The kick was high, but not that deep. Kenny caught it securely against his chest, and his eyes quickly scanned the field.
He weaved around blocks and ducked under outstretched arms, spinning away from tackles as he made it through the chaos and out towards half-field.
As he raced down the sideline, only the last line of the defence—the Kicker themselves—stood between him and a touchdown.
Kenny nestled the ball under his outside arm, freeing his right arm in preparation to fend off the incoming tackle, but while his eyes focused on the Kicker’s chest and arms, he was taken out from below.
The Kicker swung their leg out, tripping Kenny up. Kenny tumbled to the ground and rolled along the grass—tripping was a damn foul and everyone knew it.
‘That was on purpose! Get him off the field!’ Jackson pushed himself up out of his seat, standing up on his crutches. His mom quickly but gently pulled him back into his seat, chastising him for his outburst.
Kenny sprung up, eyes glowering with rage as he threw the ball down and stomped towards the Kicker, officials were already converging on the spot of the foul, yellow flags strewn across the grass.
The Kicker held his hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry! I hope you’re okay. I had to… no way I could’ve taken you down, and… a foul is better than a touchdown. You understand, right?’ He bowed his head. ‘Please forgive me.’
Kenny scowled but turned away, shaking his head and jogging back to his team’s huddle. There was a bad taste in his mouth; the Kicker hadn’t even TRIED taking him on with a proper tackle.
Of course, an extra 15 yards were tacked onto the end of Kenny’s return thanks to the Kicker’s unsportsmanlike conduct at the end, which meant the Titans would start even closer to the Coyotes’ endzone.
Kenny received some quick words of praise and a pat on the back for his efforts when he made it back to the huddle—even with the sour end, it was still a good run.
It wasn’t long before the Titans took the field again, this time in the formation of their offence, with Kenny on his own out wide to the right of the formation on the strong side with Lonnie lined up at TE on that end of the line as well.
Petey was kept under Center as he was ready to accept the snap, only one RB behind him, and then Fred was set up way out to the left side of the field, with another WR next to him much closer to the rest of the team.
The CB that lined up opposite Kenny wore the number 21. He was ghostly pale, with a crooked grin, knobbly knees and elbows, and a mop of black hair that stopped just above his eyes.
The CB offered a hand to Kenny. ‘Good luck,’ he said.
Kenny looked at the hand for a moment before he reached out and shook it.
21 grinned more, latched onto Kenny’s hand tightly and yanked it up and down hard, like he was trying to rip Kenny’s arm straight from its socket.
‘Hey! What the fuck?!’ Kenny shoved the crooked CB back.
‘Oi number 13, cut that out, save it for when the play starts,’ an official reprimanded Kenny.
Kenny rubbed at his shoulder, the official was already moving away before he could even say anything back.
21 just laughed and continued grinning at Kenny.
Kenny scowled and shoved his mouthguard in, his teeth grinding down on it angrily.
Each Titans Receiver was closely covered before the snap, every DB just within arm’s length of the Receiver they would be responsible for.
‘Hike!’ At Petey’s shout, the field exploded into motion. From one side to another, bodies smashed into each other as the physical war for dominance began.
Right from the onset, it was clear the Coyotes weren’t going to be fighting fairly.
From the Defensive Line, out to every DB marking a Receiver, they were all holding and pulling on their opposition, tugging on their jerseys to either hold them in place or drag them down.
The Titans’ Offensive Line quickly fell apart and blitzing defenders swarmed Petey.
He stumbled back, and threw the ball out of bounds well over the head of Kenny, just so they wouldn’t lose any yards when he was crushed between two Coyotes less than a second after he got rid of the ball.
But, more yellow flags indicating penalties and fouls were scattered across the field. The Coyotes’ holding had been so blatant that it would’ve been impossible for the officials to miss.
The result of a foul for holding against the defence would result in the offence being awarded 5 yards, and a fresh set of downs. So the result of the previous play was voided completely.
