Tim Green - The Big Time

"Oh, no," Coach Mora said, grabbing the cameraman by the shoulder and gently shoving him away. "You guys stay out of his face. He needs to work."

The cameraman disappeared up the sideline, outside the team's yellow line. The Falcons' kickoff team took the field. Seth appeared beside Troy, his eyes bugging out and a crazed smile plastered across his face.

"You ready, buddy?" Seth asked, holding up a taped fist.

"Yeah," Troy said. The word came out so quietly, he was sure Seth couldn't hear it amid all the noise, so he nodded his head.

The whistle sounded. The game began. The Falcons' kickoff team smashed the Packers' returner, pinning the visitors deep in their own territory.

The defense now took the field, and Troy put his hands on his knees and focused on Green Bay: on their offensive personnel, the body language of the different players, the formations, the motion, the action. After every play Coach Mora would glance at Troy expectantly, waiting for his genius to kick in. Usually it took eight to twelve plays before the patterns became clear. A couple of times over the past weeks, Troy's ability had been stifled by pressure, and once by a lingering headache after Troy took a shot to the head in one of his junior league games.

Having his father suddenly appear in his life had no doubt created some extra stress and tension, but after only five plays Troy broke into a huge grin.

"Screen pass left," Troy said to Mora.

Coach Mora gave him a startled look, then returned his smile before frantically signaling to Seth out on the field to let him know about the screen. Quickly, with a second series of hand signals, Mora told Seth to put the defense in a blanket zone coverage that would shut down any screen. Seth paused for a moment, then began shouting instructions to his fellow players that Troy couldn't make out. The Packers approached the line. The Falcons scrambled to their places. Troy looked back at his two friends. His mom stood there now as well, and he gave them all a thumbs-up before turning his attention back to the field.

The Packers ran exactly what Troy had predicted: a screen to the left.

But instead of the blanket zone Mora had called for, the Falcons' defense rushed with an all-out blitz, with most of the team gushing up through the line. Troy shot a look of disbelief at Mora, who winced in anger. The Packers' linemen let the Falcons' defense right through. The quarterback retreated, drawing them farther up the field like a pack of dogs mad for a rabbit. Only a handful of Falcons dropped into coverage. Seth stayed close to the line, floating toward the Packers' running back, who had pretended to fall down before getting up and sprinting for the sideline to catch the screen. Most of the defense was too far up the field to possibly catch him, but the instant the quarterback threw to the running back, Seth made his move, darting for the ball, leaping for the interception and what would surely be a Falcons' defensive touchdown.

The ball floated in the air. The Packers' runner settled his hips and cupped his arms to catch it. It was all or nothing. If Seth caught it, he would score a touchdown for the Falcons. If he missed, none of the other Falcons' defenders were in position to keep the runner from the end zone.

Seth leaped into the air.

BEFORE SETH'S FINGERTIPS EVENtouched the ball, Troy felt a sickening shift in his gut.

The ball nicked off Seth's fingers.

Seth twisted, landed on one leg, and collapsed.

The Packers' running back adjusted for the tipped ball. It dropped into his arms like bread into a basket. The runner turned and charged ahead. Only a couple of Falcons could even get close, and they were tangled up by plenty of Green Bay blockers. The runner waltzed into the end zone for a touchdown. The hometown crowd booed.

Seth staggered to the sideline. Coach Mora jumped all over him, grabbing hold of the back of Seth's shoulder pad and tagging along with him all the way to the bench.

Troy followed.

"What the heck was that ?" Mora asked, his face red. "I called a Double Cat Zone so we'd have plenty of backup on that screen, and it looked to me like a doggone Cyclone Blitz call. Did you run a Cyclone?"

Seth slumped down on the bench, slammed his helmet on the carpet in front of him, and threw back his head, shaking it with rage. "Yes! I ran a Cyclone, okay? I messed up."

Mora's face contorted with disbelief. Quietly, he asked, "You ran your own play?"

Seth glared at him. "I was trying to make something happen."

Mora barked out a laugh. "You made something happen all right."

"All right," Seth said through clenched teeth. "I messed up. Relax. It's early."

Mora nodded and said, "Okay. Relax. I can do that. But remember this, Halloway. I'm the coach . You're the player . So, I call the plays. You got that?"

"Okay," Seth said. "Got it."

Mora stomped off. Troy gave Seth a sympathetic look, then shrugged and followed. That wasn't the end of it, though.

The trouble had only begun.

SETH CALLED COACH MORA'Sdefenses from that point on, that much was certain. But because of his injured knees and lack of speed, his ability to make the plays a middle linebacker has to make just wasn't there. Once, Seth burst through the line and barreled into the Packers' running back behind the line of scrimmage, but the runner simply stiff-armed him, knocking Seth to the ground. The running back kept going for a twelve-yard gain. Another time, Seth shot untouched around the end of the line on a blitz only to have the quarterback outrun him to the sideline and complete a touchdown pass.

Coach Mora's face darkened from red to purple, and early in the fourth quarter Troy heard him mutter and saw him signal Seth to the sideline.

"That's it," Mora said, meeting Seth as he came off the field. "Your knees are killing you, Seth. I have to make a change."

"Change?"

"Lengyel!" Mora said, barking over his shoulder. "Halloway's down."

"I'm not down ," Seth said, whipping off his helmet, his words garbled by the mouthpiece he then spit out into his hand. "I can go."

"Not in this game, you can't," Mora said. "We're down by ten. Look at the clock."

Troy glanced up. Only eleven minutes remained in the fourth quarter. Enough time to pull out a win, but not if the Falcons' defense couldn't hold on the next series.

"I can do this," Seth said, sticking out his chin.

"Seth, you know the plays," Mora said, sad and quiet, "and you still can't do it."

"You're better off with me in there and knowing the plays than having Lengyel in there not knowing," Seth said.

"Who says Lengyel won't know?" Mora said. "He's been studying my signals. He can handle it."

"Handle what?" Seth said.

"Me, signaling in the defense and the play they're going to run," Mora said.

The crowded sideline was what Troy imagined a battlefield was like: players rushing back and forth, in and out of the battle depending on its needs. The PAT block team ran out but failed. The kickoff return team surged on, then off the field after a successful return. Then the offense gave a war cry and flooded out. The other Falcons players around them gathered like a silent forest, surrounding Seth, Troy, and Mora, intent on seeing how the conflict would play out.

"If I'm not in there," Seth said, growling through a tight smile and pointing out at the field, "you're not going to know what plays they're running."

"Why?" Mora asked, his face crumpling in confusion.

"Because," Seth said, directing a taped and bloody finger at Troy, "if I'm not in, Troy's not in either."

"Troy?" Mora said. "He works for the team, not you."