Gladiators of the Gridiron

Ty sat up slowly. He held the ball to his chest, staring down at it. A muffled voice called to him.

‘Son, son are you alright? I need the ball, son.’

Ty looked up at the official. Their hands were held out waiting for him to give them the ball. Ty tossed it to them and then stood up, he didn’t even notice his teammates’ hands this time.

He looked at the scoreboard: 17–37. He shook his head. He made his way to the bench. “This isn’t right. It can’t end like this.”

‘You did your best, Samuels. Sometimes great offence just beats great defence.’ Ty barely even registered Coach Hoang’s words.

The extra point only added to the Vikings’ lead.

Ty stood up, ready to take the field for the kick return. This was the one. He could feel it; he wouldn’t let anyone stand in his way.

But before he could step out onto the field, there was Bella, standing in his way, blocking his path. He stared down at her. ‘Move.’

She shook her head. ‘Why? So you can go out there and fumble again? Or get yourself concussed too? Sit down.’

‘You’re not my coach.’ He went to walk around her.

‘Tyrese.’ He stopped at the sound of Coach Long’s voice. ‘Sit this one out.’

Ty looked over his shoulder, black eyes as cold as the void of space. Cole awkwardly jogged past Ty and took his position out on the field to return the kick.

‘You need to rest. We’ll need you at full strength for when we’re back on defence if we’re going to have you make an impact to finish out the game.’

‘I’m not tired. I can do both and make more of an impact!’

‘I didn’t ask for your input, Tyrese. Sit down.’

Ty ground his teeth together but moved back over to the bench and sat down.

Cole fielded the kick in the endzone and took a knee for a touchback rather than run it out—Ty's grinding intensified.

The Dons’ offence took to the field once again, and while the game was almost over, they weren’t about to roll over and die just yet.

However, even though they still had a fire burning within them—albeit dimly—they couldn’t get far down the field. There wasn’t any time for them to utilise the run game properly, and with that, the Vikings were able to focus on pass defence and could put a stop to any of their attempts to gain yards through the air.

If Stephen had still been there, maybe it could’ve been different; maybe they still could’ve put up a fight.

It wasn’t long before the Vikings got the ball back, even with the Dons refusing to punt and instead using their fourth down to try and pick up the extra yards they needed with their offence, their play failed, and it was a turnover on downs instead.

Even though the Vikings were practically within scoring range right from the beginning of their drive, they had no intention of putting up more points. Instead, were happy to just run out the clock, quite literally.

Ty stood across from Marshall, like a coiled snake ready to strike any moment. But he never got his chance. The Vikings never threw another pass. Even Marshall himself looked quite pissed by the development—his promise would go unfulfilled today.

The final minutes of the game would pass by with the ball ping-ponging between each team. The Dons were unable to score again, and the Vikings never allowed Marshall or Ty to duel one another again.

Ty couldn’t even impact the run defence no matter how hard he tried to. He’d sprint over at the snap of the ball, but before he could even reach the RB, they’d have fallen to the ground already, having only burrowed forward a couple of yards, keeping right behind Mike, with their arms wrapped tightly around the ball, and whenever a defender so much as laid a finger on them, they’d drop to the ground.

Then, the Vikings took a knee, and the clock slowly wound down to zero. Ty watched every second tick away, each one feeling like a minute had passed by.

The crowd was silent. Most of the Vikings were ecstatic, cheering and celebrating loudly. Both Marshall and Isiah looked disappointed—the former because he’d failed in his personal goal, and the latter because it was over and they couldn’t put up even more points and humiliate the Dons further.

JJ went over to Ty, who hadn’t moved since the final whistle blew. He slapped the younger boy on the back and gave him a one-armed hug. ‘We did our best. It’s okay. We’ll get them next time.’ Then he moved away and started shaking the hand of each Vikings player one by one.

Ty slowly shambled off the field, shuffling towards the bench like a zombie. They’d lost. HE had lost … AGAIN. “No.”

‘Good game, Tyrese,’ Coach Long said. He stood at the edge of the sideline, welcoming all the players back to the bench, giving them all words of encouragement and a pat on the back.

