces. The Shamrocks' first drive in the new half would be a crucial one. If Ty could force a turnover, the Dons would be primed to control the game, no matter what the scoreboard said.
For the rest of the defence, the mission was simpler—keep doing what they were doing, stay focused, and don't let the Shamrocks get in their head.
Apart from trailing, Coach Hoang had noticed another problem. The team was getting more frustrated and aggressive the longer the game went on. Of course, there were a few hot heads within the Dons that usually got caught up in trash-talk and taunting during most games, but to see someone like Donte getting annoyed with the opponents … something was happening on the field. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do when all the boys were keeping tight-lipped about what was causing those frustrations.
On the other side of the room, Coach Long checked in with Chris, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'How are you feeling, son? You holding up okay?'
'I'm good, Coach,' Chris responded. 'I've never been better.' Smiling up at Coach Long, he flexed, trying to show his confidence wasn't unfounded.
'That's the spirit.' Coach Long returned the smile, patting him on the head. 'Don't worry, we'll do better in the second half; I'LL do better. And I know you want to do all you can, but be sure to put a hand up whenever you need a break. I'll make sure to throw Cameron in and give you a rest when you need it. Both of you are important.'
'For sure, Coach,' Chris said, glancing across the room to where Cam sat.
The two had a hard road ahead of them, but it'd be easier to walk it together. When their eyes met, Cam nodded. "I got you," the gesture said.
Chris returned the nod. Their performance in the second half was crucial. If they succeeded, hopefully they'd ease the Receivers' burdens as well. Making the Shamrocks focus on the run, so they could get beat over the top was the aim.
Coach Long moved towards the centre of the room, calling for everyone's attention, which he soon had.
'I know we never like trailing, but you should know one half is only one side of the coin. If they scored twenty-four points in the first half, we'll score twenty-five in the second.'
There were a few nods and quiet agreements from the offence.
'The good thing is we don't even need to score that much, if we can just get fifteen, and hold them to nothing, that's it, the game's ours. It doesn't sound so bad when I say it like that, does it? Two scores, and we've got two quarters to do it. That's only one touchdown a quarter, I know we can do that.'
The harder part would be holding the Shamrocks to zero points in a half, especially after the explosive displays they'd shown. But if any defence could do it, it was the one staring back at him.
'It sounds hard, but you have to remember, we've been here before, they haven't. Their backs have never been against the wall. They're soft, and they're especially soft because most of them boys are basketballers, not footballers.'
That got a disgruntled reaction from the Dons. Each face hardened, anger shining through their eyes.
'We are NOT about to be beaten by a team of upstarts, who think they can play our sport for fun, and to give themselves a challenge because they were bored.'
'Damn right we ain't,' Stephen said. 'We gonna fuck 'em up.'
Perhaps there was TOO MUCH rage in his voice. It was different than any other anger Coach Long had heard from the boy. Cold and honed. Hatred.
'The most important thing, is that we can beat them CLEANLY. We don't need to start any fights, or foul them, and we DEFINITELY don't need to do anything dirty. Stand up for yourselves, but don't get pulled into their BS; you won't do your family any good when you're thrown out of the game.'
He stared at Stephen, singling the boy out. Other eyes turned to him, though Coach Long noted a few—like Deshaun—were more introspective. Ty, on the other hand, just kept staring at a random spot on the floor, though that was usual for him.
'Bring it in, boys.'
The team stood, joining Coach Long in the middle of the room, fists raised together.
'Family on three. One, two, three—'
'Family!'
The cry was quieter than it had been in recent weeks, perhaps since the start of Nationals. Coach Long scanned the faces around him before they turned towards the exit, filing out into the tunnel, then thundering down its dark passage towards the field. He was relieved to see it was a determined focus keeping most of them quiet.
No, the boys wouldn't give into despair, not after everything they'd been through. They wouldn't let him down, so he had to do his job and make sure he didn't fail them either. However, how to stop that—and more importantly, Jeremiah Byrd—was something he didn't have the answer for … yet.
###
'I need you to be aggressive in this half, Jordy,' Coach Bean said. He stood in front of the boy, who sat in front of his locker, bent over to be face-to-face and eye-to-eye with him. 'You have to get angry. Every time they run the boy, they're insulting you, remember that.'
Jordy was breathing hard just thinking about it. 'Okay, Coach. I'll do my best.'