With the help of the RB, Petey picked himself back up, wincing and groaning a bit as he did so.
‘Shit, thanks Isaac… ugh, those fuckers hit me damn hard,’ Petey said.
Isaac—the team’s RB, and a CB when playing defence—was a freshman, whose puffy cheeks were usually sunburnt. He had thick, powerful legs, but a spindly upper body.
‘Hey, imma need you to stay back and protect me too if they keep blitzing like that.’
Isaac nodded and got back into position.
During the next play, the line held up a bit longer, and Kenny was able to break away from 21 for a moment. Petey let the ball fly towards Kenny, though just before he could catch it, 21 yanked Kenny back, dragging him down and stopping him from catching the pass.
Another flag hit the grass, this time for Defensive Pass Interference (DPI), as the ball was in the air when the foul occurred, so instead of just the typical 5 yards for holding or illegal contact, the ball would be moved all the way up to the spot of the foul instead no matter how far that was, and once again, the offence would be given a new set of downs.
The whole first drive continued like that. The Coyotes’ defence continuously fouled their opponents and played roughly under the guise of “setting the tone”.
However, when the Titans neared the goal line, the Coyotes switched up their attitude. They didn’t start playing entirely cleanly, mind you, but they began to hide their holding and fouling much better, and the officials either ignored it, or couldn’t see it.
A subtle tug here to hold a Receiver back just enough so they could only get their fingertips on a pass. Or a quick yank on the facemask of Isaac’s helmet to bring him down after a short gain on his run—with how congested the area around the ball was, no one could see it, and only Isaac himself would be desperately appealing and trying to convince the clueless officials of what had happened.
Or holding on to a blocker, so one of their teammates could pass by unmolested to get a free run at Petey. With their underhanded tricks, the Coyotes held the Titans up, right at the goal line, and forced them to take a field goal instead.
‘Ref! Come on, they’re cheating! Open your eyes, man,’ Kenny complained in vain. The officials simply waved him off and told him to return to his team’s huddle.
‘This is bullshit!’ Jackson’s voice carried clearly across the field, and Kenny couldn’t help but chuckle as he looked up and watched Jackson be torn back down into his seat and chided by his mom again, this time for using such foul language.
‘Sorry, but, they’re cheating! And it’s so obvious but those stupid, blind bastards can’t even see it happening right under their noses,’ Jackson complained.
‘Yes well…’ His mom cleared her throat. ‘I’m sure they’re doing their best. Not everyone is perfect Jackie, and getting mad at someone else’s mistakes isn’t going to do you any favours, it’ll just get you in a lot of trouble.’
She turned her attention back to the game, and Jackson knew that was the end of that discussion.
The field goal was not too far out, and the Coyotes were more focused on hitting the blocking Titans with short, hidden elbows and forearms, rather than actually trying to stop the kick.
The ball sailed through, and the first points of the game were tacked on for the Titans, as only a couple of minutes into the game, the score was already 3–0 in favour of the home team.
Even though the Coyotes had been the one to give up points, they were the much more lively and spirited of the two teams as they both made their way back to the sidelines and to their respective benches.
The Titans trudged back to their bench, licking their wounds and grumbling about how it was bullshit those dirty fuckers were allowed to get away with all their cheating.
‘Hey, gather round and keep quiet. Don’t look at them,’ Coach Otsen said, pulling his players' attention back to him in the huddle. ‘You got 3 points and that’s all that matters out there. They can’t cheat forever, and so what if they do? You’re the better team. You’re stronger, faster, and tougher. Even THEY know that; why do you think they resort to breaking the rules, huh?’
Kenny turned his head towards the Coyotes’ bench again, but Coach Knight stood in his way, blocking his view and forcing his gaze back towards Coach Otsen.
‘Only a bunch of fucking pussies who know they’re shit at this game, and can’t win on their own would ever resort to openly cheating like that. Are you gonna lose to a team like that?’ Coach Otsen said.