‘No.’ Ty shuffled past. ‘No.’ He stood in front of the bench. ‘No.’ He took off his helmet. ‘No. No. No! NO!’ He gripped his helmet tightly and slammed it onto the bench. He kicked the underside of the seat, then continued to smash his helmet against it wildly.

‘Nooo! Fuck! Fuuuuuck! What the fuck are you doing you stupid piece of worthless shit! FUCK YOU!’

He threw his now dented helmet against the bench one last time, it bounced into the front row of the crowd, though people had already moved away at the beginning of his outburst.

‘Samuels!’ Coach Hoang moved closer. Jay reached out, putting an arm around Ty, placing a hand on his shoulder, telling him to calm down.

‘Don’t fucking touch me!’ He shook Jay off and backed away, panting hard. Part of him felt better, though a larger part was still burning with rage.

‘Tyrese. Calm down. It’s just one game.’ Coach Long looked at him with concern, hands held up as he edged closer, trying to calm the boy down.

‘Ty.’ Meg’s voice came from the stands, she was shaking as she looked at her older brother. She’d never seen this side of him; never seen how closely he resembled their father.

‘Shut the fuck up! And leave me the fuck alone!’ Ty turned, his cleats clattered against the ground loudly as he stormed off.

‘Tyrese!’

‘Samuels! Shit. I’ve got him, Coach.’ Coach Hoang moved to go after him.

Coach Long frowned but looked around at the rest of the team. He held his arms out and began herding the other boys away. ‘Alright, get to the locker room, right now.’ He still had everyone else to look after, so he'd have to leave Ty in Luke's hands.

‘Ty!’ Meg groaned and scrambled back up the stands, rushing to where she’d been sitting to watch the game, grabbing her things before she raced back down to chase after Ty.

‘Ugh, stupid idiot…’ Bella shook her head before moving along with the others to the locker room.

‘Samuels!’ Coach Hoang called out again.

‘Fuck off! I’m walking home, I don’t need a cripple to babysit me.’ Ty sped up, still walking, yet his speed was almost that of running.

Meg ran past Coach Hoang, breathing heavily as she chased Ty onto the street. He was walking off into the dark, but he wasn’t heading home. He didn’t know where he was going, just away. Far, far away from that field.

‘Oh this fucking brat,’ Luke muttered under his breath, pushing harder.

Ty stormed off into the dark. He needed to get away, away from the field, away from everyone, away from himself … but that was impossible.

He was steaming in the cool night air. He felt like he’d explode. Maybe it’d be better if he did explode. If he could just burst into tiny chunks right then. Maybe he wouldn’t feel as if he was burning then, maybe his head and his heart would stop pounding then.

“I lost. How?” He pressed his palms hard against his eyes, so hard he saw flashes of white against the blackness.

“You know how. You weren’t good enough.” The moment of his fumble replayed in his head. His failure to get around the Kicker cleanly on the return that he almost took back for a touchdown. His failed interceptions. Each and every single one of Marshall’s catches against him, his hand always just too short to reach the ball. They all flashed through his head.

And then there was the touchdown.

Over and over he saw those hands block out his vision, and then snatch the ball right from his grasp. He had been “Mossed.” It was pathetic. It was unforgivable. It was all his fault.

His feet stopped moving. He stood under the harsh, fluorescent light of a street lamp. He turned his head up, staring into the light.

The city rumbled around him. Life went on. The world moved on. Even as he felt as if everything was crashing down around him, nothing had stopped, nothing had cared about him or his problems.

He closed his eyes. The drone of engines could be heard faintly. A honk here, squealing tyres there. Yowling cats, barking dogs, the hum of hidden insects—the music of the city.

Burning rubber and tar singed his nose, the scent of smoke, piss, and alcohol clung to the air and stained his lungs with every breath. The world around him was the same as it had always been.

Luke passed by Meg. She was hunched over, one hand against a fence, trying to catch her breath. She stared ahead at Ty. Her expression was a mix of fear, worry, and anguish.

Luke approached Ty. ‘Samuels…’ He rolled to a stop next to the boy, sharing the light with him. ‘Ty,’ he said with a softer tone, putting aside his coaching voice.