The boy looked more worried rather than angry. Coach Bean wore a gentle smile, patting Jordy's shoulder. He stood, looking around the row of boys sitting before him; all the Linemen lined up neatly. 'I need ALL of the Defensive Linemen to be more aggressive. We can't sit back and give them time to think. Let's show them they can't stop us, and put some pressure on him, okay?'
The staggered chorus of okay's that answered him were less enthusiastic than he would've liked. His focus settled on Jordy again.
'You're the leader, Jordy, these boys'll look to you for an example. Show them how its done. I'm relying on you.'
Jordy sighed, but nodded. 'I'll try, Coach.'
'That's all I ask, Jordy.'
Still smiling, Coach Bean wandered off. Jordy giving some effort was all he NEEDED to ask for. The boy wasn't lazy, despite what others would've thought upon looking at him, or even listening to him. But no, it wasn't laziness, just a lack of confidence. An issue they'd been working on, though it never seemed to go away. A shame, because it was an unfounded insecurity, like most were.
He stopped by Jeremiah's locker. Trevor looked like a kid sitting right next to Jeremiah. The two were locked in a one-sided conversation, as Jeremiah voiced his complaints regarding the refs letting the Dons get away with cheating on every play, though it didn't matter because they were gonna crush those dumb monkeys anyway, whilst Trevor just nodded along.
'Big Byrd! How are you feeling?' Coach Bean asked, beaming down at him.
Jeremiah snorted. 'I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. I'm great.'
'Good to hear it. Make sure you don't let them get under your skin. Throwing you off your game is the only way they can beat you.'
His snort was almost a laugh this time. 'Even at my worst I wouldn't lose to the likes of them. If the refs would stop allowing their bullshit, and call fouls when they happen, then this game would already be over.'
'Ah don't worry about that. They're just trying to keep it close for the drama, but we all know this game can only end with us winning. Just keep focused on yourself, and you let me deal with the officials.'
'Thanks, Coach.'
'That's what I'm here for, Jeremiah.' He turned to Trevor, holding out a fist. 'Keep up the good work T-Bone.'
Trevor pounded the fist with his own.
Coach Bean continued his rounds through the locker room. Spirits were high, as they should be with a two-touchdown lead going into the second half. Victory would be theirs, but it was important the boys didn't coast towards it. The Dons were a strong team, as outmatched as they were. Now all he had to do was keep the ship steady, and make sure they didn't run adrift into any snags.
Ah, but with someone like Jeremiah on the team, they were unstoppable. The national trophy was calling, and he already knew Westfield's name was all over it.
###
Ty sauntered onto the field. The crowd's welcome was quieter than it had been before the game, and the boos were louder, more taunting, as if the Westfield fans—and their bandwagoners—thought the game was already won. How foolish they were.
The warm-ups were done with quickly. When the Shamrocks emerged from their tunnel, the few boos that announced them, were easily overpowered by the cheers, as sparse as they were. None of them knew what was coming, and that was just how Ty liked it.
As dictated by the opening toss, the Shamrocks started the second half with the ball. Ty's hands didn't shake as he watched the teams line up for the kickoff, but he did clench them repeatedly. He banished doubt from his mind; his plan WOULD work. Stringbean WAS weak and beatable. The Dons WOULD win.
The entire crowd came alive, voices loud as ever as the Kicker charged in and put boot to ball. Shannon waited patiently, one foot in the end-zone as he caught it.
Darting ahead, he broke through Dons' tackles, and slipped in behind teammates' blocks, bringing the ball out to the Shamrocks' 32-yard line before he was brought down.
Starting the second half by giving up Shannon's best return of the day was a hit to the Dons' confidence. They shook it off as best they could as their defence marched out to meet the Shamrocks head on.
Stringbean smirked down at Ty as they came face-to-chest. 'Alright. Time to put you little freaks away for good. This game's over. My next touchdown should drive that point home even through your thick skull.'
'Oh it's definitely over,' Ty said. 'And maybe your next touchdown WOULD make someone as "dumb" as me understand … sucks we won't ever find out, seeing as you won't be scoring again. I don't know if someone from your neck of the woods could infer that so I had to spell it out real plain. Do you even know what infer means?'
Stringbean's smirk turned to a snarl. When the ball was snapped, he lurched towards Ty, then hesitated before slamming into Donte's side, knocking him off-balance. It was a run, and one that was heading straight for Ty, who was left unblocked.
They thought he was that worthless in run defence? Someone they could blatantly ignore? They hadn't watched enough film on the Dominguez Dons.
Shannon burst towards the outside with long strides. Whilst he covered good distance with each step, he still looked so slow to Ty. There was just no explosiveness to him.
