"Defense! Damn it—hold the line!!"
Coach George had lost his usual calm. Waving his baseball cap over his head, he shouted at Captain Aaron on the field.
Medford High, who should have been on offense, had been forced into playing defense instead.
If they let the other team score on this drive, it would be a flat-out humiliation. Not only would it crush team morale, but Medford could very well be remembered for this single play as a permanent stain on their record.
All the pressure was now squarely on quarterback Aaron. While battling the opposing quarterback head-on, he kept scanning the field for a chance to turn things around.
Finally, he spotted Little George behind the crowd.
As a wide receiver, Little George's positioning was perfect. All it would take was a successful long pass from the quarterback, and the entire situation could flip instantly.
No competent quarterback would ever miss an opportunity like that.
"Give me the ball!" Aaron shouted, breaking free from his defender and calling out to Sam, who was desperately protecting the football.
Sam had already been pushed inside his own five-yard line. The smartest move at that point was a simple handoff back to the quarterback.
But Sam had gotten fired up fighting the defenders. Stubbornly, he kept thinking he could bulldoze his way through, carve out a miracle play, and "save the day."
Football was a lot like a rehearsal for storming a fortress—everyone had their hero fantasy.
Unfortunately, Sam overestimated himself and wasted the opportunity Aaron had created.
By the time he was squeezed right up against his own end zone, he finally realized he needed to pass.
The window had already closed. As Sam hesitated, two defenders collapsed on him from front and back, punching the ball loose.
The football bounced toward Medford's end zone.
Aaron dove in, throwing himself onto the ball just outside the goal line, pinning it firmly underneath him.
"Damn it!!"
Amid the shouting from the sidelines, players from both teams piled on in a massive scrum, fighting for possession.
Whistle—
The head referee blew the play dead, signaling that Medford High still had one more offensive chance.
The situation on the field was eerily similar to the Longhorns' punt dilemma in the third quarter earlier.
If anything, this might have been even worse.
Coach George immediately burned a timeout.
He pointed at Sam, who was standing frozen near the end zone line, and motioned for him to come off the field.
"Punter, get ready!" Assistant Coach Wayne shouted, calling the team's punter forward.
Under normal circumstances, failing three straight downs meant punting was the safest option.
"Go sit down and cool off…" Coach George didn't yell at Sam as he came off. Still, the disappointment on his face was impossible to hide.
Sam's earlier decision—whether to run it himself or try to create a play—was understandable.
What wasn't forgivable was his hesitation at the critical moment. That crossed the line.
He had betrayed the trust of both the coaches and his teammates.
Once the adrenaline wore off, Sam realized his mistake. He pulled off his helmet in frustration and slumped onto the cold bench.
After dealing with Sam, Coach George turned and saw the punter preparing to enter the game. Suddenly, Little Sheldon's words about punting flashed through his mind.
In a split second, a crazy idea took hold.
"Wait!" Coach George stopped the punter, then called out, "Mike, get over here!"
Already prepared, Mike put on his helmet and jogged over to the sideline.
"Do you think we should punt?" Coach George asked.
"I believe in myself," Mike replied, his voice muffled by his pads.
As always, any tactical decision had to be based on the players' actual ability.
Mike hadn't directly answered the question—but the number 21 jersey on his back was answer enough.
A running back's job was simple: attack, attack, and attack again.
"Good. Go," Coach George said, patting Mike on the shoulder. "Take that damn ball and put it in their end zone."
The timeout lasted only two minutes. There was no time for detailed planning. All Coach George could do was trust his player.
Mike flashed an OK sign and ran onto the field to roaring cheers.
Honestly, being the center of attention like this felt pretty great.
Unlike the unaware crowd, Assistant Coach Wayne watched Mike's back and muttered to George, "You've lost your mind. We've got plenty of time left. Punting is the best option right now…"
Under normal circumstances, after exchanging possession in the third quarter, Medford would still have at least one full set of four downs in the fourth.
From a long-term perspective, Medford still held a slight "advantage."
"I know I'm crazy," Coach George said, shaking his head without explaining further. The decision had been a spur-of-the-moment impulse, and now his confidence was slipping fast.
An American football field—often called the "gridiron"—is 120 yards long and about 75 yards wide. The two end zones are 110 yards apart.
The field is marked with dashed lines every five yards and solid lines every ten yards, which is where the gridiron nickname comes from.
Mike jogged along the sideline to just in front of his own end zone.
"Why is it you? Where's the punter?" Aaron asked in surprise when he saw Mike.
"We're not punting this time," Mike said, stopping near the goal line. "We're going for a second offensive drive."
"Oh—wait, what?" Aaron finally realized Mike was lining up on offense.
This had never happened before. Aaron glanced toward the coaching staff, but neither coach gave any further instructions.
He took that as confirmation that this second-down attempt was the coaches' call.
As the quarterback, Aaron immediately started signaling to the team, organizing the second-down offense.
When Medford High lined up in a straight offensive formation, the crowd finally realized this wasn't a punt.
Having never seen anything like it, the stands erupted in angry shouts.
The deeper the love, the harsher the criticism.
"Damn it, why aren't they punting?! Has the coach completely lost his mind?" Sam's father, Gritt, yelled from the stands.
In his rage, he even blamed his own son's earlier mistake on the coaching staff.
Sitting not far from him was the Cooper family.
"Maybe punting isn't the best choice," Mary said, speaking up.
Gritt's comment had dismissed both Sheldon and George in one breath. As family, Mary wasn't about to let that slide.
"What do you know? They should punt now and protect the lead," Gritt snapped, clearly looking down on her. "And even if they're going for it, Sam should be out there. I don't trust that number 21…"
Compared to Sam's bulky frame, Mike did look smaller.
On top of that, Gritt had a personal grudge against Mike, which didn't help his judgment.
As Gritt kept ranting, Grandma Connie finally recognized him.
"I don't think Mike is any worse than Sam. How about we make a bet?" Grandma Connie said.
Gritt quickly recognized her too and shot back angrily, "What kind of bet?"
"I bet Mike scores on this drive," Grandma Connie said firmly. "One hundred bucks. You got the guts?"
"Deal!" Gritt snapped, agreeing without a second thought.
Just like that, a side bet was born.