Ryan
"Focus, Fitzgerald! Hands team, line up!"
The whistle blew, a sharp, piercing sound that made my head throb. The stadium lights were blinding, casting long, dramatic shadows across the turf during our final Thursday night walk-through before the big scout game tomorrow.
I stood at the line of scrimmage, my breathing heavy, my chest tight.
"Blue eighty! Blue eighty!" I called the cadence, but my voice felt hollow.
I took the snap, executed a perfect play-action fake, and looked downfield. Tyler was cutting into the end zone, completely uncovered. I launched the ball. It was a perfect spiral, cutting through the crisp autumn air, landing perfectly in his breadbasket for a touchdown.
The team erupted into cheers, helmets slapping, shoulder pads clashing.
"There he is!" Coach Mille