Ty opened his eyes and looked down at Luke, but he didn’t say anything.

‘This isn’t the way to your home.’

Ty bit back his initial response, then he looked away. ‘What do you want?’

Luke frowned. ‘I’d want you to apologise for your outburst back there. If I was in control of the team, you’d be off of it after a meltdown like that.’

Ty gave him a dirty look. ‘Piss off.’

‘If this is how you’re going to react to losing, I don’t think football is right for you. You need to learn how to suck it up and get used to this.’

Ty whirled around to face Luke properly. ‘Get used to this?! I’ll never get used to this! This is horrible! This disgusting feeling in my stomach, like I could puke out everything I’ve ever eaten and it still wouldn’t be enough. Or how I could punch the ground until every bone in my arm was broken and still want to smash my head through it. I’d rather die than feel this way again!’

‘Well tough shit! Losing is a part of not only football but life! Ask anyone and they wouldn’t even be able to count the amount of times they’ve lost.’

‘I’m not like them! I’m different. I’M special. I’m going to be the greatest.’

Luke scoffed. ‘You might have potential, but even the greatest can’t win all the time. Just look at Tom Brady.’

Ty turned away, going quiet. He’d be better than Brady. He knew it. He wouldn’t stop until he was the best, undoubtedly, even if it killed him. …But how could he say that after he had just lost, twice in a row no less?

‘Look, I know how you’re feeling. I’ve been there before. I’ve been in the darkest places a person can throw themselves into. You don’t think I ever wanted to end it all after my injury?’

‘I’m not going to kill myself.’ Ty sounded disgusted.

‘I didn’t either. I’m still here, aren’t I? But I know what it’s like, to be stuck in the dark, screaming at yourself, going over every moment that led up to it, blaming yourself for every little thing, wondering what you could’ve done different, what you should’ve done. … But what’s done is done, and there’s no changing the past.’

‘I don’t need to change the past.’

‘Good. Because you can’t. You can only look to the future, and right now—the things you can control.’ Luke sighed. Ty was still breathing hard, shoulders heaving with each breath. Steam continued to rise off him into the night sky.

‘I also know what it’s like to have that burning anger inside you, eating up your stomach. It’s like a great big boulder of molten lava, weighing you down, holding you back. No matter how much you might want to reverse your situation, take all that pain you’re holding onto, and give it to the person or people you blame for doing this to you… that doesn’t change anything either, that’s not going to make you feel any better.’

Ty looked down at him again. Luke scratched at the back of his head. ‘It’s not my proudest moment, but yeah, I’ve thought about what if I wasn’t the one who ended up in a wheelchair, and it was the guy who tackled me instead. I’ve wished for it. But that wasn’t going to make me happy. I wasn’t ever going to be able to move on if I kept holding onto that.’

‘Hm.’ Ty shook his head. ‘I’ll get my win back. I don’t care how it makes anyone else feel. I don’t care if they blow up, if they smash their bench, or throw away their cleats, I’m going to win no matter what.’

Luke’s jaw tightened. ‘You need to focus on yourself. That’s how you can achieve victory. If you really want to win, then you need to look inwards, not to blame yourself, but to overcome yourself, to find those shortcomings and turn them into your strengths. If you’re really committed to doing that, then meet me at the field tomorrow morning.’

Ty tilted his head. ‘Tomorrow's Sunday.’

‘You don’t train on the weekend? Just be there. You could be special, but what makes someone special isn’t the fact that they’re fast or they can jump high, or they can make a one-handed catch. The special ones are those who get back up after being knocked down, who take their losses, their mistakes and use them to better themselves instead of running away and quitting.’

Ty grabbed Luke’s wheelchair, holding onto both arms as he leaned down close to the older boy and stared through him with wide eyes. ‘I’m not giving up. I’m not running. I WILL get better. I WILL become the best. And I WILL NOT lose again … EVER.’

Luke stared back into those dark eyes. He shuddered, but a grin slowly came over his lips. What this kid—this freshman—was saying was insane … but, he believed him completely.