Read Online Football Champ by Tim Green - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tim Green
Tags: Ages 8 & Up
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fired, but I sure will. Don’t do this to me, Troy, unless you’re absolutely certain.”
Troy swallowed. Coach Mora was right. With the additional time to consider, Mike Holmgren, Seattle’s head coach and an offensive wizard, could easily change his mind and use another play. Troy looked down at the executives scowling up at him, but he knew he was right.
“Do it, Coach. Please .”
Mora jumped out onto the field, signaling time-out to the referee. Seth jogged over to the sideline and Mora offered him his headset. Coach McFadden marched through the crowd of players and put a hand on Mora’s shoulder, spinning him around and talking angrily. Troy shifted his attention to Seth, who removed his helmet, put the headset on over his sweat-plastered hair, and asked, “What’s up, buddy?”
“They’re going to run a counter trey to the weak side,” Troy said.
“Troy, that’s great,” Seth said, “but why the time-out? Why didn’t you just tell Mora that and have himsignal it in? McFadden’s about to blow a gasket.”
“Because we need a turnover,” Troy said, “or this thing’s over. Shoot the strong-side A gap. If you follow the pulling guard, you might be able to hit the quarterback when he hands off the ball, hit him hard, and make him fumble. You can do it.”
The referee blew his whistle, signaling the end of the time-out, and Troy heard the coaches shouting all around Seth.
“Did you hear me?” Troy said, raising his voice to a quiet scream.
“Yes,” Seth said. “You’re right. It might work.”
“It will work,” Troy said. “It has to. Go.”
Seth handed the headset to Mora and ran back out onto the field, gesturing to his teammates and breaking the huddle so they could meet the Seahawks at the line. During the excitement, Troy hadn’t kept an eye on the Seahawks, and as they came to the line, his stomach dropped.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“ TROY,” MORA SAID INTO the headset.
“I know,” Troy said. “I see.”
The Seahawks had changed personnel during the time-out, exactly what Coach Mora had been afraid of.
“Will they still run it? They’ve got three wide receivers.”
Troy wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want the coach to know that.
“Yes,” Troy said. “They’ll run it.”
As Hasselbeck began his cadence, Seth eased up toward the line of scrimmage. Just before the snap, he darted at the offensive guard. The center hiked the ball. The guard pulled. Seth shot through the empty space a split second before it closed. The quarterback did a complete turn, extending the ball. The runner took ajab step to the strong side before cutting back toward the weak side, providing the delay Seth needed.
As the quarterback handed off the ball, Seth hit him from behind, crashing his arms down on the quarterback’s hand, sending the ball scooting across the turf and the crowd into a frenzy. Demorrio Williams came from around the far side end, scooped up the fumble, broke a feeble tackle by Shaun Alexander, and raced toward the end zone. On his way there, Bobby Engram, the Seahawks’ speedy wide receiver, closed the gap and grabbed hold of Demorrio’s shoulder pad.
Demorrio spun, tumbling, and pitched the ball back to DeAngelo Hall. No one could catch him. When he got into the end zone, DeAngelo slid down on his knees and raised both arms up to the crowd. The noise washed over Troy, crashing from one side of the stadium to the other, with people waving their arms and banners and hats, so that Troy could only think of a movie he’d seen in science class about an enormous bee hive.
The executives jumped up, spilling their drinks, hooting, and clapping one another on the back. They pushed one another for the chance to bound up the steps and slap high-fives with Troy. Mr. Langan burst back through the door, too, slapping him a high-five, then hugging him tight. Tate and Nathan barged into the small space and hollered and danced around with Troy.
When the excitement died down and everyone
Troy swallowed. Coach Mora was right. With the additional time to consider, Mike Holmgren, Seattle’s head coach and an offensive wizard, could easily change his mind and use another play. Troy looked down at the executives scowling up at him, but he knew he was right.
“Do it, Coach. Please .”
Mora jumped out onto the field, signaling time-out to the referee. Seth jogged over to the sideline and Mora offered him his headset. Coach McFadden marched through the crowd of players and put a hand on Mora’s shoulder, spinning him around and talking angrily. Troy shifted his attention to Seth, who removed his helmet, put the headset on over his sweat-plastered hair, and asked, “What’s up, buddy?”
“They’re going to run a counter trey to the weak side,” Troy said.
“Troy, that’s great,” Seth said, “but why the time-out? Why didn’t you just tell Mora that and have himsignal it in? McFadden’s about to blow a gasket.”
“Because we need a turnover,” Troy said, “or this thing’s over. Shoot the strong-side A gap. If you follow the pulling guard, you might be able to hit the quarterback when he hands off the ball, hit him hard, and make him fumble. You can do it.”
The referee blew his whistle, signaling the end of the time-out, and Troy heard the coaches shouting all around Seth.
“Did you hear me?” Troy said, raising his voice to a quiet scream.
“Yes,” Seth said. “You’re right. It might work.”
“It will work,” Troy said. “It has to. Go.”
Seth handed the headset to Mora and ran back out onto the field, gesturing to his teammates and breaking the huddle so they could meet the Seahawks at the line. During the excitement, Troy hadn’t kept an eye on the Seahawks, and as they came to the line, his stomach dropped.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“ TROY,” MORA SAID INTO the headset.
“I know,” Troy said. “I see.”
The Seahawks had changed personnel during the time-out, exactly what Coach Mora had been afraid of.
“Will they still run it? They’ve got three wide receivers.”
Troy wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want the coach to know that.
“Yes,” Troy said. “They’ll run it.”
As Hasselbeck began his cadence, Seth eased up toward the line of scrimmage. Just before the snap, he darted at the offensive guard. The center hiked the ball. The guard pulled. Seth shot through the empty space a split second before it closed. The quarterback did a complete turn, extending the ball. The runner took ajab step to the strong side before cutting back toward the weak side, providing the delay Seth needed.
As the quarterback handed off the ball, Seth hit him from behind, crashing his arms down on the quarterback’s hand, sending the ball scooting across the turf and the crowd into a frenzy. Demorrio Williams came from around the far side end, scooped up the fumble, broke a feeble tackle by Shaun Alexander, and raced toward the end zone. On his way there, Bobby Engram, the Seahawks’ speedy wide receiver, closed the gap and grabbed hold of Demorrio’s shoulder pad.
Demorrio spun, tumbling, and pitched the ball back to DeAngelo Hall. No one could catch him. When he got into the end zone, DeAngelo slid down on his knees and raised both arms up to the crowd. The noise washed over Troy, crashing from one side of the stadium to the other, with people waving their arms and banners and hats, so that Troy could only think of a movie he’d seen in science class about an enormous bee hive.
The executives jumped up, spilling their drinks, hooting, and clapping one another on the back. They pushed one another for the chance to bound up the steps and slap high-fives with Troy. Mr. Langan burst back through the door, too, slapping him a high-five, then hugging him tight. Tate and Nathan barged into the small space and hollered and danced around with Troy.
When the excitement died down and everyone
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