‘No!’ the players roared.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
‘I can’t hear you!’ Coach Otsen challenged.
‘NO!’
‘Then get out there and kick their fucking asses!’
The Titans gave a war cry as they made their way back out onto the field, the crowd cheering them on.
The kickoff was mostly uneventful, with the Coyotes’ returner waiting in the endzone until a Titans player finally got close, before taking a knee and surrendering himself for a touchback, after making the Titans run through violent and dangerous blocks, just to get close.
The Coyotes’ offence took the field, led by a tall, long-limbed boy. His beady eyes, and sharp front teeth gave his small face a look not dissimilar to a spider, and his long arms and legs, with his short, roundish body only added to the resemblance.
“Spider” was the QB, and his predatory little eyes scanned each of the Titans before settling on Fred. Spider called over one of the TEs, one that was on the shorter side, but his body was built like a tank, and he had a thick, square head.
Spider whispered something to “Tank”, and the blocky, stocky TE nodded, staring Fred down.
Lonnie took his position in the middle of the Titans’ defensive formation, making sure everyone was in position.
‘Hey uhh… move up closer, okay? Remember what the coach said,’ Lonnie ordered, urging his teammates to press up more, though when Fred went to move closer, Lonnie stuck one of his long arms out and urged him back. ‘No, you stay back… remember what the coach tells YOU?’
Fred lowered his head, but shuffled back more, staying out of everyone’s way.
‘Snap!’ Spider demanded. Organised chaos ensued.
Spider first faked a handoff to the RB, and to their credit, the majority of the Coyotes’ offence sold it well, though maybe that was just an excuse for almost all of the Receivers to dive into their opponents’ legs to make it look like they were trying to block them.
And the RB himself, even though he didn’t have the ball, he still charged ahead, using his helmet like a battering ram to smash through the Titans’ Defensive Line and inflict some punishment.
Only two Receivers ran out on actual routes to make themselves targets of a pass—A shifty little WR, and Tank.
The WR cut across the middle of the field, right between Petey—positioned at MLB—and Lonnie—who was one of the Safeties at the top of the formation.
Lonnie bit on the bait, stepping up to make sure he’d be there in case the pass went to that WR, and that’s when Tank slipped around behind him.
Spider flung the ball into the air as it shot out of his hand like a catapult. Tank made a beeline right for where it would land; with each stride, he broke further away from the LB that was covering him.
Only Fred stood in Tank’s path.
Fred’s heart pounded, and he stood there frozen for a moment, staring down the rampaging brute that was headed right for him.
But then he looked at the ball. Fred knew what he had to do. He turned and ran towards the spot where the ball would land, sprinting as fast as he could to get there before Tank did. He removed Tank from his thoughts, focusing only on the ball.
He went to throw himself into the air and swat the ball away, but just as he was about to leave the ground, the massive, bulky Tank smashed into him and sent Fred flying.
Tank hadn’t even tried to catch the pass in the end, instead, he simply lowered his shoulder and hit Fred as hard as he could.
The pass ended in an incompletion, but the Coyotes weren’t upset, they’d accomplished their goal for that play.
Fred writhed on the ground for a moment, coughing and wheezing before he rolled over and struggled to his feet—no one came to help him up.
He dragged himself back to the huddle, and the game continued without any care shown to the young boy.
The next two plays ended in much the same way. Each pass was designed to distract Lonnie and pull his attention away from Tank, and then the hulking TE would steamroll through Fred, only feigning any interest or attempt to actually catch the ball.
After each hit, Fred would take longer and longer to pick himself up off the ground.
It was a quick 3 and out, with the Coyotes punting team coming out to kick the ball back to the Titans.
Fred was offered no rest, having to stay out there on the field with the rest of his teammates, though he was kept away from the action in the punt return formation, sitting behind the two lines of blockers and rushers, where he’d be out of the way.