Ty slid across the field, lining Shannon up, then pounced forward as he tried to turn the corner around the edge of the Line.
At the start of the season, running against Ty would've been a viable strategy for a team with a good RB. The Warren Bears and "King" Denzel had proved that. Of course, Denzel was a little more than just GOOD. However, after that beat down, Ty had promised never to be run over like that again. His promise might not've held up completely in the rematch with Warren, but he'd grown enough.
Whilst Denzel had turned out to be a false king, Shannon wasn't even a prince. Hell, he was barely even a court jester.
A long arm struck out at Ty, but it wasn't nearly as long as Jeremiah's, it didn't even match Ty's own reach. He fought through the stiff-arm attempt, and latched onto Shannon's chestpads, wrestling the Shamrock down after a gain of only 2.
Ty shoved him down further, standing over him. 'Your team would be better off without you on the field, bitch.'
Shannon struggled to his feet, bumping chests with Ty. His fury only grew. How was Ty looking DOWN at him with their height difference? A feat accomplished with an arrogant tilt of his head, Ty continued to stare down at the taller boy, even when Jeremiah loomed over them both like an out-of-control shadow. Ty turned that same, smug stare down at Stringbean.
'Don't you ever run from me again, pussy,' Ty spat.
Stringbean clenched a fist, but Shannon pushed him back. 'Hell nah. I see what you're doing. Fuck outta here with that noise. This little chicken-muncher ain't worth it.'
The two Shamrocks retreated, Jeremiah still glaring at Ty as if he could set him aflame with just a look.
Ty didn't back down. 'Only cock-eaters here are you white boys!' he shouted.
Returning to the Dons' huddle, Ty pulled Zayden aside. 'Hey, they'll pass this play.'
Zayden glanced across the field. Jeremiah was gesticulating wildly, standing out even further amongst his teammates. Half of them were turned towards the Dons, anger contorting their faces; he could almost see the peaked white hoods. Of course they'd pass.
'What do you want me to do about it?' he asked Ty.
'Make sure the ball comes my way. It should, but that doesn't mean we leave someone else open. So don't fucking look at me, just keep the others from getting open.'
Zayden looked as if he'd swallowed something rotten.
'Don't give me that look, Zayden. Just trust me. I can beat that motherfucker.'
Zayden stared down into Ty's eyes. So dark and cold. One could almost expect to see stars in those black expanses. He relented. 'I trust you.'
Without a further word, not even a nod, Ty turned away, moving back to Stringbean.
The tension between the two was thick enough to form a wall. Their hatred was beyond words at that moment. Words couldn't encapsulate the humiliation they NEEDED to inflict upon one another. Only action could, so they'd let their games do the talking.
At the snap, Stringbean lashed out, both hands thrusting like he was trying to knock Ty's shoulders from their sockets. Ty back-stepped out of the way, eyes flicking towards the QB. Of course, it was a pass, and of course Trevor was already looking their way.
Stringbean charged down the field, not veering left nor right, just a dead sprint straight ahead. Ty backpedalled, unconcerned, not even needing to turn around. The ball would still come, even if he was draped over Stringbean it'd come, but he gave the giant space; he'd need space, too.
Zayden kept his promise, and focused his attention on the other Receivers; Coach Hoang had already told him to leave Ty alone, but even if he hadn't, something about the determination on Ty's face would've made him steer clear. He drifted outside, making sure Amon had cover when dealing with Randy, as Sonny patrolled the other side with Deshaun and Braxton. The only one-on-one was Stringbean and Ty; inevitably the pass went their way.
Trevor lobbed it deep, wanting another 50+ yard touchdown. Ty's eyes reflected the stadium's lights as he watched the ball descend towards them.
Stringbean leapt, but Ty stayed grounded, watching him capture the ball above his head. When Stringbean started falling back to the ground, Ty pounced. Like a shark leaping from the water, snatching a seal off the surface, Ty burst through Stringbean's arms, latching onto the ball, and just like a shark's jaws and serrated teeth, Ty wasn't letting go.
He pulled and wrenched, even as Stringbean recovered from his shock and tried to fight back. But it was too late, Ty's teeth were in too deep, and the ball popped free from Stringbean's arms, falling completely into Ty's.
The two stumbled away from one another, both falling to the ground. Only Ty had the ball.
He'd beaten Stringbean again, and finally he'd done so legitimately, without help, and without having to resort to a cheap trick or smart use of the rules. He had his interception. The ball was his, and just like it, so was the game.