Kenny was way back down the field, near his own endzone, ready to receive and return the punt.
Again, the kick hung in the air for a long time, being high but not all that deep. Kenny sat under it, and waved his arms in the air, signalling to the officials that he wanted a fair catch, and was giving himself up.
This meant, that when he caught the ball, he couldn’t progress it any further, but at the same time, it offered him protection and meant that no one could tackle him because the play would be over when he caught the ball …
…That’s how it’s supposed to work anyway
Kenny watched the ball carefully, his eyes glued to the sky the whole time through its flight. It fell into his arms without issue, but hardly a breath after he caught it, he was launched off his feet by a vicious spear and crunched into the ground under the body of a Coyote.
The ball spilled free and bounced away as officials raced in, whistles shrieking into the night.
Jackson was about to stand up out of his seat and voice his frustrations again when another voice drowned him out and shook the whole bleachers.
‘HEY!!’ Coach Otsen stomped out onto the field like he was trying to shatter the earth under his feet, he threw his playbook down.
More officials got in his path, holding him back and trying to calm him down. The head official ejected the player who had laid the hit on Kenny. The offender—number 51—was a nasty-looking kid who appeared almost too old to be playing in this league, with tattoos crawling along his arms and up to his neck.
‘ARE YOU TRYING TO INJURE MY PLAYERS?! YOU THINK YOU’RE A TOUGH GUY FOR HITTING A DEFENCELESS PLAYER? YOU PUNK BITCH!’ Veins along Coach Otsen’s neck and temples were bulging, a blood vessel just waiting to burst on the red-faced man.
‘Hey, hey, hey. Calm down, chief.’ The Coyotes’ Head Coach approached Coach Otsen. He was a large man in his own right, with a large belly, and thick, muscled arms popping out from under his short sleeve top that was way too tight.
A smug sneer was plastered across the Coyotes’ coach’s face, and a long scar ran across the left side of his extra short crew cut. Dog tags hung around his neck and sunglasses sat on top of his head.
‘It was all just a misunderstanding. My boy didn’t see the fair catch signal, he was too busy fighting through the blocks. I’m sorry if your player got hurt, and look, my boy’s already been sent off. I promise that won’t happen again, but it was only an accident, these things happen.’
All the while, the condescending smirk never left his face. ‘Now… if you’re worried about big hits like that though, well, maybe this sport just ain’t for you, maybe you and your GIRLS would find soccer to be more your speed.’
‘That’s enough Coach Kelly,’ an official said, positioning themselves between the two rival coaches. ‘I’m warning you, there better not be anything like that again or I’ll throw this game out and your team’ll forfeit.’
Coach Kelly raised his arms in submission. ‘Hey, like I said, it was an accident. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure my boys know not to let any ACCIDENTS like that happen again.’
Coach Otsen was still fuming, his head steaming under the sun, though he kept his mouth shut and was pulled back towards the sideline by Coach Vasquez and his other assistants.
Coach Kelly—still with a smirk—turned to walk back to his bench, when he smacked face-first into a rather solid object, stumbling back as his shades spilled to the ground.
‘What the fu—’ His eyes widened, and he stared up at the silent, imposing figure of Coach Knight.
The burly Coach Knight stared down at Coach Kelly, not saying a word.
‘H-Hey, watch it, you…you fucking gorilla. Out of my way.’ Coach Kelly tried to push Coach Knight aside, to no avail, the “gorilla” didn’t even budge.
Defeated, and embarrassed, Coach Kelly tried to laugh it off as he picked up his shades and went around the immovable man. ‘Ha… hahaha, you think you’re tough shit, huh? Yeah, we’ll see who’s laughing after we beat your ass! Just watch that scoreboard at the end of the game!’
Coach Knight made his way back to the Titans’ bench, and normalcy resumed as the officials called a short timeout to the game.
Kenny had been helped back to the bench, feeling at his ribs, but he assured everyone that he was alright.
‘Ken!’ Coach Otsen barked. ‘You’re good to keep playing?’
‘I’m fine!’ Kenny yelled back, gritting his teeth.
Coach Otsen looked him over, then nodded sternly. ‘Mm. Good.’ He looked around at his battered group of players and then glanced over to the other bench. The tension and hostility in the air between the two groups was like an impenetrable wall.
‘Are you going to let them push you around like that?’ Coach Otsen said.
‘No!
‘Are you gonna let these fuckers just kick you around however they want?
‘No!’
‘Are you going to sit there and die as they rip this game away from you and stomp you down into the dirt?!’
‘NO!’
‘Then get out there and show them what it means to be a TITAN!’ Coach Otsen pushed a fist into the middle of the huddle. ‘Titans on 3.’
Each player and every other coach placed a fist against or on top of Coach Otsen’s.
‘1, 2, 3, TITANS!’ they roared.
They charged back out onto the field, burning with passion and rage.
‘Pete!’ Kenny ran over to the QB and dragged him aside. Petey stared back into Ken’s fiery gaze. ‘You get me that fucking ball no matter what you have to do.’
Petey nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat as his eyes darted away, no longer able to match that intense glare. ‘Y-Yeah. I’ll do it…’
Kenny slapped him hard on the helmet and then rushed over to get set up in his position. Petey took a deep breath and moved over to his position behind the Center, his hands shaking as he lowered them between the larger boy’s legs, ready to take the ball.
He scanned the field, his heartbeat sounding like a drum within his helmet as he stared right into the eye of the storm.
‘Hike!’ Petey took the snap from the Center and scrambled back deep in the pocket. His eyes darted to Kenny, but number 21 was draped all over him.
Kenny bit hard into his mouthguard, trying to throw this cheating bastard off him, as 21 clung on tight to Kenny’s jersey, right up in the pits of his arms.
The OL broke down, crumbling bit by bit. The first Coyote to make it past that wall was intercepted by Isaac. Though a second was right behind him.
Petey searched for another option as he ducked under the wildly swinging arm of the beefy Coyote who tried to clothesline him rather than tackle him.
Lonnie was on the ground, tripped up by a defender who was now lying on him.
Nick—the second Receiver and also the one who handled Kicking duty—was covered too, stuck between two defenders. Another blitzing Coyote was bearing down on Petey.
Kenny finally shrugged off his defender and burst away from the line, turning his head back to Petey and screaming for the ball.
But Petey couldn’t hear him. There wasn’t any time left either, and he had already found a target. It was the only uncovered Titan out there—Fred.
A Coyote lunged at Petey, just as he let the ball go. It was like a cannon had been shot into his gut, but he got rid of the ball, and the pass was on target, even if it wobbled through the air.
Fred stood under that wobbling ball. It was coming in a little high, even for him, so he leapt into the air, hands outstretched to the heavens.
He had eyes only for the ball, so he was completely oblivious to the vicious predator that had him in their sights.
The Coyotes’ Safety—number 23—had a broad grin across his devilish face as he raced towards Fred. He knew he wouldn’t make it in time to disrupt the pass itself, but that was never his target.
Only a moment after Fred’s hands grasped the ball, and raked it into his chest, number 23 collided with his legs, shoving them out from under him.
Fred’s elation over catching the ball swiftly turned to horror and confusion as his world flipped upside down in the blink of an eye.
He closed his eyes firmly and tightened his grip on the ball, hugging it against his chest like it was the most valuable thing on earth.
He hit the ground, head and shoulders first. There was a horrifying crunch, then a collective gasp from the crowd. He was bent in two by the impact, his legs finishing their rotation and kicking the ground above his head before they bounced back and he flattened again.
‘Freddy!’ his mother cried. Her voice was shrill and full of fear.
He lay unmoving on the grass, the ball still clutched in his arms, and his eyes yet to open.